Wu Tang is For The Children and Look Where it Got Them?

“So let me get this straight. You fart, poop, pee, eat, sleep, don’t contribute around here, moan, bitch, AND cost an arm and a womb to maintain? I will probably need to work the rest of my life to sustain your Nintendo Wii – one hundred fifty dollar per pre-shrunk designer jean – thirty thousand dollar per college credit for your art history major with a minor in anthropology degree only to become a plumber desires. For half the cost, I could’ve purchased a Mercedes Maybach and traveled the world, village by village, with Grey Poupon marinating in my mustache hairs and midget hookers on each arm, all before turning 50. Because of your existence however, my bucket list now resembles a fleeting illusion to be pursued but never obtained. So I ask you again son, why exactly am I supposed to want you to stay? If you want to run away then by all means, run away! No one is stopping you. Nothing to say eh? That’s it then. Just crawl out of that crib and head for the door. Whose a good boy?!”

I love children, and for whatever reason, they like me (they really like me). However, I’m not so sure if I love the parents of children who actually conceived them intentionally. Why could you possibly want a child for no other reason than to further progress your bloodline? An ego stroke and an unforeseen life commitment at the very least seem to be the main by-products of said parental aspirations. We are no longer playing house, and all sales are final, so maybe some pre-parental discretion should be advised before “mapquesting” Sesame Street.

Here are some questions I asked myself as I was thinking to my self:

• “Self, if I have never had a sweet child o’ mine before, what is fueling this desire to join the PTA?
• “Self, given the amount of children up for adoption, what is my true motivation for wanting Dolly the sheep (i.e. my clone) in the first place?”
• “Self, am I ready to accept my child for whoever she / he turns out to be, unconditionally, even if I have not made peace with my own shortcomings (as I and only I perceive them to be?)
• Self, what if she / he turns out to be a homeless, homosexual, homicidal, Humboldt State University dropout with a meth addiction? Will people view that as a reflection of my parenting? Is it?
• “Self, I am selfish and I can barely support us financially. I know I will prioritize if I have a child but is there a possibility I could resent this child for messing with my time and money?

Conceiving children is no monumental achievement. Just ask any faulty condom, NBA player, or friendly neighborhood baby daddy on the run from Law and Order C.S.P.U. (Child Support Police Unit, similar flavoring to regular police but with a heavy garnish to your wages.) Raising the little zygotes, however, is where your intestinal fortitude gets put to the test. This is where our brave King Leonidas could easily be reduced to a fugitive, forced to work for Xerxes off the books to avoid garnishment whilst transforming our traitor stabbing Queen into a spineless goat path leading monster -striving to correct personal failures through her children’s lives and restore honor to the family crest (“may you live forever”).

My desire to have children is emotional and rooted in the social norm that a family ‘completes me’. Using that logic, saying I want a child is no different than stating I want a Benz. I am a man and like most men, I do not bare children; therefore, I have no idea how it feels to share that type of physiological connection. Common sense dictates that anything gestating in one’s belly for 9 months must have established a deep seeded emotional connection to it’s host and vice versa (I named my tape worm Bubba as an example). This may be why women ( on average) tend to want children more than men. I understand the desire but I cannot relate. Attempting to empathize is the equivalent of describing to women the joys of being assaulted in my man balls. Women know it stings - to put it mildly - but cannot remotely identify with my agony (maybe Rupaul can).

If procreation is in fact our sole life’s purpose as commonly argued, then the desire to reproduce is definitely inherent, unavoidable, and quite frankly, unnatural not to partake. Barring a few caveats such as; impotent men, infertile women, waiting until a certain age to have children as opposed to the instant you are physically capable, choosing the amount of children you WANT to have, choosing the person with whom you WANT to have them with, and believing you are somehow different than the Dinosaur and have the right to even exist, that argument makes perfect sense. I am still unsure if the right to bare children is a want, a need, or was even subject for debate in the pre contraception era. I do know that I can't wait to have kids just so I can tell them just how wrong it is to want to have kids!

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I Am Not That Random

In the last few weeks on Planet Internet, my closest friends, associates, classmates, and enemies revealed some rather introspective incites into their psyche. So, do we all feel better now? Anyone need a hankie? Häagen-Dazs and Grey Goose never hurt anyone (if you don’t count lactose intolerant related illnesses and alcoholism) so let me know whenever you guys need it. I will have “ Da Goose” on tap and ready to go at your request.

I initially joined the Facebook fray thinking I would shock the system with the unique details of my existence. After reading the notes of others, I realized that everyone else on earth has either experienced rather painful occurrences in their lives, or are just plain weirdoes and I have since deleted them from my friend’s list (really son, you wear lip gloss and high heels to practice Tai Chi?)

My girlfriend’s soul bearing #16 on her list led me to globally debut my #6. Something once considered inconceivable to me had now paled in comparison to her testimonials. And it seemed the more folk composed and forwarded their own lists, a chain letter reaction brought about the liberating virtual act of closing one’s eyes and reeling backwards into the collective arms of the cyber community, trusting us with the dinosaur sized skeletons in your walk-in closets. Whatever the rational for those who participated, I thank you once again for reaffirming ideals for which I require constant mnemonic devices (see title). With that said, I would like to make this offering to a friend who courageously chose to begin her healing process on Day One of her loss. We are all glad you came out last Saturday K. Mullin.

1. Honor his life in the way you lead yours.
2. LYAO (laugh your *ss off) - To be immediately downloaded onto your Ipod: (Trading Places, Coming to America, Family Guy, the Dave Chappelle “Rick James” Skit, any George W. speech, etc)
3. Remember moments that made you laugh so hard, you literally peed on yourself (but only a little).
4. You will be told over and over to be strong for this one or that one. While you are being strong for others, realize that you will always have your family and friends to be strong for you. Utilize that asset to the fullest.
5. If you feel like it, cry until your eyes hurt.

I once asked my brother if he had to do it all over again, would he bring our dad back, to which he replied, “No”. Of course, I being a young Jedi, was about to fly off the handle and accuse him of embodying all sorts of evil. Then he explained himself as follows; “You have no idea what could or could not have happened had he lived. What if he lived but we lost them both in a car accident? What if he survived the heart attack and was made to suffer for the remainder of his life?” He painted so many alternate grim scenarios that ONLY losing my dad didn’t seem like such a bad option (never argue with anyone while they are in law school). My brother’s point was this: what is meant to be will be, and there really is no better or worse, there just is. It is not deep. It is not a feel good explanation. It is life. How you chose to deal with it defines YOUR life.

It has been 15 years since and the grief is infrequent but it is still in fact there. There are still bad days and we all find ways to cope. Some turn to religion and some compartmentalize. I channeled my energies to pursue music producer / writer aspirations and whatever the hell else I feel like doing. I needed therapy in some fashion and got it by whatever healthy means necessary (including actual therapy). Who knew a grown “Manly” man who abhors public humiliation could ever sob the entire duration of a 1.5 hour “A” train ride to Far Rockaway on Christmas Eve because he misses his daddy, and then write about it? But if I have to embarrass myself to help others and ultimately help myself deal, then flashback to the time I wore a dress in our High School Musical. The fellas in the front row were making comments about my “fatty” because they really thought I was a chick from the back (speaks to the very nature of boys and tight dresses). I make a hideous woman by the way. Trust me. You would sooner escort Wanda or Shanaynay to your ex girlfriend’s housewarming to prove just how much you have stepped your game up.

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