Before I met my wife, I always assumed I wanted to have kids. I expected to graduate from college, get a great job, get married and have 2 or 3 kids. Although I had no experience with babies, I had been a lifeguard, an assistant math teacher, a swim instructor and a pseudo-sibling to many kids. I figured I’d be a good parent because I’d do the opposite of what my parents did raising me. I’d be a much better parent.
But early in our relationship, my future wife told me she couldn’t have any more children because of her age. She felt bad for me. I, on the other hand did not feel bad. I had inherited two step kids and that was fine with me.
Besides, by the time I was in my early 20s, I began to doubt that having my “own kids” was such a good idea. My genes weren’t all that great. The thought of passing them along to future offspring wasn’t really appealing to me.
In my family, there was a history of mental illness on both sides. There were alcoholism and drug problems. The men were generally fat and hairy. So were the women. Most of us were kind of ugly. We were, on the whole, quite intelligent, but I chalked that up to hard work and not genetics (I’ve since come to believe genetics played a bigger role).
So, why would I want to curse children with those genes?
I have never regretted it. In fact, ever since we became empty nesters when I was in my early 30s, I frequently was grateful that we didn’t have any children together. What a nightmare it would have been to raise a baby when I was in the prime of my career, or even worse, in my 40s or 50s.
Yuck.
Looking back, I now sometimes wish I’d thought more carefully before jumping into the stepfather role, too. Although it never occurred to me back then, I don’t think I ever truly wanted to be a parent.
But, my wife had two children and it was a package deal. I wanted to be with her and that meant being with her kids too. I dove in and our lives were consumed with raising them directly for 10 years. Then, after they left our home, less directly and all-consuming as they grew into adults.
Don’t get me wrong – I didn’t hate being a parent. Along with the challenges came plenty of love and rewarding experiences. Being a stepparent just never lived up to my childhood inspired “ideal family fantasy”.
Still, I’m OK with my choices and my efforts. I wanted to be with my wife and helping to care for her kids was the price to make that happen.
I will never do that again, though.
I know myself better now. When I was dating last year, I purposely filtered out women with children still at home. Even doing that, the few women I dated who had adult children often spent much of their free time involved with their kids. Even trying to schedule a date with them was a bigger issue than I had anticipated.
I want no part of that. I’d rather spend my time alone or with another adult who has a full rich life, like mine, that doesn’t revolve around kids and grandkids.
So, as a single man who doesn’t date and lives alone, it appears that things have worked out just fine for me.