Dear People with Children,
I hope you had a great holiday weekend, and that you gave your kids books and note pads for Christmas. Yes, that's right, I am one of those lame book-giving uncles your kids hate. What, you didn't know I was an uncle? Actually, I do have two nephews (one related by blood--Mini-me as I call him; and one by osmosis), and one bratty, hateful, ingrate of a niece (she's definitely by osmosis).
Let me tell you about Mini-me! In 2004, my only sister (related by blood) had her first child. I was ecstatic for her, and slowly began to adjust to the fact that I have become an uncle. I was very excited, but also relieved because, while I love my sister, and by extension, love my nephew, I was 8000 miles away, with no possibility of really influencing this kid's life in any way shape or form.
As fate would have it, I got the opportunity to meet my nephew a year later while in Europe for summer school. My family took the opportunity of my relative close proximity to Egypt to fly to Paris and meet me there. My mother, father, sister, brother-in-law, and nephew all made the trek to Paris to spend a week with me. I not only got to see my family for the first time in five years, but also experience Paris by stroller, which for me was excruciatingly aggravating.
My nephew, for all intents and purposes, was the miniature version of me. He bore absolutely no resemblance whatsoever to his father. His mannerism was me, his temperament was me, his look, his hair, his laugh, his cry...everything about him was an eerily miniaturized version of myself. I saw right in front of me the genetic interpretation of the old Egyptian proverb, "boys take after their uncles."
Now, I imagine most uncles would actually like that, and take the opportunity to dode over their mini-me's and step into the role of a surrogate parent. I, on the other hand, was terrified of the responsibility, and wanted nothing to do with it. There I was staring smack-dab in the face of my potential redo. He was the remake, the rematch, the do-over, and I wanted nothing to do with him. I spent most of my adulthood trying to erase and restructure all my parent's fuck ups that have been embedded over the past two decades under my skin, behind my eyes, zipping like lightening bolts through my neurons, that I wanted no hand in Project Nephew with all it's potential liabilities and almost certain screw ups. I did not want to be a parent, and I most certainly did not want to be an uncle.
I remember vividly sitting on a bus in Paris with my mother, and looking at my sister holding her son who was cranky and tired from all the site seeing he was still too young to appreciate. My mother, after berating me about my smoking habit, looked at my nephew and asked "don't you want one of your own?" I looked at her with the horror generally reserved for seeing the walking dead getting ready to tear me limb from limb and shook my head. Undeterred, she said, "imagine having your own child to raise, to share your legacy, and your experience." Horrified, I said, "Absolutely not! I have nothing I want to share with a child, and I have no 'legacy' to hand down." I can tell my mother was disappointed, but I don't think what I said registered with her. I can just hear her brain going "does not compute...does not compute..." I had spent the past five years running away from my father's so-called legacy, and refusing to get sucked into his shadow, that I could not imagine inflicting that same kind of fate on someone else.
It could be cultural, or it could just be human, but I seem to evoke feeling of confusion and unease when I tell people I do not want kids. It happened the other day during a work social. I told my coworker that I have no desire to have kids; that the sheer responsibility and self sacrifice needed to have a child is terrifying to me. What I was thinking--and not vocalizing, was that my parents fucked me up enough as it is, I can't bear the responsibility of passing down some of the issues I inherited from them to a hapless child. I don't think I have an ounce of paternal, or maternal instinct in my body. I traded the parental gene for the gay gene back in the zygote stage...good riddance too.
Speaking of genes, a few weeks ago I was talking to my sister and I learned that there is perhaps more truth to that old Egyptian proverb than I feared. Apparently my 6 year old nephew likes to play soccer. However, he likes the sport, not for the sport itself, but for the shoes. He joined a soccer team because he likes the shoes!! I repeat, my nephew joined a sports team because he likes their footwear. If that still didn't register, then consider the fact that he also took up horseback riding because he likes the way the equestrian boots, and the helmet look on him! This is not to mention that he loves costume parties, and going shopping for clothes. So, while I am not exactly stereotyping, I kind of am. I am stereotyping myself and how my six year old nephew is taking after his uncle who is 8000 miles away. I wonder what will happen when he turns 12, 16, 18, 21....would this be my so called legacy?
So, where am I going with this? Short answer is, I am terrified of children. They are filled with so much hope and promise that I am afraid to fuck them up. This is of course aside from the fact that they are vile little creatures that nag, cry, want and want and want, talk back, and feel they are entitled to every ounce of your attention and have the rights to your very soul.
If there is anything in the world I am sure of, it is that I would make an absolutely horrible parent. This feeling is compounded by the fact that my own dogs prefer the company of my partner than they do me. They follow him everywhere like a shadow and run away from me (one of them leaving a trail of pee in her wake) when I call them. I shudder to think what I would do to a human being.
So, consider yourself warned children lovers!! Hide your children when you see me walking down the street. Don't crowd me with your strollers, or shove pictures of your children in my face. Don't send me Christmas cards with your smiling little monsters wearing bright sweaters under the tree; and don't assume that I will eventually "grow" into my paternal-hood.
I wish you the best in your parental endeavours.
Yours Truly,
Uncle Akmuk
