The hope, I guess—the expectation, even—is that he will grow up to find something he enjoys doing, and that he’ll do it long enough to find it deeply unsatisfying. His patents won’t get approved. His book won’t fly off the shelves. Awards won’t make him immortal. The grand dreams that carried him from A to B to wherever he is will suddenly look like cardboard cut-outs, so he’ll light them on fire. His great plans will turn to ash. He’ll wonder what the point is, what the hell he’s doing here—and then, maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll meet someone whose life has lost meaning too, and they’ll fall in love, and for reasons they can’t explain, they’ll decide that making a baby is the most profound thing they can do—or the most creative, or the most spiritual, depending upon where they are in their lives. They’ll decide that the most basic fact of life is actually a miracle, and that their miracle is special, and that this uniqueness will give their lives purpose, finally—and then the work begins. Cue a parade of necessary distractions: vaccines, socialization, discipline, fresh air. Cue the consolation. We see ourselves in little creatures, in our seven-million-dollar pets, and we find comfort in believing we will live forever through them, all the while knowing that when death closes in—because who are we kidding, death always finds us—we can call upon our investments to provide comfort and care.

And if we’ve made mistakes? If we’ve pushed too hard or haven’t pushed hard enough, if a new virus breaks out, if new hard drugs make the rounds, or if it turns out Jonah’s mood swings are bigger than ordinary angst—if he blows his brains out, or blows the library up, or blows the dean and someone sees and takes pictures that get plastered on the internet—then what? If he drives off a cliff late at night and dies—or doesn’t die, but ends up with locked-in syndrome—then what? Will it all have been worth it then?

Of course it would.

There’s no dollar value on the value of a son. No grief could be so big that it could swallow my love for my boy. No good night’s sleep could diminish the joy of fatherhood, which isn’t easy and isn’t always fun but is my greatest achievement by far. Heaven knows I wouldn’t trade it for the world.