The Thing About Me

about kids
about kids

What follows is 3500 words of unfiltered bullshit about this fucking guy. Some of it you know, most of which you don't. This is not dating related. This is “me” related and as this is my fucking blog I'll do what I want. If you don't like it, you can go finger fuck yourself. Because this is a big part of me and answers a question that's haunted me for some time now. 

I sat there with, what felt like, the weight of the world firmly placed on my chest… I had just been told all the reasons why kids are awesome;  that they love you; that they're a part of your legacy in the world; that they help you see into the past… You see the faces of loved ones come and loved ones gone; they're a part of your team. Team YOU. The notion of it all… It's a beautiful thing. And one I can't possibly argue against. I mean, sure, I'm not the first person in the world to not want kids. But when push came to shove… All I could say was: “But I just don't want em.” In my ex's desperation to save “us” she probed and poked at why I felt the way I did… She named a few things that were near and dear and tucked away; she tried to unlock something that I'd kept buried and hidden. I was angry. I shot back defensively and ended the conversation…

So ended a chapter in my life. A very happy chapter in my life… Something I'll always look back on fondly…

But I needed to know “why” I was so angry. “Why” I didn't want children…

But I've had time. Time to think. Time to be real with myself. “Why, you fuck? WHY don't you want fucking kids?” I've always said that the notion of “Oh, this is a bad world to bring a child into.” If this is your reason for not wanting them you can go fuck off. Because it's a stupid reason and you're hiding something else; something shitty happened to you, or some series of shitty fucking things happened that colored your decision on children… Perhaps I'm projecting… No, I am. Nothing particularly shitty happened to me, instead, it's a small collection of things that I've put into this box and shoved into a corner and left there. For all my life which, to this point, puts me at 36 non-exciting years… And since I don't really have a personal blog to post this on, I'll just post this fucking shit here for the random fucking people who come here each month.

If you didn't get it, this post has nothing to do with dating… Well, very little to do with it at least.

When I was a little guy my mom always said: “Son, it's just you and me versus the world.” And she was right. I used to ask my mom “where's daddy?” when I was too young to understand. My mom would tell me “he flew away, son. He flew away…” I remember my cousin, who was about 4 years older, told me that he left her. I didn't know what “leaving her” meant. Still too young apparently. A couple of the schools I went to had father/son days.  I never went to them. I never paid it much mind either. No one ever asked me why I never went. I had a bad ass grandpa who smoked a pipe and cussed like a pissed off hispanic cement mason with only a 5th grade education and a wife who loved to spend money on nice things should. I didn't need a father… I didn't.

But… I did.

You see, there were times when I had gone through old family albums. I saw the alien baby pics of myself and then I saw the pictures of this tall pasty fella with a wavy-curly Popsicle-orange quaff. That was my dad and there he was with my mom. She was smiling in those photos. Back then I could see she was happy… I would wonder if he would ever come home. Before I went to bed I would often think about that. And he never did. He never wrote. Not once. But that's okay. I didn't need his words or his wisdom.

But… I did.

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