BY: JASON RAYNER
Me, trying to find a way to tell someone I don’t want kids.
I’ve always been different. In high school, my friends would talk about their crushes and sex with the opposite gender, and I would sit silently realizing that the only people I felt attraction to were my male classmates. While I ended up going to university and completing a psychology degree, I turned away from the idea of of grad school or building a career related to said degree, to pursue a career in writing and film. While countless people around me are settled into long term relationships, I don’t know how to date - mostly because I don’t understand how to fit in seeing someone romantically with my busy schedule of binge watching my stories and seeing my friends. I’m also not quite sure I understand the concept of having sex with the same person indefinitely.
While I see that my experiences often don’t match the status quo, they’ve always felt pretty natural to me. As I’ve gotten older, I haven’t really put much thought into how these things separate me from others. In fact, it wasn’t until this past holiday season, amongst the parade of dinners, drinks, and gossiping with various friends and family that are outside my immediate circle, that I realized how different my lifestyle is from other people my age.
It was somewhere in the middle of my approximately 73rd dinner with a friend where I realized a pattern. Every conversation seemed to revolve around who was getting married, buying homes, and to my shock, having kids. While I do have many friends who are married, own homes, and are thinking about having kids, I have just as many who are not. I realized that even as I’ve been attending weddings and housewarmings over the years, I’ve never really registered how common these things were for people my age. So many people were moving through adulthood briskly, with a set of personal goals accomplished that I haven’t even thought about.
As soon as my friend left, I promptly finished whatever wine was left in the bottle and started thinking. Not only about what my life would be like if I followed a different path, but more importantly, if I even wanted any of these things.
A lot of these answers were easy. I’m in such a different economic stratosphere that I can’t even begin to think about owning a home and I’m more than okay with that. I’m doing the work to be satisfied with my career, and I’m not willing to sacrifice happiness for money - although it is a tad annoying that my happiness has to come from creative expression, perhaps the least assured form of financial stability.
Then there is marriage. My life as a partially-by-choice/chronically single person is for another essay but, I also don’t feel too worried about having to get married. It’s something I could see myself doing (I do love parties), yet I can easily see myself being content with a significant other and skipping the legalities.
The easiest answer however, is the one that I feel I’m not supposed to express.
I don’t want children.
At all.
Seriously.
Taking this stance, is of course very different as a male, especially as a gay male. I’m aware that women have a large number of factors placed on them, including their own hormones and bodies practically screaming at them to have children. The only thing I do know, is that all of us - regardless of gender and sexual orientation - are at some point in our lives, expected to want to have kids (to the point that it’s weaponized against many members of the LGBTQ+ community when they come out).
I can already hear the choruses of people saying “well, you never know”, or “never say never”, or my personal favourite, “don’t say that!”.
In fact, even while writing this piece I have encountered people I barely know telling me how much I need children in my life. No word of a lie, earlier today a man at work I don’t know told me I was “missing out” because I didn’t have kids, nephews, or nieces (which by the way, is hard to have when you’re an only child and single). He then asked who would take care of me when I was older as if that is the true incentive for having a child (also, wow that’s fucking grim, and again this was from a man whose name I don’t even know).
Even though I’ve known this for so long, even though I’m stating it as plain fact, I’m still treated as if my feelings are temporary. Most people in my life at some point - and I mean people both with and without children - love to bring up hypotheticals. They speak of this magical man that I’ll fall in love, who will want children so much that he will convince me to have them. Of course, this ignores my choices and how little I want to have children. This is a ridiculous of argument because, while being a dealbreaker, it’s also a pretty good sign that someone who wants kids desperately is not a compatible spouse for me. It’s also worth noting that most people seem to forget that as a gay male, the only way to have a child is to actively want it. Adoption and surrogacy are things that require a never ending well of planning, money, and effort. There are no unplanned pregnancies between two men.
The most offensive assumption I get from people is that something must have happened to me as a child to make me feel this way. Except, my childhood was awesome. As a child I wasn’t really that into children friendly things. My tastes have always been more adult. In grade five, I was obsessed with TV shows like ER and Seinfeld - even if I didn’t fully understand them. I remember telling my grade three class my favourite movie was The Pelican Brief and begged my dad to take me to see Seven when I was nine (he did; we both loved it). Even when I did something more child friendly like going swimming, I would spend my time underwater trying to figure out why Alanis Morissette was so angry on Jagged Little Pill, and then swim over to talk about it with the adult (but in actuality probably, teen) lifeguard. I was only really interested in my peers when we got older and their tastes caught up to mine.
Simply put, I’m not a paternal person. I can be selfish. I have very little patience (like, very little). I have aspirations and goals that do not prioritize a child - and most importantly, I don’t want to make space to prioritize a child. I’m loving, and I know that if I had a child I would drive myself crazy worrying about them. It’s like hearing someone tell you how hot a plate is and touching it anyway. Except I’m not curious enough to touch the plate. Again, it isn’t lost on me that I just compared a child to a burn, which again is just proof that I am not built for that life.
It’s not that I actively dislike kids, either (although I will sometimes lean into this idea to watch people’s reactions). I do however hate kid culture as perpetuated by adults. I hate temper tantrums. I hate the way many parents allow their children to behave.
Even after being so declarative, I still feel like I have to write a disclaimer, making sure not to offend anyone with kids or anyone who wants kids. It’s truly astonishing how often saying you don’t want children is taken as if its a personal attack or criticism on someone’s choice to have them. The thing is, I get why people want them. If I’m friends with you, or related to you, and you have a kid, I’ll (probably) really adore your kids and I’ll totally watch Paddington with them (but let’s be real, I’ll probably be a much better uncle-ish figure when I can show them Greta Gerwig movies and they can have a glass of wine with me). That being said, I also don’t really want to be your babysitter (unless you’re really in a bind, and in that case, duh I’ll do it), and I will absolutely never speak to your child in a baby voice.
I don’t want kids, and I know that the fact that I don’t want them is evidence enough that I shouldn’t have them. I’ve felt this way since I was at least 18 years old. Even after explaining myself, I’m sure people reading this will still think that I’m being dramatic. People will still try to get me to hold their babies even after I politely say no thank you, and strangers will continue to question me if I don’t gush over the idea of having a child. And while even I am not immune to a cute photo on Instagram or a funny precocious child moment, more often than not I’m not really paying attention when your social media accounts and conversations are inundated with baby talk.
I’m finally in a place where I know what I don’t want - and while it may not be as satisfying as knowing what I do want, it’s definitely a nice way to get there. So no really, I don’t want children. And I don’t feel bad about it.