Wednesday, June 12, 1968. 9:58 PM.
Hill Valley Community Hospital, Maternity Wing.

Clomp, clomp, clomp, clomp...worn black Oxfords trod about the room in an oval, bypassing the thin stack of magazines and the lines of hard chairs butted up against all four walls. Every chair was empty. The room itself was dead silent but for the ticking of a plain white wall clock and the incessant clomp of the shoes of the single father-to-be.

He had paced in the same unending circle for nearly five hours, sated only by the occasional sip of water from the cooler in the corner. Every inch of the man fit perfectly into the 'nervous new father' stereotype. From his mussed, oily hair, to the starched white shirt half-untucked, to the ragged ends of his fingernails chewed down to the base, thirty year old George Douglas McFly was a perfect bundle of nerves. No one could have guessed he'd gone through this routine twice before.

George had never expected to go from nerdy high-schooler to the husband of one of the prettiest girls in school. Often he wondered why Lorraine Baines had ever picked him, of all people to settle down with. Often times he actually found himself thankful for his near-death experience at the hands of her father. Had he not been hit, he probably would have grown into a recluse writing sci-fi in his parents' basement. Now, here he was, a father of two with the third well on his way...or her way.

George's attitude toward children had always been ambiguous. Lorraine had wanted them, of course, and George was never one to argue the point. So, the children came.

David came first in 1963. George had been even worse at his birth, and wasn't much better after the baby came home. He was too frightened to even hold his son for the first six months, let alone do anything else with him except play on the floor with the little boy. Thankfully David proved to be a very happy-go-lucky little guy and seemed to think his fathers' clumsy attempts to dress or feed him were something to giggle at. Given this, George had not objected the news of a second child.

It was a girl next, Linda, in 1965. She was the polar opposite of her brother and had a tendency to cry at every little thing. There was a brief period of relief once she had learned to crawl, but then she had hit the 'Terrible Twos'. Anything could set her off, and George found himself staying later and later at his musty little office just to get home after Linda had gone to bed. He felt bad for Lorraine and knew his wife was aggravated, but he honestly didn't know what else to do.

The news of a third child had thrown George into a state of shock. He and Lorraine had not been trying for a third and in fact had discussed stopping at two...actually, Lorraine had brought it up and George meekly listened. Every time the conversation had ended with Lorraine throwing her hands into the air in despair and leaving.

Over the past nine months George had grown resigned and even somewhat happy about the event. His hope was that it would be another boy. Boys, to his way of thinking, were far easier to handle than girls. Another docile baby boy might boost his confidence again. Thankfully both David and Linda were staying with their maternal grandparents and so would not have to be worried about until later.

Presently George stopped pacing to regard the clock again. 10:00 PM. He sighed and shook his head. He wondering how much longer it would be. Lorraine had had David in ten hours and Linda in only eight hours...if it followed the pattern, the next child should arrive in six hours...and it had already been seven and a half hours since she had first reported contractions. He worried that there might be something wrong, that Lorraine might be having trouble, that there was something wrong with the baby. "God, let them be OK," he whispered under his breath. He had been raised more or less Catholic but didn't often pray unless he was under a lot of stress. This certainly qualified.

The soft footsteps of a white-garbed nurse went unnoticed until she stood in the doorway. George didn't even know she was there until she spoke. "Mr. McFly?"

"Wha-?" George jumped about a foot in the air and spun around, startled.

The nurse stepped backwards and blinked in surprise. "Ah...I just wanted to give you an update on your wife." She spoke cautiously, as if unsure how to deal with this frightened man.

George's eyes widened and he took a large step forward. "Who? Oh! Lorraine! Yes! Is she all right? Is anything wrong? How's the...uh...the baby?"

The nurse sighed looking as if her patience was nearly gone. "Mrs. McFly is fine. She just had the baby."

"Oh!" George checked his watch. "Uh...that's...that's good. How is he...she...erm...it...?"

"It's a boy, sir."

"Oh!" George's expression loosened and let out a little sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God," he muttered under his breath. "Then how is he?"

"He's fine." The nurse rolled her eyes in exasperation at this impossible man. "Do you want to see him?"

George's nerves came back and he stiffened. "Uh...yeah...sure."

The nurse nodded. "Follow me."

