A frequent conversation between Kelly and myself goes something like this...as an avid news reader/watcher, we're sitting in front of the television after Cole's gone to bed and a horrible story comes on. Really any story these days. It sometimes feels like the world is going down in flames. Famine in Somalia. World economic crisis. Here in Chicago, a pregnant 16 year old killed but rushed to the hospital to save her baby who hangs on for life.
And Kelly turns to me, sighs, and asks rhetorically, "how could we bring a child into this world?"
My response gets caught up in existential philosophy, optimism for humanity, my theological issues with the doctrine of original sin, and usually boils down to "what if Cole and his sister cure cancer?"
They probably won't. I know that. But the reason we continue to have kids (us and all of us) is that the other choice...not having kids...dooms the entire species. And don't give me the tired (and false) argument about the planet not supporting all of us or being overpopulated. Those of us who are here aren't doing anything better with it--though God bless those who try.
I always come back to the 1905 Bessie Anderson Stanley poem about success that's often misattributed to Ralph Waldo Emerson.
My rules for Cole since the day he was born have been in my head and are simple, actually:
--Respect others
--Respect yourself
--Do your best
The rest, as the rabbi once said of the Torah, is commentary.
And Kelly turns to me, sighs, and asks rhetorically, "how could we bring a child into this world?"
My response gets caught up in existential philosophy, optimism for humanity, my theological issues with the doctrine of original sin, and usually boils down to "what if Cole and his sister cure cancer?"
They probably won't. I know that. But the reason we continue to have kids (us and all of us) is that the other choice...not having kids...dooms the entire species. And don't give me the tired (and false) argument about the planet not supporting all of us or being overpopulated. Those of us who are here aren't doing anything better with it--though God bless those who try.
I always come back to the 1905 Bessie Anderson Stanley poem about success that's often misattributed to Ralph Waldo Emerson.
He has achieved success who has lived well, laughed often and loved much; who has gained the respect of intelligent men and the love of little children; who has filled his niche and accomplished his task; who has left the world better than he found it, whether by an improved poppy, a perfect poem, or a rescued soul; who has never lacked appreciation of earth’s beauty or failed to express it; who has always looked for the best in others and given them the best he had; whose life was an inspiration; whose memory a benediction.I'm not a big fan of holding the next generation up to unreasonable goals. And, in the end, I try to tell myself when I get a little down that humanity is a sea and we're not all wicked, unkind, or heartless. Seeing the world through my son's eyes reminds me that sometimes we have to give up our jaded, skeptical adult worldview and remember that part of raising a child is simply not giving in. To them. Or to the people who have forgotten the basics and moved right on to cynicism.
My rules for Cole since the day he was born have been in my head and are simple, actually:
--Respect others
--Respect yourself
--Do your best
The rest, as the rabbi once said of the Torah, is commentary.