I’m flat running on poetic fumes. Numbers 99 and 100 have outlines, but we’re not there yet. This is one of three in the countdown to the countdown. I’m not being aided by what seems to be a slight relapse toward the sick end of the spectrum.
Never having children,
I decided not to grow up.
Perhaps, rather, these two
thoughts intertwined,
reinforcing the other.
Prospective parenthood
seemed to demand more
maturity than I cared to
exhibit on a continual
basis. And toys! Surely
I deserved toys as much,
no, more than some lucky
random assignation of
my genes?
Truly this screams of
revisionist history.
My arrival at the
Maturity Party came
late. I could not more
think of children while
teaching 150 of 'em
each day than I could
see how my chances to
sire some dwindled each
year I drifted away from
my partner. One last gasp,
one chance to Be The Dad,
dashed when my new wife
vanquished cancer but
destroyed motherhood in
the process. Just as well.
Advanced Childhood has
served me as well as
Stumbling Adulthood
seems to have served others.
96/100
100 poems in 100 days
That photo of your brother is the perfect representation of fatherhood. I know what you mean about running on poetic fumes, but I think your doing great. Neil and I talked a lot about his sadness at not having kids. His worry was that he wouldn’t be a good one, but he later realized it was something he deeply regretted not doing. It sounds like being a teacher you’ve influenced lots of kids over the years, but I imagine it’s one of those things you always wonder about (the old what if I had…)
Even now most of it is selfish. I wonder, “who will take care of me?” when I’m really, really old. I spent my first year of teaching with a mentor who didn’t have children, which I found weird…until I taught a few more years. Junior high—not for the faint of heart.
Junior high! I truly think all middle school teachers deserve like a badge of honor. Thank you for your service, I mean that. It’s no easy feat to meet kids at that age, and also they need mentors then more than ever. A friend of mine teaches middle school english too and she loves it, saying they are old enough to have really insight, but not too old to be closed to new ideas. I wonder if you feel the same?
Also, I do think it’s fair to worry about who will care for you. Neil was in that boat too. But, as a parent, I also don’t want my kids to be burdened with caring for me…so?
When I taught, “middle school” meant 4-5-6, maybe with a 7th grade. I would agree with your friend. I did long-term subbing at 6th grade the year prior to getting a full contract, and that’s how I’d describe them. But end of 7th and 8/9? Oh god, is there a more horrible age than 13? I taught 8th grade. (Imagine I’m saying it with teeth clenched: I. Taught. Eighth. Grade.) It wasn’t as bad as I’m making it sound, but it is a disciplinary challenge.