A child becomes an adult when he realizes that he has a right not only to be right but also to be wrong.
Unlike the vast majority of people, I knew early on that I didn’t want to have children. I can’t really tell you why I was so convinced of that so early in life, but I have a feeling that it had a lot to do with the family I grew up in, which was about as quietly and yet thoroughly dysfunctional as is possible in an intact family.
I think that more than anything, I was scared of turning into my father. Generally speaking, Dad really is a good person, but he ruled his castle by instilling the fear of physical violence in all of his sons, of which I was the oldest. To say that I resented being raise in an environment in which fear was a primary motivator would be an understatement. Being one who has always valued reason and intellect, all I ever wanted was for things to be explained to me in a way that made sense. I didn’t set out to be rebellious, but I ended up that way when my father stuck to his “my way or the highway” philosophy at the expense of talking to his oldest son. Instead, I lived in fear that my father would take take off his belt and tell me to drop my pants and bend over. Despite the homerotic overtones of that last sentence, what actually took place was my father beating my bare butt with his belt. Yes, he did it because I’d done something wrong; I get that. What I resented then, and apparently still resent today, was that fear and violence were employed as primary methods of both motivation and behavior modification.
I suppose that’s why I decided that if that was the only way to raise a child then I wanted no part of it. I would ensure that I didn’t become my father by vowing never to become one myself. In the end, that decision turned out to be the equivalent of dousing a candle with a fire hose, but I can say that I’ve never beaten a child- because I’ve never had any. It may have been an overreaction, but it did work.
I’ve always wondered what kind of a father I would have been. I suppose I’ll never know the answer because, at 47, it’s rather late to start down that path. What I’m left with are the questions and the answers that will never come. I’ve always believed that life is about decisions and consequences. Everything we do in life results from a decision made and the consequences that flow from it. The vast majority of decisions are exceedingly minor- Paper or plastic? Regular or decaf? Chocolate or vanlla? Some decisions we don’t even recognize as such, but whether life-changing or not, our journey through life is based on the decisions we make and the consequences they create.
My decision not to have children has certainly had consequences. I will never know the pride and joy of watching a child grow up, graduate from college, get married, and perhaps even start a family of their own. I’ve always joked that I had all my children vicariously, but accompanying that joke has always been an unspoked whisper of “What if…?”
I don’t regret my decision to not have children, because it was made based on the only information I had available- my father and his fear-based parenting philosophy. Sure, I could have changed my mind once I left home and realized that being a parent didn’t have to mean ruling through fear, intimidation, and the threat of physical violence. By the time I reached adulthood, though, my antipathy toward the prospect of my own potential parenthood was strong and unwavering. Now I find myself wondering what might have been. Could I have been a good father? Would I have been? Or would I have turned into my father?
I’ll never know, of course, and I will take that question to my grave unanswered. I suppose some questions simply aren’t meant to be answered, eh?
