Until he met his wife, Trumbo, a sports instructor, had spent time with kids and liked them but rarely thought of having any. Now he looks forward to teaching his son what he's taught so many others.
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While it's true that the risk of Down syndrome at age 35 is 1 in 400, compared with about 1 in 1,000 for mothers who are 30, most parents would still take those odds, and at least the numbers are well researched and reliable. We're only beginning to fathom the risks associated with aged sperm. As the database gets larger, the word should spread more widely. "I think there's going to be a sense of vindication," says Gorman Newman. Indeed, the entire valence of who's to blame for age-related baby problems could shift. Molecular geneticist Joseph Buxbaum, the director of the Seaver Autism Center at Mount Sinai School of Medicine in New York City, puts things flatly: "It's quite clear that older parents are associated with increased numbers of mutations, and it's mostly the dad."
Gone Too Soon
The problems old dads bring to the table go beyond the genetic. There's something to be said for a father with the stamina to keep up with a child. There's something to be said for a father who looks like all the other dads. And there's certainly something to be said for a dad who'll be alive as his kids launch themselves into the world. "Even if you're Paul McCartney's child, you get ripped off if your father dies when you're in your early 20s," says Julianne Zweifel, a clinical professor of obstetrics and gynecology at the University of Wisconsin.
A child's mind is not well suited to sorting this out. Kids like uniformity in all things, and when it comes to age, that means everyone belongs in one of three silos: kids, adults and old people. When those boundaries blur, it can lead to anxiety--something I've observed often.
There aren't a lot of gray hairs among the fathers in my daughters' play groups except mine. And there aren't many other fathers who sometimes must explain to strangers what their relationship to their kids is. "You're the dad?" a child asked me once when I went to pick up my kids at school. I found that funny, sort of, but my girls didn't. In our case, things are complicated by the fact that my daughters are half Mexican and have always called me Papi, which is understood for what it means south of the border but sounds awfully grandfatherly to American ears--perhaps explaining why both girls sometimes lobby to switch to an unambiguous Dad.
"I think some kids don't come to terms with this," says Zweifel. While Seishi Yoda's swimming regimen or my trips to the salon might help a little, they don't change the essential arithmetic. "When kids see parents going out for a run, they can reassure themselves that everything's O.K. But in the end, 60 is still 60."
The larger question, the when-will-Dad-die question, is even tougher. Younger parents cope with growing old by setting a goal--seeing their grandchildren grow up, say. Older parents do the same; they just aim lower. "I want to be healthy when my second daughter turns 20," says Yoda. "My dream is to dance with my daughters at their weddings."
Here too, children can't rationalize things so easily. Instead they go for reassurance. When my 10-year-old saw Dr. Oz on TV describing the body's biological age--which, as opposed to its calendrical age, is determined in part by fitness--she seized on it like a lifeline. "So your body thinks you're 29, right?" she asked me immediately. Yes, I lied, it does.