He was no more than 30 seconds old, first placed on my wife’s chest and then into my arms. Perhaps it was the combination of nervous anxiety and exhaustion but, as his limbs scratched furiously at the air, I began to sing him a song. And it was the first thing that popped into my head: “Blue is the colour, football is the game, we’re all together, and winning is our aim … ” The anaesthetist laughed. He too was a Chelsea fan.
My son was born at 4.04pm on Monday at St Thomas’ hospital, Waterloo. It was half in jest, but even before he had a name he was claimed as a blue. And perhaps it was because of the comically out-of-place articulation of this imputed identity that I became alert to all the other identities that were about to be loaded on him. As he lay in my arms, as yet unnamed, I entertained the passing thought that this was the only moment in this new life’s entire existence that he would be genuinely passport-less, religion-less, unaligned. Soon he would be given a wristband with a number. And then there would be the initiation ceremonies of religion. And later still he would be registered with the state authorities.
Which passport will he take up? He is entitled to the British, Polish and Israeli nationalities. What language will he speak with his mum? Within days, his place in the order of things will be determined. And much of his perspective on life and his prospects will have been shaped. Yet as I sang him that silly song, I was overtaken by a powerful sense of the arbitrariness of the identities in which he was being clothed.
Perhaps the song should have been John Lennon’s call to imagine a “brotherhood of man” – imagine no religion, no possessions, and no country “to live or die for”. Later in the night I woke up worrying that my beautiful new boy will one day be obliged to undertake military service and to sustain the occupation of Palestine. These were night worries, of course. But our imputed identity is precisely that from which most tribal division grows; be it national, religious, footballing (especially footballing). To be one thing is to not be another.
Yet despite my night fears, I reject Lennon’s fantasy of a life without allegiance. We are all born into a network of significance, children of particular people with particular stories. My new son is Louie Emmanuel, referencing various ancestors and both the Old and New Testaments (Emmanuel, or “God is with us”, is taken from the books of Isaiah and Matthew).
This is precisely why my initial and emotional instinct was mistaken: there is nothing arbitrary about the identities in which he was being clothed. Louie has an inheritance that exists irrespective of the choices that he will one day make for himself.
Like the rest of us, the cultural grammar of his life is largely a given. It may not have come down the birth canal, but it is something into which he has been born and in which he will be loved and nurtured. It could not be otherwise. It would, for example, be patently absurd to decide not to teach him a language until he was 18 when he could then choose for himself.
Yet, of course, whether he speaks English or Hebrew at home is a huge deal and will massively shape his adult worldview. Likewise, I believe it would be just as absurd to wait until he is an adult – when, as they say, he can choose for himself – before he is initiated into a whole range of other commitments, from faith to football.
Now, please, God, don’t ever let him become a Manchester United fan. OK, eventually he can decide for himself and, if he wants, change his allegiance. So too with religion and even (in his case) nationality. But all this notwithstanding, his inheritance is indelible. While we may talk a lot about the value of choice, much of what we stand for is given to us before we have ever thought about it. And it couldn’t be otherwise.
