I love kids. Have always loved them. Found so much joy with
them over the years. And in a way found great acceptance from them as well. I
have found kids to be attracted to me as well; perhaps they felt my natural
warmth which is so rarely exhibited. But, lately it hasn’t been so. I have
become twisted. I see my bro for example, who also loves kids. And the kids
still come to him like they used to come to me. I have lost some of my warmth.
Or perhaps, too long under wraps it got spoiled.
Anyway, the point is I still love kids. Love noticing them
in market place, streets, and buses as they go about making each moment their
own, deriving maximum from each of them. I am envious of the people who have
such kids. But a kid of myself is still a bit strange. First my marriage comes
in and then comes the responsibility part. Still I guess if I overcome first, I
will easily overcome second. And this takes to me the point I was wondering
about. What about the kid that I will bring in the world. I will have time of
my life bringing him up. I see the way my parents are still attached to me and
I wonder if the joys from offspring ever wane. But I also know myself and I
know how messed up I am. Will it not be same for that kid? He will have a
wonderful childhood – though there are question marks over that as well given
all the uncertainties of time. Then an angry teenager followed by anxious
twenties. Should I just be selfish and bring him because I feel like. I feel
like it will also give me a purpose. I remember the last scene of beautiful
movie – “up in the air” – when everybody was talking of his motivation for
getting up in morning and going through the day to find a job, to find the
money. All of them were asked what for and they reply was for their kids. I can
see myself so easily fit in that crowd. I am sure I will love my kid, will be
anxious for him and work myself harder to make it alright. I can see a chance
of it driving me more depressed as I will always think that I am not being good
enough. But then the child grows and finds this world full of shit, full of doubletalk
and backstabbing and very apparent purposelessness. Will he come back to me and
ask me, as I recall Big B asked his father, why did you bring me? I will not be
able to compose a poem to answer him.
The question is – is it worth it? Should I have kid just
because I love one? Just because I need someone to share my love with.
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