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Kids or Dogs

There seems to be an onslaught of books on a topic rarely brought up in public conversations-the decision to remain childless. Walk on Seventh Avenue in my neighbourhood on any given day and you will hear endless conversations concerning children, daycare, and schools, play dates, eco friendly diapers etc. These conversations are not only coming from groups of women but also men and nannies. As I navigate through the strollers, herds of running toddlers and the occasional breast feeding new mom sitting outside the Häagan Dazs shop, I smile because I am so glad I do not have children. I have dogs.

 During my late teens, I decided not to have kids.

Carefully thought out and an easy choice to make, I knew back then I was too selfish to sacrifice one hundred percent of my needs and especially my wants in order to raise a child. My surroundings helped with the decision. My siblings and their kids allowed a front row view of the trials and tribulations of child rearing. Babysitting dilemmas, erratic feeding schedules, diapers and prams, and the ear piercing levels of screaming/crying  for food, to be held and changed, along with other monumental chores,  solidified my decision. Of course, there were moments of grandeur: the first word, the first walk, the first solid food, the first curse… that had no effect on my decision.

I saw and still see the negatives instead of positives.

There were teenage female classmates who mysteriously disappeared during the school year only to resurface during the summer with a baby and stroller in tow. There were also neighbours in the old ‘hood’ having more than one child to increase their welfare and housing benefits. In addition, during my teaching years, some of the parents of the emotionally disturbed students whom I taught, viewed teachers as overpaid babysitters, who freed up their time during the day so they could party up with drugs -horrible situations to place a child in! 

Having children is a serious decision with serious ramifications.

Children do not fix damaged people.  They will not cure loneliness or repair broken relationships. Nor will they take the place of a dress up doll. I live across the street from a playground where I see more nannies with babies than parents and yes in my ‘hood’ it is quite easy at times to distinguish nannies from parents. What is the point of having children if the parents are too busy working or taking care of their needs and especially their wants without the sacrifice? If a nanny takes care of a child on a full time basis, then the parents’ decision to have children was hastily decided. 

I chose dogs.

Dogs are wonderful companions who love unconditionally and flourish under a daily routine of food, exercise and love-not necessarily in that order just as long as you stick to the routine. Provide nutritional food, which can be bought or made, exercise them like crazy, because a tired dog is happy and less destructive and finally, lavish them with cuddles, belly rubs, grooming and praise. This accounts for sacrificing sixty percent of my needs and especially my wants although I must say it is more like ninety percent. 

Having a dog is a serious decision with serious ramifications.

The same ‘nanny’ concept holds true for dogs. If a dog owner needs to place their pooch for nine hours every day in doggie day care then maybe the decision to have a dog was hastily made.  Dogs require bonding with their owners not bonding with the attendant at the day care.

Dogs will not prepare couples for children.

I met a couple who adopted a dog for the sole purpose of preparing themselves for children. They figured caring for a dog would give them insight into the responsibilities of having a child. It was also a test run to see if their relationship was ready for the next level.  Unfortunately, they adopted a Jack Russell terrier and did not bother to learn about the breed. The dog’s hyperactivity resulting from lack of exercise strained their relationship. They moved from the neighbourhood and the dog’s fate and if they decided to have children after all remains unknown. 

As I got older, traveled, studied, relocated across country and back, the decision was right. Traveling with a child while studying abroad in the Caribbean would have been disastrous. I was involved with my studies, trekking through plantation sites and battling mosquitoes capable of transmitting Dengue fever.  A baby in the midst of this would not have made the trips possible or rather; I was not ready to give up the opportunities in order to raise a child. When the settling stage set in, less travel, sticking close to home and financial stability, the decision was made to share my life and enlarge my household. I chose dogs!

The enormous responsibility of child rearing was and still is not on my list of things to do.

Posted on by Anelemc · 1 Comment

The Best Christmas Present Ever-edited by Mykl

This last Christmas, I received the best Christmas present ever. It was not a coveted Amazon gift card nor fuzzy mittens. It was not designer soaps that end up banished inside the dresser drawer, never to see daylight again. And it was not chocolate. This best Christmas present ever came from an immediate family member and was given to me right before dinner.

My best Christmas present ever was actually a full-blown verbal assault. The wounds inflicted by this person were emotional, therefore invisible. It would have been horrible to spend Christmas seething and putting imaginary band aids on these invisible wounds, so I left the scene of verbal carnage. Once I got back home, I realized there was nothing to eat in the fridge. My empty fridge, on Christmas day, was just imaginary peroxide poured on the invisible wounds. My customary Christmas ham and Chardonnay wine was replaced by Japanese takeout food and two servings of hot sake. During my solitary dinner, I realized it did not feel like Christmas anymore.

How, you might ask, does this event fit into the realm as the best Christmas present ever? During a phone call to a close friend, I described the emotional slaughter.

