I Hate Kids

I hate children. At least, that's what my friends think. I never imagined the combination of being in my early thirties, single, having my shit together, and being nowhere close to any sort of advertised planned acts of procreation would cause other people to come to this conclusion. "Hate" is a strong word, though. Let me be more accurate: I don't hate children. There is, however, a good chance I don't LIKE children. It is even more likely I don't like YOUR children. I have come to accept I don't enjoy being around most people's kids, nor do I have the patience to entertain them. I know I'm not alone in this but my openness about developing this opinion of the little devils has been my scarlet letter in recent years.

The truth is the older I get more and more people in my life are popping these little boogers out and the more conscious I've become of little persons when I'm in public places...and, frankly, the more the idea of having my own children scares the crap out of me (I'm convinced my increased exposure to children and my increased fear of them are directly correlated). But what am I to do? I feel an odd sense of guilt for not being in a hurry to create an army of me. Shouldn't I be injecting some good into this world? After all, I'm not a completely terrible guy, I have a loving family, great friends, a strong moral compass, a solid work ethic, and I can support a family if I choose to without adding to the nation's deficit. I assume I would raise a socially responsible contributing member of society if I were to reproduce...and isn't my responsibility to help future generations by passing on my not-so-completely-screwed-up DNA?

However, although I understand you're just trying to have a nice dinner with your family, who you undoubtedly rarely get to see since you work like crazy and all you really want is a few moments where you can all be together and that's really not too much to ask..but I'm also just trying to have a nice dinner because I also work like crazy and I really, really wish your kid would just freaking shut up! I wish he would not scream, not whine, sit back in his seat, stop throwing food on the floor and if he walks over and stares at me while I'm trying to eat one more time I'm going to flick mashed potatoes at him.

Terrible of me? Let's try a social experiment. I will get up from my table in a public place, walk up to you while you're eating and stand silently while watching you eat and lets see how long it takes the management to throw my ass out for being a creep. How has it become socially acceptable to allow kids to get away with things they would never be permitted to do as adults? I have zero patience in situations like this and just before I open my mouth I realize my beef is not with the little booger. My beef is with the you, the parent.

Sometimes I long for the days of Mad Men when any adult could slap a child for acting inappropriately in public but until someone figures out the whole space-time continuum thing I figure I'm stuck in the present, biting my tongue, smiling, and pretending to believe your munchkin is gifted and is likely the next President of the United States so I don't bruise his ego (or yours).

Even the jaded have moments of perspective, I suppose: I traveled to Dallas, Texas recently for work and extended my trip to catch up with a lifelong friend and his family whom I had not seen in several years and to endure three days in a house with a five-year-old and his four-year-old twin brothers...all three of them possessing only one mode: ON! It was the strangest thing...I had an absolute blast with these little guys. We spent our time playing with Legos, watching Star Wars, hiking trails, and finding ways to lock them out of my room so I could sleep past 6am.

These boys are pure energy. Non-stop energy. The sort of uninterrupted energy that forces you to consciously go to bed early just so you'll have enough in you to get up the next morning and do it all over again. But it was a pure, innocent, and respectful energy I had rarely experienced in children. They did not whine. They did not cry or fight or complain and although they never ceased speaking for more than 3 seconds what came out of their mouths was always positive, always polite, and usually involved laughter. There was zero down time and I loved every minute of it. What's worse is the moment I left that house I started to miss them. Me. The man who hates children, missing children! I wrestled with this for weeks, I assure you.

I obsessed about this after my departure trying to figure out why it was so different this time around and I realized it was in large part because of who I've chosen to surround myself with. As we get older our circle gets smaller (if we are growing as individuals) and if you are one of the few fortunate to hold on to one or two lifelong friendships from your youth there is no doubt your bond is stronger and more unique than anything you will establish in your adult life. What's also likely is those people have remained in your circle because you share many of the same values, morals, and vision for what you want your life to look like. What I didn't connect until after I returned home is the bond and the common elements my friend and I have shared since second grade have translated into the way he raises his children. I loved his kids because he has worked so hard to instill the sort of values, respect, and social awareness I would likely work to instill into my own and this conclusion brought about a new perspective.

There is no coincidence I have grown to enjoy the children of my closest of friends. It's proof habits and values (or lack of them) are certainly passed down from generation to generation and I felt thankful, and still do, to have great people in my life who, just by being and living and remaining in my life, remind me there is still a chance for this guy. That having my own children may not be as crazy or unbearable as it seems and that I might actually LIKE children, assuming they were my own...or his...or a few of yours...but it's not likely.