Giant Bags, Gods, and Grandparents
Ms and I talked about a lot of practical issues tonight. I’m sure they won’t seem terribly practical in a few months, but they’re big ticket items that we managed to check off the list–for now–over the course of a few hours. Gosh it was productive.
Giant Bags
We talked about tiny people in giant cars with tiny babies and giant baby bags. Ms mentioned she needed to find a good baby bag. I, naturally, started singing the baby-back ribs song. She didn’t stab me. A good sign for our marriage.
I looked at her sincerely and said, “Honey, are we going to be those tiny people who hop out of giant SUVs with tiny babies and huge bags?” It was a leading question. Happily, she said no. I mean, there’s a certain amount of overhead when managing a helpless mammal. They crap at inopportune moments, feed at weird and unexpected hours, make a lot of noise if they don’t get a pa-pa. It’s not entirely unlike trying to wrangle a very, very drunk college student. We’ve all been there, right?
“Come inside.”
“No!”
“Come on, man, just come inside.”
“I’m hungry! I want … OH MAN I WANT GRITS!”
“You can’t have grits. Just … *sigh* … come inside, ok?”
Et cetera.
I expect this will be among the first pre-baby pledges to fall victim to the unflinching reality of having a child in a consumerist society. Why can’t we just wipe the creature off with restaurant napkins? And then wrap it (still “it” at this point) in another restaurant napkin? Surely that makes sense right?
No. There will be a bag with diapers and formula and who knows what sorts of satanic incantation paraphernalia.
Gods
That brings us, conveniently, to the issue of religion. The Ms and I are not strongly religious people. I studied theology, and I can have a good ontological debate with only minimal provocation, but my spirituality tends towards Buddhism. I was raised Episcopalian, and I still dig Jesus’ style, but faith is not something that comes naturally to me. I want data. And the data are pretty sparse on this issue. I’d be totally cool with Jesus coming down and offering a restatement and clarification of Matthew 25, since we seem to have gotten a bit off aim from that. But with all the suffering in the world, with the increasing likelihood that our offspring will, as previously noted, be forced to become acquainted with the best ways to cook and serve a neighbor after civilization breaks down, I’m left to wonder why the omnipotent God couldn’t have been just a titch more specific regarding the nature and extent of our obligations to do unto others as we would have done unto us.
And, really, that statement of the Golden Rule is a bit selfish, isn’t it? Is that really what we want to teach our child? Why not simplify matters? “Kid,” I say, “don’t be a dick.” “Why daddy?” “Because, don’t be a dick.” Leaving the loophole in there of treating others as you want to be treated just creates a situation where our kid could be a masochist, and we should really identify that right away, because the kid can build whatever life it wants, but, really, don’t let that crap leak out into how you treat others. Be nice. Be loving. Say please and thank you. Always be aware that some people may try to take advantage of your kindness, and crush those people like bugs. Good, responsible parenting.
I kid, sort of.
I want the kid to understand religion, to understand that some–perhaps most–of its peers will derive tremendous meaning and motivation from faith. I want the kid to have the courage to explore faith, make decisions about the role of faith, the origin of love and what sort of responsibility we have for our fellow creatures, whether that is rooted in a belief that we are all imbued with dignity from God or whether it comes from a deep knowledge that we humans are all the same tribe, that we have one world to live on and we shouldn’t mess it up.
And I want the kid to understand the beauty of the poetry, art, and complex intellectual attempts to understand God. Or gods. Or no gods. Humanism, Islam, Sikhism, Christianity, Hinduism, Judaism, Pastafarianism. It’s all part of the tapestry, and it’s deeply important to me that our child understand our shared cultural history. Whether that transforms into faith … well, that’s up to our child.
Because, to me, it’s not about inducting a new member into a club. It’s about equipping a sentient being with the tools to explore, examine, experiment and decide, whether it’s faith or metro timetables.
Grandparents
We talked about the names we’ll call our grandparents. My dad has his name that he’s used with my sister’s kids. Ms’ parents might end up being Nana and Granddad. There’s a missing person there. My mom.
She died in 1996. Cancer. I’ve had a lot of years to come to terms with her death, and, though the memory is still sad, in some ways it’s just a memory now. Mortality is a thing, and though hers asserted itself far too soon, she died the same way she lived, and there wasn’t anything I’d change (other than her not getting cancer in the first place). I look back, and I try to find something to latch on to, some reason to feel guilty. That missed last conversation. The opportunity lost to tell her I loved her. It’s just not there. It was a profoundly beautiful, positive experience, other than the dying part.
So here we are, almost 20 years later, and I’ve finally found someone nice (one of her last pieces of motherly advice/commandment: “Find someone nice.”), and we’re making a baby. And I’m sad she won’t be here to see our child. I’m left to wonder how to explain to Critter why Mommy has two parents while Daddy only has one. As a soon-to-be parent, I’m left to wonder how my grandmother ever survived seeing her daughter die.
I could stiffen my back and tell you that it’s a great opportunity to explore questions of mortality and religion when our child is old enough, and indeed it will, but that’s not all it will be. It’ll be a viciously hard emotional test, harder even than losing her the first time. Every day wondering what my magical, creative, stubborn, viciously intelligent mother would teach this child. Knowing that the various aunts and uncles and grandparents and friends will do a wonderful job exposing our kid to a universe of amazement, but knowing too that a big contributor won’t be there. Knowing that our child will be in the same boat I was in with my mother’s father. He was “Oh-I-don’t-know-my-grandfather-I-guess-I-didn’t-know-him.” It brings back the fire in my grandmother’s eyes when she talked about him. She loved him so much, and they were so happy.
I have no idea how I’ll even begin to deal with that with our child. The kid needs to know about this person, all the quirks and foibles and laughs and amazement of knowing her.
It’s a poignant and important reminder of how much we matter to our children. It sounds almost laughable, right? Of course we matter to our children. But this awareness is something different. I can’t even put it fully into words at this point. It’s just a dawning awareness that we have to leave an impression–because we will–without leaving a hole when we’re gone. Does that make sense? I don’t know. It’s an interesting intellectual challenge … and a perilous emotional one. But … if I can be even half the parent my mother was, despite all the challenges that came from both raising me and raising me, I’ll sleep well.
Mr, I have yet to meet you…and Ms and I haven’t seen each other for over 20 years..but I swear you just spoke straight to me. Your thoughts on religion…yes.
Your thoughts on lost G-mas….I can relate…deeply.
I lost my Mama almost 6 years ago. The loss was tremendous at the time. It still can catch me off guard at certain moments…but after the dust settled, the deepest hole was the loss of her unique strain of Gramma wisdom for my kiddos. Rest assured that her personality will be lively and memorable in your child’s mind because, clearly you will share her story…and you will share it well:)
I am so glad to know that Ms has found someone with as much depth, intelligence, joy, and humor as she has…enjoy the ride:)
(Edited by MrForty to remove names.)