Maybe You Never Cry Again by Bernie Mac Page B

preppin’ her and whatnot, and the doctor took me over and pointed me in the right direction.
    â€œSomething hairy down there!” he said.
    I looked. I wasn’t sure I wanted to look, but I looked. And sure enough, some little hairy head was kinda pokin’ out of there.
    Rhonda was really screaming now. But not for long. Next thing I knew, doctor was sayin’, “Rhonda, Mr. Mac—you got yourself a baby girl!”
    I was like, wow—a baby girl! But I was keeping the emotions inside, like I’d been taught my whole life. Rhonda was different, though. She was crying a river and laughing all at the same time. I was holding her hand and watching as they cleaned up that little mess and weighed her.
    â€œSeven and a half pounds!” the nurse said. “This is a solid, healthy girl. Congratulations.”
    The nurse brought her over and put her in my hands—she looked tiny to me—but Rhonda was already hollering for herbaby. “Let me hold her! Give me my little girl!” So I handed her over and Rhonda started crying and wailing louder than ever.
    I took a closer look at that little baby girl. She had my eyes—I felt like I was looking into my own eyes—but she had a lot of Rhonda in her, too.
    â€œAin’t she beautiful?” Rhonda said.
    â€œI never seen a baby more beautiful,” I said.
    â€œMr. Mac,” the doctor said, “we’ll take it from here. Your wife needs her rest. You go home and get some rest, too, and come back first thing in the morning.”
    So I went home and picked up the phone and called my buddies.
    â€œGuess what today is? January twenty-first, 1978. It’s my daughter’s birthday. My little girl, Je’Niece. Come on over. There’s a party at the Macs’, and it starts as soon as you get here.”
    Then I called the family. I called my grandma and told her I had a baby girl. I called Rhonda’s mother, Mary, and told her she was a grandmother all over again.
    And then the boys came over and we drank a lot of beer. Billy Staples, my main man; Morris Allen, on his way to being a stockbroker; and a friend who’d been working at Dock’s Fish Fry since high school—I’ll call him Kevin Carter, though that’s not the brother’s name.
    â€œMac Daddy!” they got to calling me. And it seemed like every time someone called me that, I had to pop a fresh beer.
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    Next morning, I realized they must have called me Mac Daddy a lot of times, because my head was really throbbing. I went downstairs and found Billy on the couch and Morris passed out on the floor. The place was a mess. I didn’t even know where to begin.
    I stepped over Morris’s body and went into the kitchen and called Rhonda at the hospital to see how she was doing. “I’ll be over soon,” I said. “I don’t have to be at GM till late.”
    And she said, “Make sure you clean up!” That woman! You couldn’t put nothin’ past her.
    So I woke the boys and they helped me clean up and went on their way, and before I left I put the little crib together and made sure I’d done it right.
    I got to the hospital to find Rhonda glowing, our little girl in her arms. I’d never seen such a beautiful woman and such a beautiful baby. You think I’m being sentimental, but it’s the truth. I took them home and got them situated and kissed them both good-bye and went to work.
    I was proud. My grandfather shook my hand and went around telling everyone, “My boy had himself a daughter!”
    Later that night, he even let me use the phone at work to call Rhonda. He was a by-the-book guy, and we weren’t allowed to use the phones, but he made an exception this once.
    I asked Rhonda how she was, and how the baby was doing. “Fine,” she said. “We’re both fine.” She had this businesslike tone of voice. “I want you to stop by Leon’s Barbecue