The nursery was fairly small, but had a line of windows in the side for friends and family to see their newcomers. George was unconsciously tucking in his shirt and combing his hair. He was always nervous when meeting new people, and his infant son was no exception. The nagging worry that the baby might not like him kept returning. To his annoyance the nurse left him at the window without pointing out which squirming, swaddled baby was his. It took him some time to regain his senses and search for the 'McFly' nametag on the bassinet.

There it was. George pressed his nose against the glass to get a closer look.

Little Baby McFly had just been put in his bassinet and lay squirming about and squinting at the new world, as if unsure what to make of it. Under the blankets it was hard to tell what he looked like.

George's enthusiasm rose upon seeing how quiet the baby looked and tapped on the glass to get the attention of the nurse within. While he flinched a little upon seeing her stern face, he was determined to see his son close up. He pointed out the infant and mouthed his last name. The nurse understood and lifted the baby up, bringing him to the glass.

The baby, while clearly agitated at being taken out of his crib, settled down quickly and seemed to turn his little head toward the window. He had bright blue eyes and fine, dark hair. If his eyes did not change he would be the first McFly to have blue eyes. He stared intently at his father for a long while before letting out a yawn. At that, the nurse whisked the baby away and set him back in his crib with a warm blanket. The groggy baby yawned.

A crooked smile worked its way across George's harried features. Oh, good. Another easy one. He let out another sigh of relief, shyly waved to the baby, then turned about to look for another nurse to find out when he could see his wife.

Lorraine was half-asleep herself when George saw her next, as she had been knocked out during the delivery. She asked questions about the baby almost nonstop until she was satisfied that he was all right, and reluctantly settled in to wait for the baby to be brought back to her for feeding.

"You know, George, we never discussed a name," said Lorraine with a frown.

"Oh. Yeah." George 'turned turtle' and hunched his shoulders. "I'm sorry."

"Well, now's as good a time as any," sighed Lorraine with another yawn. "You have any ideas?"

"Who, me?" George paled at the prospect. "I...I know...whatever you want, dear."

"Oh no, you don't. I named the other two by myself. You're not getting away with it this time." Lorraine frowned. She was still groggy, but her firmness had not waned in the least. Lorraine could be assertive when given the chance, especially when it came to her children. It was what George most admired about her.

George shrank back. "Um..."

Lorraine shook her head. "Don't you 'um' me again. Now take an active role and be a father, for once."

Ouch. George cringed, but knew better than to press the matter. "Okay. Let's see. Um...Arthur, after my father?"

The not-quite-young woman frowned. "No...it sounds too old. No one names their son Arthur anymore."

George bit his lip. "How about Sam, after your father?"

Lorraine rolled her eyes. "Oh, Dad would love that. No, that won't work either."

The poor George racked his brain for another family name. He couldn't just pull one out of thin air..."Uh...um...er...Marvin?"

His wife made a face. "'Marvin'? No, then he'll be teased for having a nerdy name."

"Good point." The last thing George wanted was for his son to go through the same agony of name-calling that he had. "What about Martin?"

"Martin?" Lorraine grew thoughtful. "Martin McFly...well, it's better than Marvin. And we could always call him Marty for short."

"Right." George nodded, eager to move on. "So, you like it?"

"I do. Now how about a middle name?"

"Middle name?"

"George..."

"Ok, ok!" George once more searched his head for another family name. One suddenly came to him. "Seamus."

Lorraine tilted her head to the side. "That's a little unusual."

George shrugged. "I know. It's Irish. That was the name of my great-grandfather who came to Hill Valley in the 1800s. I'm sorry, I'll pick something else-"

"No," said Lorraine quickly. She was very tired and wanted the baby's birth certificate signed before the night was out...and the name was rather pleasant to the ears. "Martin Seamus McFly...all right. Let's go with that."

"You like it?"

"I like it."

George all but collapsed with relief now that the frightening task was over. "Oh, good. So, Martin Seamus McFly it is." He gave his wife a little peck on the cheek. "Get some rest."

A nurse passing in the hall stopped to listen to the conversation and frowned at the moniker the parents had chosen to saddle their baby with. Martin Seamus? The woman shuddered, shook her head, and walked on to finish her rounds. Well, there's no accounting for taste, I suppose.