Many times I have been asked, “Dale, why don’t you want
kids?” And the answer has always been
some off-hand, smart-alecky stab at humor meant to shock as much as
entertain. If you know me personally,
then you are aware that my life philosophy can be expressed in a series of
one-line quips that are tailored to the immediate audience and my sense of
current affairs. If you know me only
through these writings, then you realize I am a deep well of wisdom, at the bottom
of which is a sticky muck that’s hard to remove from one’s psyche once engaged.
The truth is, my life has been devoted chiefly to
thought. It has been my aspiration to
resolve the great mysteries of human existence and construct a universal model
of society. The main impediment to
success over this six-decade odyssey through the maze of human behavior is that
every time I stand of the precipice of understanding my mind is hijacked by the
aforementioned one-liner.
My friend and shooting partner Frank used to threaten to a
carry a notebook just for the purpose of recording these frequent offerings of
total crap wrapped up in a shiny facade of pseudo-wisdom. I wish he had because I can’t remember even a
tenth of the bull I came up with and they would make entertaining reading for
you. But alas, time and age have wiped
many of these pearls of intellectual whimsy from the dry-erase board of my
brain.
Probably first among the drivers of my thinking processes is
to simplify things. I try to explain what I see in the least complex terms
possible. I avoid the question “why” in
favor of the question “how”. I am a
dedicated follower of Occam and his razor of parsimony. If you are not familiar
with the philosophical approach known as Occam’s razor I will paraphrase it as;
keep it simple stupid. Now this is
woefully inadequate so I urge you to look it up.
I know what you are thinking, “Dale, what does any of this
have to do with having children.” And I
respond, “Nothing!” For you see, it is
not the having children that is at issue.
That part was perfected by our genetic ancestors millennia ago. You simply pick a comely female from the
pride, lie to her about how many bison you can kill in a day, slip her the old
spear of manhood and you’re done. The
rest is up to her… until the spawn of your loins is delivered. Then you have to keep the little booger eater
alive.
For some evolutionary reason that I have yet to fathom, we
separated from the large cats. Now lions
have societal organization perfected. Participation
in the biological imperative assigns to him two roles. The first is to impregnate the cub making
machine. The second is to defend his
genetic territory. Screwing and
fighting; maybe the missing link is the Irish.
And a little discussed behavior in nature documentaries is that if the
cubs get too annoying, the male eats them.
But we, in the much more evolved species known as Homo sapiens sapiens, have developed an
ethic of communal family care. Where did
that notion come from? I’d bet it was
first germinated in the mind of a female.
Maybe we retain some genetic trace of the sea horse.
So, I think I’m on to something. My total lack of interest in having and
caring for offspring probably stems from my being a genetic throwback. In fact, such condition could explain many of
my personality features. And you
probably started a list of those as you read that sentence.
Don’t get me wrong. I
am not anti-kids. I understand much too
well the urges manifest in the biological imperative. People are going to keep engaging in
population increasing activity as long as there are people. And, as I’m sure we’re headed for a day when
universal socialism is the economic rule, I’m all in favor of there being as
many of the little urchins available for labor as are needed to support me in
my golden years. And if we over breed,
we can always eat the surplus.
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