On Childlessness and Our Future

We got the call in the middle of the night the day Damon was born. We rushed to the hospital and met family members in the waiting room. When Damon’s dad, walked out carrying the baby, we all gathered around. In that intimate moment I looked around the room. And I realized: Everyone in the room was related to that baby by blood except for me. Damon’s parents, brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles and grandmother were there. And me. His nonbiological grandfather. It hit me hard. It was the realization that I would probably never be a biological father, let alone grandfather. I had known this intellectually for 10 years. But it hit deeply in this moment.

We left the hospital early in the morning and caught a few hours of sleep. I got up and went to work while my wife, Laura, headed back to the hospital. When we both got home, we talked about the baby. I was still reeling. The next morning, Saturday, I woke up with a different feeling. I turned to Laura and said, “I need to see my grandson.”

Our first duo outing was 2 weeks later. After church, the women wanted to have a shower for Damon’s mother. I had to run an errand to Home Depot, so I took the newborn with me.

Last week I invited him to lunch. We worked out when he typically took lunch and how long his employers allowed. He suggested an Asian buffet near his workplace. That morning, he texted me to ask if we were still on. He also texted me when he arrived. I was a minute away. The buffet wasn’t worth what we paid. It was a great selection of foods, but each of us only ate one plate. The conversation was simple. And priceless.

We started out talking about his work. During the year following his high school graduation, he had worked a few jobs lasting a few days to a few months. He worked jobs with his older brothers, with his father, and with his grandmother. Each of those family members vouched for him in securing the jobs. But this job he secured on his own. And he was proud of that fact. I asked if he planned to stay for a while. He said he did, but that he was looking at other options like trade schools down the road. Then he asked me how long it took to become a gym teacher. The question gave me hope. Because he would be an excellent gym teacher.

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After work talk, we got more personal. I didn’t talk to him about the day he was born. But I reminded him of the day his youngest sister was born. And I told him about the day his youngest uncle was born. On both of those occasions I stayed the night with the baby’s 3 older siblings while the parents went to the hospital.

He caught me up on what his friends from high school were doing. I have known some of those friends for more than ten years. I played pick-up basketball with them weekly for years until I became a verifiable liability. I traveled with some of them all over the eastern US when they played for national championships.

I caught him up on his younger cousins. We discussed his three younger sisters. I told him about when his dad was a baby and about when his parents met. And I told him the stories about meeting and eventually marrying his Meemaw.

It’s been 20 years since that overnight in the hospital. I still have not produced any biological children, so I have no biological grandchildren. We have welcomed those aforementioned seven more grandchildren, Damon’s sisters and cousins. I have shown my love for them in my active commitment to their present and future. And before I was a stepfather or grandfather, when I was a single, childless man, I was invested in the lives of other people’s children. I was involved in the “cadences” of their lives. That investment was both my life’s work and my personal joy.

But I am not special. I am not rare. Millions of Americans invest in children they have not created. They are stepparents, foster parents, adoptive parents, teachers, clergy, social workers, youth leaders, child advocates, aunties, uncles, godparents, friends, and policy-makers. Investment in our children does not depend on biology. It also isn’t accomplished by warm feelings.

Put another way: giving birth and giving seed are not measures of commitment to our nation’s posterity. In fact, many citizens, like some childless teachers, opt out of procreating precisely because they want to pour into other people’s children, because they care about the futures of all of our children. Other citizens are unable to procreate, but still commit to our future by adopting children or by championing children in other ways.

Those who believe that procreators are the only ones invested in our children and our nation suggest that those without biological children are too selfish to have a stake in our national future. I submit that those who think themselves superior because they have generated a Mini-Me or two might be the more selfish ones. These are the people who can’t think of commitment to someone outside of shared biology. If that is the attitude we want to cultivate, I fear for our nation’s future.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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