Back when I was thirteen years old, a full six years before understanding that I was gay, I knew that I had no interest in – or business being – a parent.
It is easily one of things that helps to demonstrate how fully conscious of the world I was at an early age. You see, my reasoning for not ever becoming a parent…? I knew I did not have what it would take to out-survive my child. I knew. As I explained it to myself, I decided that it didn’t matter how well I could raise a child, how fully I could impart the importance of being a responsible, healthy part of the greater community. All that was required for the end of my child was one other child in the world not being raised with such awareness. I couldn’t bare the effort of raising a child responsibly just to have them killed by someone that hadn’t been.
There you have it, at thirteen years of age.
Reading about the news in Colorado this morning, I feel relieved that my thirteen year old self had the forethought to forbear bearing offspring… And I understand that I was right about my own strength as I read about a mother fighting to recover that doesn’t yet know her six year old is dead.
gryphon's hole 