Do you want to have kids?
It’s a question that at some point in our lives we’ll be asked, and inevitably a reality that we’ll have to face.
For the most part, each of us is by-product of a male and female consummating. I naively assume that two people in love came together in a high moment of passion and love, and touched heaven as they created life. But, that was just a poem I wrote some years ago. Truth be told, there are single parents, petri dishes, and sperm banks, that all yield the same result. A child is born. Life goes on.
It’s not secret that unhindered sex creates life, but people still use it in such a casual manner. It reminds me of an atomic bomb. You press the button and act surprised when an entire country is destroyed. Except sex involves a series of sensual buttons, that leads to an explosion that is not as atomic. I guess some people are as oblivious to the ramifications of sexual intercourse, as I am with the hope that everyone finds a significant other.
But again, whether it is love, lust or an accident; A child is born. Life goes on.
It may seem funny, but I was once a fetus. I didn’t always have great side burns and pulsating biceps. I used to wet the bed every night, and managed to live off of the sugar in Ninja Turtles cereal.
I’ve always said that I hate kids. They’re loud, and they poop everywhere. I held this view until I saw myself in a boy I know. I’ll see him scurrying along with a head too big for his body, and see little Bradley Matthew who loved to read Roald Dahl books. I even see the characteristics of the type of kid I want in others. It’s a bit profound but I know some girls that remind me of my daughter. One in particular runs to hug me at church, and I can see myself having a conversation with my daughter about space and dimensions.
One thing I will say about getting older is that I don’t think people ever change. They just mature. The mistakes I’ve made, and the things I’ve said have come and gone, but the hints of who I am now were seen when I was a boy. I used to write in my journal about how I hated April Fool’s day, and now you’re reading my column. To this day I still hate raw tomatoes, am incapable of swallowing pills and think that “penis” is a funny but necessary word.
Innocence and maturity distinguishes between youth and age. You try to hold on to one as you gain the other, but it seems like the maturity gained comes with loss of innocence through experience. The untainted aura of a youth is something to be admired, and their vivacity makes them a gift that keeps on giving.