Based on what I’ve seen from Hollywood, every expectant father prior to about 1970 spent his time pacing back and forth in a hospital waiting room as his wife gave birth to their baby. Accompanied by other men in the same situation, they would chain smoke cigarettes by the carton, leaving the hard work to their wives and smothering their nerves in carcinogens. Tensions were high, and everyone just wanted it all to be over and done with.
Having successfully avoided fatherhood thus far, I cannot relate to the overall experience. But as my airplane undergoes its first annual inspection under my watch, the resulting expectations and nerves have provided my own mental version of that smoky waiting room. Cigarettes are nowhere to be found, but in anticipation of a massive, unexpected repair bill, I’ve certainly consumed an unwise quantity of potato chips.
