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Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Intellego, Intellegis, Intellegit

It was sometime in the late autumn of 2001 that the news became a swamp of paranoid advice that only served to make a freaked-out populace more shaky. Do you remember those completely un-comforting recommendations to stock up on plastic sheeting and duct tape? I certainly do, and not because my closet is littered with those anti-terrorist talismans. For me, the plastic and duct tape advice recalls an instance of spectacular rudeness.

One day, in the wake of the suggestion that left hardware stores barren, I collided with a woman I know vaguely who asked if I had laid in supplies. I confessed that I thought this all amounted to some kind of snow job courtesy of the government. Her reply: "Oh, well, you don't have children. You wouldn't understand."

Oh, but I did. The insult may have only been a flesh wound, but I was still annoyed. So I said: "But I have a dog."

The idea that being childless dooms someone to dimwittedness and insensitivity is so offensive, and now that I have a child I can't understand what about my experience is so unknowable. Obvious things- my new obligations, my inability to consume more than a glass and a half of wine without falling into my dinner, the pleasure and pain I get from my son- should be comprehensible to any halfwit. And if someone doesn't "get" it, I suspect this lack of understanding comes from the person not having something much more fundamental than a child. As for the shadier, more subtle aspects of my experience, I'm just as pleased that they aren't on display for the world. I'll impart them when I please.

On the subject of my dog, there are perhaps plenty of voices crying out that while my acquaintance may have been condescending, I was just plain horrible, equating my dog with her children. I don't think so. I really do reject the whole question of Hierarchies of Love (and ranted about it on 3/27/2005 "Who Do You Love?"). From the moment I was noticeably knocked-up, my misguided superintendent always greeted my dog with a sorry shake of the head and: "It's only a matter of time before you become Number 2." Again, I had to be unpleasant and say, as sweetly as gritted teeth permit: "You don't know me very well." I know that dogs and kids are not the same thing at all, but really, each demands love and responsibility and I resent being told that I don't have the capacity to provide for all the creatures in my charge or that my dependence on my dog is merely immature sentiment that should wane now that I have a child. I know myself. I'm not going to change, and I certainly don't need anyone implying I haven't sufficiently internalized the lessons of "Puff the Magic Dragon."

I wonder about the haughtiness of so many modern parents, who suddenly act so entitled, so ineffably worthy because they have children, as if their lives were somehow worth more than those who don't. I keep hearing about conversations in which parents literally say their lives are more valuable than those of the childless- as if we all had to prove our worth or risk being recycled for not being valuable enough. It's as if we were all living in some parent-centric version of Logan's Run, where procreation, not youth, gives one permission to live

It's appalling, in the same way that it is awful that people who have kids are somehow deemed incapable. Throughout my pregnancy, I had twinges every time I heard about how impossible it is to be creative when one has a child, because there is no way to clear out mental and temporal space. I found relief from the dread that I would never be productive again in Jane Austen's correspondence (so charming, so informative, so savage).

It can't be argued that Austen was unproductive, and while she did not have children, her life was more chock-a-block with obligations, dependants and responsibilities than any parent I've ever met. And if she could write her novels while constantly moving her household, taking care of her relatives and friends, maintaining her family's budget, corresponding widely, and complaining about her hectic social schedule ("Another stupid party last night; perhaps if larger they might be less intolerable,") there is hope for me in the modern world with Felix.

I'd love to declare a moratorium on superiority. Those without children should stop assuming that people with kids can't do anything beyond the minimum, and parents should refrain from suggesting that the childless have it so very easy. In short, and this goes for parents and kid-less alike: neither assume you know someone else's experience, nor imagine you're entirely alone in yours.

posted by Elise at 8:47 AM

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4 Comments:

Anonymous said...

THANK YOU.
I have a friend who believes that nothing i experience in my (VERY HECTIC) new career could possibly be equal or (gasp) more untenable than running after her 1.5 yr. old. Honestly, I've stopped talking about work, because it's nothing but one-upmanship and it's making me miserable. She'll give me these dire warnings, like, "oooohohohoho you just wait and see what it's like." this is someone who, completely self-imposed, never leaves the house because her wee one MIGHT have a tantrum. And complains non-stop about how unreasonable he is and how tired she is. Really, I hope he never sees the emails that she sends to me, because it doesn't sound like she's getting any pleasure out of him at all. Argh.

Thank you for your level-headed piece. I love reading your column. And I DO feel that having 3 cats is somewhat of a basic training for having kids. There is no way they will be moved to 2nd (3rd and 4th?) place when I procreate.

4/20/2005 12:53 PM

Anonymous said...

thank you thank you thank you. I'm really sick of people who have kids who act like they are the first people to ever procreate, and that their experience is EVERYONE'S experience.

And I had the opposite experience once...someone stopped me while I was walking my dog and asked me if I had kids. I shook my head no. She said, "They are JUST LIKE DOGS."

Alas, I know they're not, despite not having any kids yet. But I totally appreciated her acknowledgement of the dog/owner relationship.

4/22/2005 6:34 AM

Anonymous said...

My dog was #2 until she was almost hit by a public tran. bus (after straying from a walk in the park). It was then that I realized that she had to be #1 again. So there are 2 (actually 3) #1's.

And as far as the creativity stuff goes,I find that I'm even more creative because I HAVE to be in order to get by. It's like your brain stretches to make more room. And I've also started remembering things from way long ago--just little slivers of memories--yearning for babyless times, perhaps.

4/26/2005 10:16 AM

Anonymous said...

thank you, thank you, thank you!

5/04/2005 1:01 PM

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