Children begin by loving their parents; after a time they judge them; rarely, if ever, do they forgive them. – Oscar Wilde
For as long I can remember having children was something I’ve never really wanted. The snotty noses, sticky hands and the dreaded teenage years. But since turning 18 last year my opinion has suddenly changed. And I don’t know why.
The fears are still there about someone else’s life being in my hands because I have hardly been the most responsible person out there. I miss collage for varied and often stupid reason – going to ikea, wanting to bake a cake and my dog looking lonely to name a few. Which brings the question would be a good parent? Could I care for a life that depends on me? How would they turn out? Which ultimately the biggest and scariest question because ultimately it is we who influence and craft our children.
These fears grace my mind as I think about settling down, but my broody-ness and want for child prevails. The knowing that as I lie frail and dying in a bed surrounded by my children is something that is both comforting and surreal. Being gay I didn’t really think that having a family would be a possibility due to the discrimination that my child might face at school for having a gay dad. I never felt it would be fair to bring a child up in such a way. But with all the recent movement toward equality, my eyes have been opened. The world is a much more tolerant place than previously thought, the mass desire for the equality for gay marriage shows how advance we have become over the last couple of years and brings back faith in an offer cruel humanity. And with that my quest for a son and/or daughter continues…