Well, I guess we should make it official.
It is June 11th, 2010
48 Degrees, partly cloudy...and I hate children.
To clarify, when I say, "I hate children" that's not to imply that I want any harm to come upon them. I just dislike everything about them.
The thing I dislike the most about children is how everyone expects me to want one (or, in some cases, eleven). It's as if they want me to come to this decision like I would a lunch order: "Let's see, I'll have the eggs Benedict with a side of bacon, oh, and a bundle of children please. Thank you."
Every wedding, funeral, birthday, arbor day, etc., I run into family members with dozens of screaming, crying, crawling tots, and all they can talk about is how they can't wait to have more. The bags under their eyes are dark and seething with loss, their bank accounts drained, speech slurred, and pride stripped from them with every children's DVD set on repeat...my God, it sounds like a gas! No matter how mute I tend to stay on the subject it always comes around the room to me, where I am asked, "I bet you can't wait to be a parent, right? How many children do you want?"
And it is without any sarcasm or smug satisfaction that I answer, "Well...none, really."
The gasps are always audible...
They light the fires, grab their pitchforks, and fall upon me like an ocean of self-righteousness.
"How could you not want children? Children are beautiful and loving gifts from God! You must be crazy!" This usually comes after I have sat back and watched them scream at their own children to behave for the last ten hours. "Come back here! Now! I will count to three, and then you will be sorry! One...Two...Two and a half...I'm serious here! Get that out of your mouth, now!" They shout, their voices hoarse and falling on deaf ears as the child bolts around like a sugar-fueled animal.
Always screaming, wailing, and gnashing their teeth, the children will pick up and hurl anything they can put their tiny hands on.
It isn't until after, out of sheer exhaustion, the child passes out into a coma-like slumber that the parent finally says, "Isn't he/she precious? Look at him/her sleeping."
What was that? Your child is only precious to you when it's motionless, quiet, has a slowed heart beat and shallow breath, and is mimicking DEATH?
What does that say about your miniature bundle of God's love?
You have to understand here that I don't think people who have children are stupid. Nor do I think that wanting children is a bad thing either, so please stop loading your guns, and put the restraining orders on back burner.
If you choose to have children, then MORE POWER TO YOU! Hell, for every child I don't have, you can have five. How does that sound? Pretty darn good to me!
Also, I am not writing this post about any one child in particular. Trust me, my antagonism towards children is all encompassing. Be you relative, acquaintance, or one of the many children running around Walmart bumping into everyone like you own the fuc$ing place.
Now, I can guess what you are thinking here: "Neil, children aren't all bad. Yes, they are obstinate for a few years, but then they are sweet as kittens."
So let me get this straight, after they are four, they turn into docile cuteness factories? Pumping out rainbows and sunshine kisses from their asses?
But what about when they hit those years? You know which ones I am talking about, around age 12 for boys and as early as 6 or 7 for girls...puberty!
Well, I'll tell you what happens, your rainbow-shitting progeny turns on you!
Your young adults will be well on their way to becoming self-absorbed and foaming at the mouth over everything you do. So it's just a matter of time before Mommy and Daddy's little angel murders you for taking away their video games, murders you for making them do chores, stops talking to you, or puts you in a nursing home.
You want to know what the strangest part of all of this is?
I am fantastic with kids...seriously!
It's proof that God has a sense of humor.
It's true. At family vacations I am usually the one who finds games for the kids to play, or calms down my cousins' children by making them laugh. Every time Erin and I go to a restaurant there is always some kid who ends up poking his head over the seat to play peek-a-boo with me, laughing the whole time. Hell, I went over to a friend's house recently and some kid I have never met before gave me a picture he drew. Even stranger is that this kid, apparently, never talks to anyone he doesn't know, except for me.
Yet, even with my powers of child-wrangling awesomeness, I still can't drudge up the desire to ever spawn one.
I guess you could split this one however you'd like. Some will flippantly call me bitter (I'd say honest), some might call me disturbed (I'd say realist), and others might agree (If so, thank you). But the important thing to take from this, as is with anything I write on my PERSONAL BLOG, is that it is my opinion. If it doesn't align with your sensibilities, then by all means disagree, or, better yet, stop reading. I honestly couldn't care less.
I will leave you with the wise advice of Patton Oswalt: "My wife and I will have an imaginary baby and name it 12 hours of sleep a night."