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Why I Write About Children
After my last post about a Jewish man who had established an orphanage in Nazi Germany, I realized that in the last couple of years I have frequently written about children, especially those who are struggling. For a person with no children, that seemed (to me) to be an odd choice: what did I know about children? In many respects, very little. So, I decided to reflect on my reasons for writing about children, particularly in the area of education, and see if I had something new to learn about life and the world around me.
I grew up in a family of three children. Oddly, none of us have had children, by choice. At the time we made our choice, my husband said he would support my choice either way; he already had one daughter by his first marriage. I decided for my own selfish reasons not to have kids: I believed that I couldn’t “do it all” (and still believe that) and I lived at a time when women were celebrated for working; I couldn’t imagine “only” raising children (an incredibly narrow and naïve view); and I was terrified that I would be like my own mother (who struggled at motherhood)—I realized years later that she could have done much, much worse.
There was nothing original about my excuses—and they were excuses, even irrational ones. But for many years I didn’t regret that choice. When friends asked me about our decision (and they always asked without obvious judgment), wondering if I felt I was missing anything, I said that I was. But I also pointed out that parents were missing something by having kids. Part of that is the intimacy that comes with a husband and wife only needing to focus on each other. Selfish, yes, but that’s how I saw my life back then.
In the last few years, though, I’ve found myself come to appreciate children much more. Certainly, I recognize that children are our future, but my connection seems less idealistic and more personal. It occurred to me today that this timeline coincides with my relationships with the @iwe family. The children are an amazing assortment of personalities, intellect, curiosity, and joy. I realized from the start how much I enjoyed being around them. Although I see them infrequently, I so enjoy watching how they have grown, how I can relate as an adult with the older children, have delightful conversations with the middle children, and simply immerse myself in the energy of the youngest of them.
On Ricochet I love hearing stories about others’ children: how you wrestle with their issues, how you love and support them. I think I’m not envious because I don’t believe in regrets, but rather choose to look forward. So, I see many of you as parents whose lives I can endorse and encourage, because you and your children are the ones who will help others to learn how to live a meaningful life.
My husband and I also have committed funds to the Hillsdale College programs for children. I look around me at the children who are probably much more resilient than I think they are, but who have been brow-beaten and manipulated by our current education system. Hillsdale has new materials they are developing to lift our children out of the miasma of radical thinking into the sunshine of critical thinking, learning about our history and encouraging children to question and engage.
But I realize I have wandered into the intellectual, perhaps to avoid the more personal assessment of why I write about children.
I feel deeply connected to them.
Even when I cringe at their raucous behavior at times, because I am so conditioned to silence, I still share much with them. My child-like love of learning, of exploring, or seeing where life and study will take me is stronger than ever. I share that with children. I want to encourage that mindset, that enthusiasm and appetite for understanding and embracing truth. In fact, I’m wondering if there’s something I might look into that can contribute more to the life of children.
I think life is shifting for me—I’m not quite sure what that means right now.
But I’m excited about exploring the possibilities.
[photo courtesy of unsplash.com]
Published in Culture
This is an outstanding account of a complex life decision made with rare care and forethought. I made a different decision and I will always be grateful for the support and guidance of my husband. It turns out that if you start young enough you can sometimes have both children and a career or business, but there is no doubt that two masters may not be served, at least not equitably.
Forgive me if this is too far afield, but this post reminds me that the widespread choice not to have children has, I would argue, profound political effects, and not just on Social Security/Medicare. You are unusual, Susan, in caring so much about children. As a society, it seems to me that we care less and less, and the lockdowns are only the latest example.
Your point is absolutely legitimate. It is a blessing to have children, particularly in Judaism, and it is a gift to the world. That’s why I’m well aware that I made a selfish decision.
I do now think we had a responsibility to have children, too. But that decision (at 71 years old) can’t be undone. Thanks for weighing in @sandy.
I don’t think it is unselfish to have children, though. Human beings are pretty well stuck on personal satisfaction.
Well, November is adoption month, and we decided to adopt when we were in our 40s . . .
Maybe I could adopt you and neutral observer, Stad? Or is it too late?
It’s never too late!
The good news is I’m bottle fed . . . (hic)
I could not think of a better thing to do. I have heard it said that 100 years from now, nothing we do will matter more than what we have done to contribute to the life of a child. Go for it, Susan!
@susanquinn, please pardon if this is too mawkish, for want of a better word, but if I may I would like to share with you and others who care to read about it a true story illustrating the beautiful, unselfish, warm, loving embrace one can feel from a child with whom one has an immediate, if fleeting, connection. As you know, I am a Blue Angels addict, and if one ever creates a 12 step program for hopelessly addicted fans of those incredible magicians in their magnificent machines, I would certainly, as My Lady would certainly attest, be a prime candidate. Yesterday, on the beach trolley taking a load of us fans down the beach to the site of the Homecoming Show of the Blues on Pensacola Beach, I grabbed a seat next to a fine young boy and in the row immediately in front of us were his Mom and little sister. We started up the conversation usual in those circumstances — always, in my experience most happy and fun-loving folks looking forward to seeing their heroes perform– and I noticed that the little boy had on a T-Shirt with the insignia of Sergeant on the sleeve. I immediately started calling him “Sarge”, as we with military experience would do almost instinctively, and told him I had been a Captain long, long ago. We had a lovely time chatting, this fine little fellow and I, for the few minutes it took us all to get to our stop for the show. And, when he got up to leave, I was treated to one of those moments one never forgets — for whatever reason, perhaps the connection we had made in those few little minutes, he reached up and gave me the biggest hug you can imagine. This is not to even try to put into words all the ways that love can be expressed, but that moment with that little boy and his big hug for this fellow who must have seemed to him to have been something out of the Paleolithic Age, was a moment of sheer, pure, beautiful love.
I hope this is not too far afield from your beautiful and most poignant post, but I thought I would offer it as just one further illustration that there is nothing more moving, beautiful or joyful than the love expressed by a little child, such as this little boy on the trolley, and those are moments to be cherished as if they were the very golden threads of life, as that is exactly what they are.
Sincerely, Jim
You bring tears to my eyes, Jim. Yes, I’ve had a few of those moments with @iwe‘s little ones. They are already approaching the time when hugs won’t be permitted with me, but intimate moments show up in all kinds of ways. I have lots of thoughts about what I can look into to pursue connecting with kids in other ways. I just don’t know right now. Thank you for sharing the story.
I had the same response.
I made the same decision Susan did, but for a different reason. Please believe me when I say that my mother was a witch, and made my life miserable for as long as I lived at home (including the couple of weeks I moved back in with my parents after my divorce). I decided that I would be an unfit parent, and would not inflict my personality on an innocent child. I have a very low tolerance for crying babies, even now, and can get very short-tempered. I recognized early that I have some of my mother’s worst characteristics, and I have never for even a moment regretted my decision. I greatly admire women with many children, and have no problem being around kids, as long as they are well-behaved. When I was a kid, I was very well-behaved around adults, and my parents’ friends liked talking to me; however, my mother would shoo me away saying “this is adult conversation”. I really look forward to meeting the rest of the @iwe family someday.
This post and the comments made me blush. Thank you all for the kind words. And we look forward to meeting more Ricochetti!
I admit that I am gaga about kids. Though I am famously strict (my kids boast to others that, “we have the meanest Daddy!”), my kids light up my world.
As I like to say to people who disapprove of “breeders” like myself: “The world may have more than enough of you. But it does not have nearly enough of me.”