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All My Sons and Daughters...
Sep. 29th, 2004 10:04 pmI was most interested to read clarisinda's recent thoughts on the subject of children, and was moved to add one or two of my own.
I too have no especial desire to inflict miniature versions of myself, or part of myself on the world. And, frankly, I like to have some degree of control over my life.
For example, I was shopping in Iceland yesterday (I know - have no shame...), and a family came in behind me - parents, a five year old (ish), and a baby. The five-year-old immediately started shouting "I WANNA LOL-LY! I WANNA LOL-LY!" at full volume - I kept passing them in the store, and she would still be screaming about things she wanted, didn't want, or might want if they were suitably expensive and bad enough for her.
This was 10:30am on a unday morning, and in all likelihood the parents had altready had two hours of it - judging by the fact they were describing her as "a little fucker" at the checkout, that's a conservative estimate. My Sunday morning to that point had consisted of getting up, having a shower, watching an episode of Black books, and going for a walk. With all due respect to the earth mothers in the audience, I rather preferred my life.
The thing about having kids, as far as I can tell, is that the benfits are all intangible, but the costs are tangible - yes, there is magic in their first words, first steps, innocent cherubic smile, and even I am occasionally aware of that. But it just seems to me that those moments of wonder are islands in a long period of having no control over your life, no money, little sleep, and (from the parents I tend to hear about the place) a constant headache...
The trouble is, I don't actually like children very much. If you ever want to see me at my most irritable, travel with me by train when a party of schoolchildren get on my carriage, or a baby starts testing the echo. The thing that baffles me is this assumption by many people that, because I don't like kids, I must be totally devoid of the capability for fun or enjoyment. I'm sorry, but good comedy, good music, good food, talking to mates down the pub - these things are fun and enjoyable. Being shouted at for three hours straight by a purple-faced midget Edwina Currie in pink shoes who can't have an extra toy - no, that's not fun to me. And "the most beautiful sound in the world is a baby crying"? Have you ever tried actually sitting down with two tapes, and comparing it to, say, a Brandenburg Concerto?
If people want to have kids - fine. Enjoy the experience, if that's what you want. But they do scream for hours at a time, they do eat most of your disposable income, and they won't do what you tell them half the time - that is wonderful as well as terrible, but just because they don't do it in the brochure, that don't mean they won#'t do it in real life.
And (and this is the one that gets me some filthy looks from parents) there is responsibility needed for the way children interact with the rest of the world, just as there is with anything else. ither that responsibility rests with the child, or it rests with the parents. Just because we're dealing with a child, rather than a dog or a Discman, there is no "get out of anti-social behaviour free" card. I was once on a packed train out of London, and a couple of seats away from me were parents with their toddler. And what had they brought for this toddler to amuse herself for four hours? A glockenspiel. After about half an hour of eardrum-battering, I got up and (as pleasantly as I could, given I by that time had a pounding headache) asked whether they might find something quieter for the child to play with. I got a look that would have curdled milk, and the snapped phrase "maybe if you had children, you'd understand". Maybe - however, I don't, and in the meantime, I'm a paid-up member of society too, with just as much right to enjoy it as you and your bundle of joy.
I can more or less see the point (and I'm talking to the men here) of giving ocver your freedom of action to a person for love, whom you can (usually) have a sensible and enjoyable conversation with, but giving it to a tiny demon with the lungs of an elephant just ain't me.
Sorry.
[And yes, before you ask, my mother has done the whole "are you gay?" thing...]
I too have no especial desire to inflict miniature versions of myself, or part of myself on the world. And, frankly, I like to have some degree of control over my life.
For example, I was shopping in Iceland yesterday (I know - have no shame...), and a family came in behind me - parents, a five year old (ish), and a baby. The five-year-old immediately started shouting "I WANNA LOL-LY! I WANNA LOL-LY!" at full volume - I kept passing them in the store, and she would still be screaming about things she wanted, didn't want, or might want if they were suitably expensive and bad enough for her.
This was 10:30am on a unday morning, and in all likelihood the parents had altready had two hours of it - judging by the fact they were describing her as "a little fucker" at the checkout, that's a conservative estimate. My Sunday morning to that point had consisted of getting up, having a shower, watching an episode of Black books, and going for a walk. With all due respect to the earth mothers in the audience, I rather preferred my life.
The thing about having kids, as far as I can tell, is that the benfits are all intangible, but the costs are tangible - yes, there is magic in their first words, first steps, innocent cherubic smile, and even I am occasionally aware of that. But it just seems to me that those moments of wonder are islands in a long period of having no control over your life, no money, little sleep, and (from the parents I tend to hear about the place) a constant headache...
The trouble is, I don't actually like children very much. If you ever want to see me at my most irritable, travel with me by train when a party of schoolchildren get on my carriage, or a baby starts testing the echo. The thing that baffles me is this assumption by many people that, because I don't like kids, I must be totally devoid of the capability for fun or enjoyment. I'm sorry, but good comedy, good music, good food, talking to mates down the pub - these things are fun and enjoyable. Being shouted at for three hours straight by a purple-faced midget Edwina Currie in pink shoes who can't have an extra toy - no, that's not fun to me. And "the most beautiful sound in the world is a baby crying"? Have you ever tried actually sitting down with two tapes, and comparing it to, say, a Brandenburg Concerto?
If people want to have kids - fine. Enjoy the experience, if that's what you want. But they do scream for hours at a time, they do eat most of your disposable income, and they won't do what you tell them half the time - that is wonderful as well as terrible, but just because they don't do it in the brochure, that don't mean they won#'t do it in real life.
And (and this is the one that gets me some filthy looks from parents) there is responsibility needed for the way children interact with the rest of the world, just as there is with anything else. ither that responsibility rests with the child, or it rests with the parents. Just because we're dealing with a child, rather than a dog or a Discman, there is no "get out of anti-social behaviour free" card. I was once on a packed train out of London, and a couple of seats away from me were parents with their toddler. And what had they brought for this toddler to amuse herself for four hours? A glockenspiel. After about half an hour of eardrum-battering, I got up and (as pleasantly as I could, given I by that time had a pounding headache) asked whether they might find something quieter for the child to play with. I got a look that would have curdled milk, and the snapped phrase "maybe if you had children, you'd understand". Maybe - however, I don't, and in the meantime, I'm a paid-up member of society too, with just as much right to enjoy it as you and your bundle of joy.
I can more or less see the point (and I'm talking to the men here) of giving ocver your freedom of action to a person for love, whom you can (usually) have a sensible and enjoyable conversation with, but giving it to a tiny demon with the lungs of an elephant just ain't me.
Sorry.
[And yes, before you ask, my mother has done the whole "are you gay?" thing...]
