I was taking laps outside of the pool with my toddler, trying to keep her from jumping in where my 4 year old was having swim lessons. A young lifeguard, maybe 20 years old with blue hair and a rather artistic looking tattoo, was leading the seniors in water aerobics. She winked, smiled or made some funny face at my daughter each time we passed. As the water aerobics ended, a senior who obviously knew the lifeguard said to her, “you’ll be a great mom someday.” “Me?” she responded. “No, I’m never having kids. I just like other people’s kids.” I smiled awkwardly, as I wished I could put into words what I wanted her to know. It’s a conversation I’ve heard hundreds of times. An elderly person may tease and make a comment about having kids and the response is one of discomfort, embarrassment or even downright disgust that they would mention such a life-ruining idea. Guys, we’ve got a problem. Many of us received a terrible sex-education that, similar to the D.A.R.E. program (which was proven not to work) used fear to try to keep us from having sex. The narrative went something along the lines of, “having a baby is life-altering, extremely difficult, very expensive, painful, burdensome and you are definitely not capable of handling it.” I believe we carried this narrative into our adult lives and have continued to pass it down.
13 years before this recent interaction, I was having coffee boiled over a woodstove and chatting with one of my many beloved grandma figures in Honduras. A baby crawled over the dirt floor, which was her living room, to be picked up by his grandma. Shouts from the neighborhood kids, who were playing soccer outside on the street, wavered in and out. With a sudden change in conversation topic, she said, “how come everyone in the U.S. only has a couple of kids?” I started to stutter. I hadn’t given it too much thought before and her question caught me off guard. I got out as much as, “well, I think it’s because they can’t really afford to have more than a couple of kids,” before she cut me off with a giant burst of laughter, the kind of laughter that is shocked by something completely absurd. I blushed in shame as I realized how offensive I could have come across, as I tried to explain to this grandma of many how the richest country in the world can’t afford to bring more children into it. I’ve re-lived this conversation many times since then. I still ponder the differences in attitudes about having children here versus there and I wonder what other areas of our life do these attitudes affect? In Honduras, children were everywhere. I’d walk out my door to have a few asking to be spun around, a group playing a game down the street, and a few teens chatting on every corner. We would tell a few to spread the word that we’re going on a field trip, and within a half hour we would have a group of 35 kids on our porch ready to go. In the U.S. you have to work hard to be around a group of kids and, unless it is a part of your job or volunteer work, many people can go months without running into a group of kids larger than 3. And heaven forbid those kids disrupt you at a restaurant, on an airplane, at church, in pretty much any public space that’s not specifically made for kids. This separation is unhealthy.
We have a serious mental health crisis in our country. I don’t think anyone denies it. I, personally, believe there are multiple contributing factors that have led to our widespread depression and anxiety. One being, our distance from other’s children and our fear about having our own. It is true that, for me, having my own children was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. Children don’t just demand our attention, time, money, things that can be counted and more or less efficiently given- they demand our very being. In a way I haven’t experienced elsewhere, having children is a full gift of yourself. My body was, literally, broken to bring forth life. Paradoxically, however, when we give ourselves away, is often when we become most fulfilled. Loving others is what we were created to do. The harder we love, the harder the core of who we are fills with gratitude and joy. I don’t know about you, but I tend to not love as well, when it gets hard. I would have stopped giving and serving a lot earlier on, had there not been campers, students, after school program kids, and finally, my own kids, needing me to go further in giving of myself.
Our culture has not made it easy for us. I am regularly wearied by the expectations of modern parenting, the outrageous costs, the lack of a village- and I actually do have much more of a village than most. A while back I read several articles about how we have reached an all-time low in births, 1.78, less than the “replacement rate.” The articles mostly focused on the impending economic crisis this will create in the long term. I guess if we have to talk money in order for something to be discussed, then fine, but I’m much more concerned about the lack of hope crisis that we are already experiencing.
In Matthew 11:25, Jesus says, “I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children.” What exactly is hidden from the wise? I’m not sure. However, I think of my son caressing each person’s cheek during the sign of peace, rather than shaking their hand; I think of the bouquets of dandelions I have received from chubby, sweaty hands and their delight in my thanks; I think of that laugh of that uneducated, poor woman who recognized immediately the absurdity of monetizing something as precious as a child; I think of my daughter’s delight over a butterfly; my son pulling us by the hand to go see the full moon outside; I think of the innocence, the trust, the belief in the goodness of others that is possessed uniquely by children and I start to get an idea.