I wake up from my daydreaming by the increased movement and chatter in the Twin Otter aircraft. Needlessly I check my altimeter, knowing very well the approximate altitude. The movement and chatter always start when the aircraft approaches the exit altitude of 15000 feet. My group of skydivers are beginning to adjust their buffs, putting on their helmets and gloves; the traditional handshakes and high fives are given left and right. Jokes and laughter start overpowering the earlier so soporific sound of the engines.
I enjoy these moments, the excitement and anticipation before a skydive. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and go through the jump plan one more time. As long as I'm able to get a stable exit and remember to go left, my group should be ok; and more importantly, it would put me in a great position to impress the audience with my exceptionally skillful landing.
As I open my eyes, I exhale and give one more high five. I glance at the pilot's GPS; one more turn around before we are above the drop zone. I nod to my friend, who is sitting in the back of the plane, waiting to get clearance to open the door. No words are needed, we smile at each other, soon we will exit the aircraft and enter free fall where anything can happen. And then, it suddenly does:
- So, Martin, was it an intentional decision for you not to have children?
I have known John for years. He is not a close friend, but he is a member of a very loose concept called: skydive family. Me being 43 years old and having been together with my wife since 2001, these kinds of questions are the norm rather than the exception, but his timing is definitely out of the ordinary. Obviously, I keep a tally on them in my journal. Right next to my zit count from High School.
Like Arnold Schwarzenegger in the movie Terminator, a list of possible responses appear on my internal desktop. I start scrolling through my options. Because I genuinely like John, I pick a kind one that does not require much time. Among a bunch of male skydivers, some of my favorite answers would be like casting pearls before swine. The shock value would be low, and I don't have enough time to milk the premise. The green light and the opening door saves both John and me from further awkwardness.
On an individual level, the actual reasons for childlessness vary greatly and are often covered up in multiple layers of deception. Going through the scientific data and statistics more generally is no simple task, either.
What is evident is that infertility is generally seen as a great tragedy. Regardless of the language, it is not uncommon that the word for "woman" and "mother" are used as synonyms. Fortunately, this stigma is less intense in first world countries; but the attitude has certainly not disappeared completely. If you are a woman closing in on 40 and you are not a mother, some will see you as a failure. Not seldom the person looking back at you in the mirror.
There is a clear connection between depression and childlessness. Not to say that parents don't get depressed, they do, but for other reasons. For many couples, the hiccups in getting pregnant is their first real crisis. A Finnish health site claims that 50% of the women who remain unsuccessful in their attempts to get pregnant see it as their worst crisis in life. Not surprisingly, the social pressure is unevenly projected on women, so for men, the number drops to 20%.
Men can usually avoid being stigmatized, but a few times, I have had mothers putting their hand on my shoulder and letting me know how sorry they are for me for not having children and, therefore, not having the opportunity to experience genuine love and real meaningfulness.
Once, one of these comforters clearly felt I needed something extra to make me feel better, so she called her snotty 3-year old to come and give me a kiss as I was leaving their house. The poor kid looked as petrified and uncomfortable as I felt. I stumbled out with only one shoe on, fumbling after my jacket with my other shoe in my hand. It is not that I hate children, just don't push them on me. And if I, for some reason, decide to pick one up, make sure there is a designated caretaker nearby because I might drop it like a bag of weed.
Some years ago, I was sitting with my newly born goddaughter in my arms at a birthday party. A mother that I kind of knew decided to break the ice with the classical: "so, you guys decided not to have children?" I still wonder what made her draw that conclusion? At the time, I statistically had a perfect age, education, social, and marital status to become a father. But according to her schedule, "we" were late and had, therefore, already made the decision.
I slowly chewed my mouthful of potato salad as I scrolled through possible answers. For a second, I stopped at the: "We have had multiple miscarriages. Do you want to see pictures?" But, like so often before, I got cold feet and picked a friendly and pleasant alternative.
The craftmanship of small talk is often undervalued. Here is one good tip from my Master Class: if the topic you are about to introduce can lead to pictures of dead infants, then perhaps you should start with something on the lighter side. The local weather or food is usually a safer bet.
Some weeks after I got married, a friend started calling me once a week to ask how the impregnation was going. Her phone calls became so regular that after a few weeks, she just started the conversation with: "well...?". At some point, she realized that her inquiries were not appreciated. The phone calls stopped, but the probing was smoothly delegated to her 6-year-old daughter.
