Moot

Parent Teacher Conferences always get me thinking. And, as you have come to know, thinking for me is not always a good thing. Having parents come in who struggle so much with their hostile/angry child. Grandparents that are forced to raise their grandchild who rages against them. Parents who don’t give a shit and either only show up once a year or don’t bother at all. Adoptive parents still living in shock and anguish that the sweet baby they took into their hearts and home had such hidden and covert ‘illnesses’ within them, waiting to blossom.
When I was younger, I literally wanted seven or so children. I was going to adopt and take in trouble children and teens and raise them as my own. After working with the kids I work with and realizing that to some extent every parent fucks up their kid, I decided I never would have children. As in all things, I have finally swung to the middle. I want to two children, biological (not adopted)—of course, I have the specific details of that mapped out, but we don’t need to get into that right now. Having Gavin in my life has only confirmed that intense desire and also taken away my fear that I wouldn’t be a good parent. Of course, I would still fuck up my kid (I’d still be a parent and they’d still be a kid—it’s in the recipe), but I know I’d be a pretty fantastic dad/mom. Of course, the only way I would do this would to be married to someone who wants kids too. If the right one came along (or came back [bwaa haaaaa haaaaa!}) and didn’t want children, it would hurt some, but I would let that desire go—however, I do not plan on having children on my own. The desire and the confirmation of what I feel like I could handle (with the exception of the financial burden) only serves to make me feel old. Let’s say the man I marry shows up in the next year (or returns [insert afore demonstrated hysterical, cynical, bitter, fucking devastated and pissed off laughter]), there would need to be a couple years of dating and then a couple years of married life before kids—ideally. That would put me at thirty-seven when the first baby is conceived and then probably forty when the second one was. My kids graduate high school a few years before I collect social security. Then let’s say they have kids in their mid twenties or early thirties. I’d be nearing eighty, so my grandkids would either have and old senile fag for a grandfather or a dead one (my family tends to die way before we get to eighty). And, of course, this is all best case scenario (no really, it is) as we all know how close I am to finding the right one (or having him return […………..]).
So, let’s add to the tears and pain and worry over how my life is turning out, by stressing about raising a family that’s seemingly not in the cards anyway. Good call, Mr. Witt. Good call.