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Fool on the Hill
by Jake da Motta
Gentlemen, if
you don’t already have children and are planning to, then take a
couple of steps back from the precipice, pour yourself a drink,
light a smoke while you still can, and have a good, long, hard think
about it. Like anything with a strand of DNA to its name we have a
genetic predisposition to replicate, it’s what we’re supposed to do.
Sadly we are unable, like the cunning starfish, to merely shed a toe
or finger and leave it alone to grow quite happily into a little
clone of ourselves thus placating the egomaniacal DNA in this
relatively painless and responsibility free manner. Since variety is
the spice of life we have evolved down the road of sexual
reproduction and our species requires us to team up one of our germ
cells with one of the opposite sex in order to get the party really
swinging and throw in the curve ball of natural variation to fuel
the whole selective process. Creationist would-be parents by the
way…..you are just loitering unnecessarily in the wrong century and
should do future generations a favour by not begetting them. You are
the weakest link…..Goodbye!
Because humans
are such weedy, hairless, slow growing, long lived, cerebrally
dependant creatures we not only need to look after the helpless
bundles of genetic material…we cause to come into existence by the
union of our wobbly bits…for an obscene length of time, we have also
to stay on friendly terms with the buggers in the hopes that as we
start falling apart on the downhill stretch and ourselves return to
a state of monosyllabic, drooling incontinence, they will return the
favour. We have invented a society which masks the essential
requirement of DNA beneath layers of human behaviour appearing
superficially to have nothing to do with procreation. We invented
money (replacing enormous antlers or outrageous plumage as a babe
magnet) and we make the procreation of this our main goal as
a species, but all it’s indicating is “fitness” to breed. Our
careers and even our competitive leisure activities merely establish
a pecking order without us even being aware of the similarity
between a lek and a playing field. We dance around each
other pretending we have overcome the reproductive imperative,
denying any connection between fornication and procreation, but ask
any man who has a career driven partner if her priorities didn’t
change at around 36 when the little gremlin controlling the most
strident call of nature started cranking up the volume.
Overcome
resistance to the idea, and start believing the whole baby-making
thing will not really change your life, and you’re fooling
yourself. Your sex life will become a cold blooded regimen ruled by
ovulation cycles and the suffering that PMT once visited upon you
will seem like a pleasant memory compared to the accusatory
atmosphere that a failure to conceive will bring. If conception does
occur then you will be swiftly marginalised having done your bit,
and for some ten months you will serve as a whipping boy to blame
for morning sickness, stretch marks, piles and loss of everything
from bladder control to the intimate relationship your partner used
to have with her favourite clothes. You will attend the birth where
you will be blamed for pain that seems unendurable or if it’s a C
Section, then the scar will be no less your fault than if you had
taken a cutlass to the women in jest……and you will live with the
bizarre mental snapshot of the person you love best in the world
being sawn in half like a low-rent magician’s assistant on one side
of a screen whilst her top half hums along unconcerned to “Show me
the way to Amarillo” on the other.
Out comes the
baby and here starts the emotional blackmail that will continue
until they pull the sheet over your face. This is when you get the
first inkling that nothing will be rational in your life again and
indeed it wont really even be your life anymore as you have
now become a supporting actor in someone else’s. Rarely, some people
cave in about now; a light goes on inside and they magically become
parents, placing the welfare of their child (described at
this point by a friend of mine as a “blue fish”) above all things.
You lucky guys can go and sit on the bench with the Creationists
leaving the rest of us filled not so much with awe and a need to
protect, as inadequacy and a need to run and hide. From now on any
faith you ever had in your own parents’ wisdom will start to erode
and you will daily forgive them any grudges you have borne as you
learn that they, like you, were merely floundering about in the
dark. You will soon realise that the succubus has opened up an
emotional bank account with you and started making vast withdrawals
on an hourly basis, demanding care and nurture whilst giving nothing
in return apart from amphetamine-worthy doses of sleep deprivation.
As time goes by it will begin to dawn on you that you no longer
query the credit limit on this emotional account; you are getting
the picture, there is no limit. But just at the point when you’re
ready to close the account….small deposits start appearing on the
ledger; a smile of recognition, three hours of uninterrupted sleep
or the acceptance of a bottle for a night feed. Now you’re really
screwed. Before you know it these drip-fed moments of joy will
mysteriously start to eclipse the hours of torture….and the disease
of parenthood will have taken hold of you.
Soon there’ll
be more of them then there are of you, and the best you’ll be able
to hope for is that the love you had for each other will be enough
to satisfy them instead and that a brand of fox-hole camaraderie
will endure for the next couple of decades until you get your best
mate and the woman you fell in love with back. No conversation
between partners will be tolerated during daylight hours, no
opportunity to hog the spotlight will be missed. No anger will be
allowed to endure for more than a few minutes, every second not
spend entertaining them will be paid for in guilt and your sleep
tainted by nightmares of injury and loss. You will believe that
Christ probably chose crucifixion as the easy option compared to
facing the Easter long weekend without the help of a nanny.
But however
hard you have resisted it you will believe with all your heart the
tenet that no parent should outlive their child as the
sadness must be almost unbearable. You will wish for them only good
things and to shelter them from heartache, and you will realise that
time and patience are the hardest but greatest gifts you can give
your child. Your DNA will have won.
So nail that
last drop, butt that smoke and step up to the edge again big guy.
Time is not on your side and to be honest….the sooner you get it
over with the sooner you’ll have someone to drink with.
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May
2007