I don't know whether I should be excited, nervous, apprehensive, or numb. I think I'll go for numb. In order to make some sense I should explain what is going on. I am sitting in a rather plush waiting room at Beth Israel Hospital in Boston, Massachusetts. I am here waiting for my daughter to give birth to my first grandchild. My wife Debbie is up with my daughter probably massaging her legs and feet in order to keep her as comfortable as possible. My son-in-law is also there probably not having a clue as to what to do. This is a reality for all of us who have a y-chromosome. I can easily associate with this because when my daughter was born I also lacked any concept of a clue.

I am sitting here with my son-in-law's parents. They used to be our friends and they still are but now that they are related by some law of nature they are now my grandchild's new other grandparents. I wonder if this makes them my new grandparents in law? It was easier to call them my friends. Paul is now deeply involved in an historical novel while Ruth is playing with her i-phone probably attempting to cheat on the crossword puzzle resting on her lap. We talk every now and then but realize we will probably be here a long time so we should save our conversations for later on in the day.

Looking over my lap top I observe many people with their phones out, punching away, attempting to either entertain or communicate. I am going for the entertainment explanation because I see few actually talking into their phones. I am sitting in a cluster of eight seats surrounding a large square green ottoman used to rest our feet. Right now there are only two other people in our cluster. We have yet to speak with them because they are engulfed in their own books and probably expectations of the reason they are here in the first place.

In the vestibule leading into the hospital I see many different types of people entering and leaving. People seem to be leaving at a brisker pace then the ones that are entering. In fact, many of the people I observe seem to be running in order to get out. Knowing I am in a hospital this reality makes total sense.

Looking into the other clusters in the room it is easy to imagine why people are here. There is a cluster to the right speaking little and doing nothing more then staring into the nothing part of the room. There is little smiling going on with each in the cluster resting on the arm of the chair holding up their heads that must be filled with fears of why they are here in the first place.

I think the people in our cluster have little fear as to why they are here. When I arrived there were four of them. At this time they were laughing and enjoying each other. One of the inhabitants was young and left soon after leaving the other three to wait. In my life there are few other things I hate to do as much as I hate waiting.

I notice few doctors or nurses passing through the room. I assume they have their own entrance hoping not to see any of the relatives of their patients. It is understood they have people to heal and help. Actually I have little knowledge of my daughter's doctor other than my daughter likes her and more importantly trusts her.

There is another cluster in front of mine with two people sitting having little conversation between them. The male looks annoyed probably because he has to be here in the first place. The woman is sitting with her back to me so I have little knowledge of why she is here. Actually I have no knowledge because this is a game I play in order to forget I am waiting. Her arms have fallen over the sides of the chair giving the impression that she may have fallen asleep. I doubt this because who could possibly fall asleep in a hospital. A man wearing a baseball cap wearing blue from head to toe just asked if there was a 'Whicker' in one of the clusters. No one answered, the man looked annoyed to the point I wanted to apologize I wasn't born a 'Whicker'.

Another thing I notice is there are few children waiting in any of the clusters. This is probably a good thing because waiting is unnatural for any child to sustain. The information desk is an interesting area at the center of the large waiting area. It is manned by a gentleman in a white shirt and tie. It looks like he should be working in an upscale motel ushering people to the room they reserved. The only difference is there are no keys hung on the wall behind him. Keys simply aren't necessary.

Looking behind me I notice a single person in two different clusters of seats. They are both enthralled by the magic of their i-phones. I watch them peck away at some application that would probably tell them the best way to get to the exit of the hospital. I prefer to open my eyes and see the bright red letters of the EXIT sign. Or maybe they are catching up with some e-mail messages from friends or family or feeling saddened by the fact there is no one who cares.

I don't know whether I should be excited, nervous, apprehensive, or numb. Since I can't decide I may as well enjoy the moment and wait for a future to be born.

Jim Fabiano is a teacher and writer living in York, Maine