This whole reproduction conversation quickly gets awkward. What also becomes apparent is gender inequality. The female has evolved into a sprinter with a narrow window of opportunity. After leaving the teenage years, women have to get an education, a career going, find a man, marry, and get children. If prince charming got the timing right with Bitcoin, the education and career part is of less importance. All this needs to be figured out and done within an approximate 15-year sprint. Tic tac, tic tac. Living with the fear of failing to become a "real" woman can be stressful at best and suicidal at worst.
God's gender bias is evident when we examine the male evolution into a lazy ultramarathon runner. Men have all the time in the world to finish the holy race of reproduction. As long as we go easy on the sausages and beer, wear loose boxers, and stock up on viagra, we will be just fine till the day we die. Technically we can even finish the race long after we have parted from our bodily remains.
But more than anything, it is more acceptable to be a 30+, childless man. And if for some irrational reason a hint of temporary stress would occur, all a man needs to do is let himself be inspired by any of the multiple male Hollywood stars with their zimmer frames and young blond playmates. Men mature like quality wines; we just get better over the years.
When a childless single woman turns 30, she celebrates to prepare the beginning of the end. When a man turns 30, he celebrates the birth of his future ex-wife. Sure, a 30+ year age difference would raise some eyebrows, but it is not unheard of. A man can start a family even though he is over 70. Of course, this is rare and far from possible for most men. But men are simple creatures, and when it comes to sex, we see a one-in-a-million chance as a real plausibility; and the mere thought of this soothes our nerves. Well, at least that is the official story.
Hey Jaffa! When are you going to get one of these? My friend his holding his 6 weeks old son in his arms while his wife is feeding their 3-year-old. For those of you who are not familiar with the term "Jaffa," it is a derogatory term used to describe men who cannot produce semen. Like the seedless Jaffa orange. But I really don't think my friend meant it in a mean way. It is his style, and the comment comes out as funny because I don't have children, and he, at the time, had two. I also doubt that he has any real data concerning my sperm?
In about 20% of infertile couples, the problem lies solely in the male partner. It is estimated that one in 20 men have some kind of fertility quandary with low numbers of sperm in his ejaculate or just horribly bad swimmers with mutated propeller tails rotating in the wrong direction. The average man today has half the sperm his grandfather did. Currently, it is devaluating by an average of 1.4% annually. The exact reason for this is unclear.
However, when troublesome issues become problematic tragedies, women are often better in coping with them. They cry a bit, talk about their feelings, have some chocolate and wine with their friends, and get back on the horse. Men tend to grab the bottle, shut down socially, and let their misery out by punching someone else in the face. Like the female comedian said: "Pussies (women) are tough, they can take a beating and come back the next day and ask for more."
Unfortunately, the time it can take is often brutal. A friend from school that I remember as extremely funny and filled with joy gave an interview not long ago about her struggles in trying to reach the acceptable level of womanhood. After 10 years and eight agonizing and painful fertility treatments, she finally gave up on her life long desire to become a mother.
Only when that grievous decision had been made was she able to start processing her grief and jealousy, and the shame for the hate she had felt towards those who were able to live her dream. I keep imagining her being on the receiving end when a jokester I know was loudly badgering a woman in front of her friends, clients, and co-workers about her not having children. He assured her how he, even though he was gay, could come and show her boyfriend how it is done. HILARIOUS!
Despite being asked the question a million times, I still have not understood what people expect as an answer. Sure, if I take a walk on the beach with a friend and get into a good talk about relationships, family, and life in general, I can understand a carefully constructed question that leaves me an out. But if you have the audacity to bring up an extremely personal and possibly traumatic issue in front of EVERYBODY at grandma's birthday party, then don't get offended when I give you a very detailed answer inspired by the famous special-ed teacher Ronald Jeremy Hyatt.
I'm aware that some of you reading this might feel slightly uncomfortable. Good! Perhaps you might have started to wonder what the real reason is that I, or someone you know, do not have children? Did I just share personal experiences or just deceptions and anecdotes?
Hopefully, all of you will bite your lip the next time you feel that overpowering urge to ask. Take a deep breath, and acknowledge that it is not about you. Exhale, and take solace in the most straightforward and honest answer I have used over the years: thanks for asking, but it is none of your f**king business!
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