CONFESSIONS OF A NOT-BAD DAD

IT’S NOT CLEAR WHY PARENTHOOD WAS SUCH A SURPRISE TO ME. BY THE TIME OUR SON RAFFI was born, I was 40 years old. I knew what a baby was and how one was made. Many of my friends had them. My wife, Emily, even gave me a book to read, The Birth Partner, to prepare me for the big event.

I didn’t read it. And I didn’t visit my friends who had kids. I thought they had entered a different world. I imagined them disapproving of me and my frivolous life. And I, in turn, found them boring. They were obsessed with their tiny little children, with what they ate and where they’d go to school. What did it