“My Christmas was ruined,” I babbled. Then I tried to calmly explain what had happened. While I rattled on, he listened silently. 

“Don’t you realize you got the best Christmas present ever,” he responded, in his most polite and enthusiastic voice.

“How is that,” I ask.

“You don’t have to attend a dinner again. You are finally free. Don’t you see it?”

Up until he said that, I did not see it. His words made it perfectly clear. There will be no more ‘putting up with,’ no more criticisms, no more smirkiness, no more laziness and no more drunkenness. There will be no more nasty little snide remarks. But most importantly, the narcissistic personality disorders of not one, but two family members, are gone.

“Your mother got the chance to see it. All those years of telling her about their treatment towards you, always with her ambivalent responses, has now paid off. She got to see and hear it,” my friend said.

Suddenly I realized that emancipation had finally arrived.

There are two sides to every story, as my mom often reminds me, and yes, this writing, is  my side. I do not foresee any interviews taking place with the other participants of the best Christmas present ever. Not now, not at any time in the future and not anywhere on the horizon, that I can see.

“Is it OK to eliminate this episode, in its entirety,” I asked myself. I believe so. What will it accomplish and why rehash old wounds. There will be no clarification or justification coming, none offered. Besides, this is my version of the best Christmas present ever.

What makes this somewhat surreal is the fact that I was verbally attacked by a thirty-something (I’m somewhat older) that felt the urge to suggest my need of meds to control some perceived psychosis they imply I suffer from.

I see this family member, maybe three or four times a year. We seldom talk on the phone. There is little FaceBook communication. (Does clicking on the “like” button count?) Never-the-less, this family member believes they have the authority to prescribe what I need to be taking to be in control of whatever psychosis they imagine I have. This is only a part of what was unleashed but it is the part that bothers me the most.

Our family season of dinners starts with the traditional Thanksgiving. This leads into Christmas and culminates with Easter. Dinners from earlier years were always at my mom’s apartment. She would park herself in the kitchen, preparing culinary delights with a West Indian/Spanish flair. She would be working in that kitchen from morning until long after the other siblings had gone home. She spent all her time cooking, serving, pouring, carving and doing whatever was necessary for a large family dinner. She worked at cleaning all the dishes, the pots and pans, the serving platters and ended the day putting the apartment back in order and completely cleaned.

Fragmentation within the family arose and began to grow. Over the years, dinners and gifts became sparse, in quantity and quality.

Those family dinners became a battleground, a family form of conflict. They were filled with critical and hurtful words. Angry and derogatory words. Judgemental and sarcastic words. My communication was ignored by them talking over it. The constant use of words such as idiot, fool, stupid, and many others, were used to describe me. Constantly being baited and goaded, over and over, year in and year out, eventually caused reactions of the most unfavorable kind. Attending these dinners eventually turned me into a reactionist. These family dinners were a form of sadistic torture. Continuing to attend these events, to please a certain family member, makes me a masochist. I always silently hoped that maybe this time, maybe this one dinner, will turn out differently.

Absolving myself of toxic family members, removing myself from family dinners is indeed the best Christmas present ever. Because it validates my existence, my integrity, my sense that I am a person that deserves respect. That validation, that sense of self-respect is the best Christmas present ever.

Posted on by Anelemc

Family

Webster defines family as:

1: Persons of common ancestry 2: Group living together 3: parents and children 4: group of related individuals

At the age of seven, I defined family as:

 1:The Walton’s 2: The Brady Bunch 3: The Jefferson’s 4: Good Times

However, my family did not look or act like TV families. We did not grow up on a mountainous range but on a concrete, brick and brownstone block in Park Slope, Brooklyn before it was super chic to live here. Had no idea the suburbs existed with family rooms and dens and a “deluxe apartment in the sky” that came with a Doorman did not thrive in the “ghetto”.  Eventually, I came to understand the difference between “the ghetto” and “the projects”. None. Like peanut butter cups with chocolate or M&M’s with the candy coating- one does not exist without the other.  

Family defined by me as an adult is a group of fragmented, mentally ill, alcoholics (some) and sexually frustrated (most) peoples strewn together not by choice but as Webster further defines- forced to co-exist with some civility and respect. Describes my family nicely although respect is optional and civility must be enforced at times. I will  include the word ‘dysfunctional’ which,  translates to, “Severely messed up”and/or “Non-repairable”. Mí familía would not rate on the top ten lists, composed by a good psychologist, as the family most damaged and/or fragmented. We are the product of our roots, which started as seedlings and shaped by environments and genetic components. What we longed to become, we did not.  

My family serves as a marker, a validation of non-existence within the group, for my position as the youngest placed me in the “seen and not heard” category. Number four is ‘the loneliest number’.