Nigeria, Feb. 28 -- Dear Son,

In a few short weeks, you will turn eighteen. The law will call you a man. The world will test whether you are one.

I still remember the first time I held you. You were small enough to fit along my forearm, your entire existence contained in something so fragile it terrified me. I had treated critically ill patients, made life-and-death decisions in sterile hospital rooms, but nothing had prepared me for the weight of you. Responsibility stopped being abstract that day. It had your face.

Thank you son. Thank you for choosing me by simply arriving. You did not select your father, yet you shaped him. The sleepless nights, the parent-teacher meetings, the silent car rides after difficult conversations, the ar...