Superhero Baby

“You sign here, please,” the nurse said to me in broken English while whisking me down a long grim hallway, bright fluorescent lights straining my eyes as I fought to process the overload of information.

“Can I see my wife?” I asked in a slow and deliberate pace. “No, sorry,” the nurse replied stoically while shoving a pen into my shaking hand while holding up a legal pad. “No one except the doctor and nurses can be in the room. Just wait here.”

At the slash of the “y” in my last name, the legal pad was ripped away from my hands and I was seated on a chair in a hallway of the hospital I had never seen. Instantly, an eerie loneliness set in that felt more profound and momentous than the fact that there was literally no one else around, much less anyone that knew me.

A few short hours before this, I had been sitting in a restaurant with friends in downtown Daegu, South Korea; a bowl of bibimbap steaming delicious smells into my nostrils. My heart and mind had not a single care in the world. Those around me poured glasses of soju and Hite beer while sharing conversations I will never be able to remember my part in.

All of this was now a faded memory as I sat hunched over in the waiting room, staring at my hands that were involuntarily open in front of me. All I could do was wait, pray, and hope.

Eventually I would be joined in the seats beside me by two of my dear friends, Jennifer and Soo Yean. Soo Yean was a nurse in the hospital, but even she could only offer educated guesses as to what was happening and what the outcome would be.

Sarah and I had planned only moments before this to settle into a hospital room for the next week or so. Sarah’s water had broken an hour earlier, but she had since been stabilized enough for the baby to remain safe inside until at least a week or two closer to his due date, which at the time was still over a month away.

Then, without warning, everything changed. Our son would be born that very night.

About twenty minutes later, in what felt much more like a few hours, the doctor appeared nearby and approached with a look of cautious optimism.

“The baby is OK,” he started. “He has trouble breathing and needs tubes. Your wife will be out soon. You can see her now and then later maybe you can see the baby.”

Having your first child is terrifying enough on its own. Having you first child be born one month early, with breathing issues, in a country a million miles away from all family, when you can’t understand the finite details of what nurses and doctors are trying to tell you about your child’s health and condition, is, in a word, maddening. I lost so much sleep and felt the stretching of my faith in ways I don’t know if I have experienced since.

Two weeks later, Liam Jae Henry (Jae means "gift") would finally be released from the hospital, and the normal journey of navigating life as new parents would finally begin.

I recollect this story for the purpose of reminding myself that Liam truly was (and is) a superhero; my superhero.

Liam has ironically grown to love superheroes. His favorite one is Spiderman. In fact, everything is Spiderman these days. He even has a realistic Spiderman costume (Costumes are so much cooler than when we were kids).

I often forget that he really is a superhero; a protector; a fighter.

All those years ago in that NICU in Korea, he had to fight. He had to fight to breathe. He had to fight to eat. He had to fight to grow and heal and get better. He defied so many odds, by the grace and healing power of God no less. I recognize the miracle that is his health and his life. But I also believe that in those feeble moments, God also gave him the strength to fight; something that would forever be associated with who he is and how he sees the world.

During the days after Liam was born, our incredible community of friends in Korea rallied around us. They camped out with us in the hospital. They laughed with us. They cried with us. They prayed and hoped with us. They celebrated with us when Liam finally got better. They stayed by our sides, and I will never forget and always be eternally grateful for it.

They also were the ones who gave him the nickname “Superhero Baby”. And he was. He still is.

Today is Liam’s 6th birthday, and as I sit across from him as he eats his birthday lunch with me at work, I’m still in awe of the boy he has become. He cares so deeply, feels so profoundly, and embraces life with such a contagious energy. He sees the best in everyone. He protects his little sister. He looks out for his friends. He includes all people. He constantly seeks to learn from his mistakes. He embraces so many of the characteristics we admire in our favorite comic book heroes. And he’s only got his whole future ahead of him.

My prayer for him is that he will always embrace his hero call. I don't expect him to be perfect. Lord knows he is far from it. Parents often talk up their kids in ways that ignore half of the time, you know, when they aren't being so super. Still, if we as his parents can help him to see the weak and marginalized and fight for them, to speak up and out for those who can't, and to always start from a place of sacrificial love, then we can in some small way honor and respect those early days of his life when God showed him how to fight.

Looking back, he actually has a pretty cool origin story.

And yes, I recognize that I’m completely biased towards my son. I’ll admit that without shame. Everyone thinks their children are unique and special. Everyone thinks their kid is a superhero. And all of them are right.