dribbling for sam (on love, fatherhood, and basketball)

I'm not alone. The majority of children are still being born to men who are 20 to 34, according to the National Center for Health Statistics, but birthrates for fathers aged 45 to 49 are up some 21 percent during the past decade. Not that I need numbers. I can walk out my door in Park Slope, Brooklyn, and stumble over plenty of high-end strollers wheeled by guys my age . The coverage on us older dads ranges from inspiring to worrisome. Senator Chris Dodd, who, at 66, has two grade-school-aged children, told the Associated Press that his kids inspired him to write the Family and Medical Leave Act, start the Children's Caucus, and get involved with Head Start. Wow. Then again, he's retiring. But an Australian medical team reported that kids born to older men underperformed on intelligence and cognitive tests from infancy to seven years of age. Ouch.

"Becoming a dad later in life presents advantages and challenges," wrote Dr. Ken Canfield, author of The Seven Secrets of Effective Fathers, at the Fathers.com website. "The advantages: fathers who are older typically have more leisure time, more financial resources, and seem to be more thoughtful and proactive in their family commitment simply because they are settled in their careers."

Really, Ken? Um, Sam's dad is a freelance writer.

"On the challenging side," he explained, "older fathers are faced with declining energy and a sense that their mortality is much nearer. They are cognizant of the limited amount of time they have, and are conscious of how they could be mistaken as their child's grandfather."

Here Ken nailed my darkest fear, which goes something like this: In the schoolyard with Sam. I hoist up a jumper; it hits. Some 20-year-old in too-long shorts shouts, "Nice one, grandpa."

Physical condition aside, I'll explain to Sam the shared values I've absorbed as both hoops student and jazz critic: the marriage of form and improvisation; the blend of personal creativity with collective achievement; and the primacy of rhythm (watch how players dribble before taking foul shots). And I've got oddball inside information, like how Kareem Abdul-Jabbar likens the '85 Lakers to Miles Davis's mid-Sixties quintet, with himself as bassist Ron Carter--"only taking more solos."

Mostly I can offer him basketball as the near-perfect metaphor for pretty much anything life throws at you-except aging. And there's a selfish impulse too: While there was still courtship in the air, Sam's mom could be coaxed into chasing down rebounds and passing the ball out for catch-and-shoot drills. That went out with dirty diapers. Sam's my man now--if I can still leave the ground, that is. But it's not about me. It's about Sam, and my desire to share with him the pure joy that is hoops. I want him to know me as I am on the court and to discover who he can be there too. I'm willing to sweat for it. I've got no choice. He's 1; I'm 48.

This much I owe the boy, and the game, I love.