The ineffable sadness of being

The first time I met my lovely granddaughter, Madison Nicole, I was definitely happy. Maddy is a beautiful baby -- she doesn't carry any of my genes -- and a total delight. She slept on my chest for more than an hour on her parents' couch in Beijing.

That was five weeks ago, when Maddy was only about two weeks old.

Now she's closing in on two months, and she and her parents are visiting us in California. While she is growing beautifully, smiling and grabbing at things, and I'm very happy to see her, I'm feeling sort of a curious sadness as well.

I didn't know why at first, but now I'm starting to understand it.

My own experience with fatherhood began when my children were 12 and 7, so I never had the opportunity to enjoy them as infants. When I see my son-in-law Ryan carrying the baby and talking to her, I'm sort of sad that I never had the chance to do that. Both Pauline and Virgile already had experienced quite a bit by the time I met them, and they were definitely too big to hold in my arms and carry around.

It's funny. I married for the first time at 25 and for all intents and purposes it ended when I was 29. More than one person told me it was a blessing we hadn't had any children to be hurt by the divorce, and most of the time I agree with them. My life would certainly have been very different -- I would never be living in California, for one thing -- if I were a divorced dad.

We all make choices in life. We accept some things and miss out on others, but when my first wife and I split up, I would never have dreamed that I would be a month shy of my 43rd birthday when I remarried. I never would have dreamed that I would never father a child.

It's a very strange feeling to be happy and sad at the same time.

Very strange.