A Selfish Theory of Parenting

For a long time I have viewed my own desires to parent in the future skeptically; I am a highly educated, competitive person and I there will always be some aspect of child rearing that will be trying to make a more perfect child. I had amazing, loving parents and I would want to provide for my future children a similarly idyllic childhood. I would also want to educate my children to sports, culture, literature and music.

Last night another aspect of this acculturation became clear to me as a motive for parenting: one can raise their children to love what they love. No matter how much a person can share with a lover or a spouse, there will always be something that you disagree on: video games, horror movies, or 80s music. And it seems so much like cheating to make a strong connection with another person, of any sex. So we have children to share our loves with them. And by sharing our love with them our love grows for them.

This became clear to me last night watching the amazingly fantastic film Stardust based upon a tale of the same name by the author Neil Gaiman. I don't know why I took so long to watch it - I saw at it the dollar theatre - because it was precisely the movie I needed to see. I loved cameos by Ricky Gervais and Dexter Fletcher, and the narration by Ian McKellen. But mostly I loved it for it's spirit and whimsy; it is a fairy tale, this decade's Princess Bride. And as I sat, transported, unable to move (although I had a very full bladder) I realized that although I wanted everyone I knew to see this movie, I also wanted to hide it away from them, to make sure that I wouldn't have to face the disappointment of someone else merely liking, or enjoying or appreciating Stardust. (Can anything be so insulting as being appreciated?) And so for the first time in my life I desperately wanted to have a child to show this movie to - to read the story to - or to tell the story aloud as a bedtime story to.

After I got out of the film I realized that I really wanted the opportunity to introduce a child of mine to the joys of strawberry shortcake, the music of Josh Ritter and a myriad of other delights. If only this didn't require nine months of eight gain and moodiness and 18+ years of worry and responsibility.