Female berthing bathrooms are a main center of activity in the evening. The day shift is unwinding with face masks and hair treatments while the night shift is starting their day with yawns and bleary eyes. With all the hubbub comes the syncopation of conversations—rhythms I try to avoid most days, for good reason.
I’m brushing my teeth while the girls next to me talk about the young children they left behind. My heart breaks for them at the idea of missing their two- and three-year-olds’ milestones and their elementary-aged kids bringing home homework and grades without them, so I give them a platform. “How many kids do you have? How old? Do they like school?” The usual polite questions with a smile.
Then, inevitably, the conversation turns to me. “Do you have any kids?”
The question always makes me laugh. The idea that I’m more than old enough to have kids of my own always catches me off guard. It feels like an error on God’s part. Have they met me? “No kids, but four nieces.”
Then the condescension starts behind pursed smiles. “Well, it’s different when it’s your own kids.”
I try to keep up the facade that I can hold a normal human conversation. “Yeah, but I’d still die for those girls. They’d be the center of my world if I could get back to Missouri.”
“Yeah, well. It’s still different. You should have kids.”
I look the three of them dead in the eye through the mirror. “Thanks, but I physically cannot have children.”
You could have heard a pin drop. And by pin, I mean the whine of the sonar somewhere above our berthing.
I smile at their shocked, embarrassed faces, pack up my tote bag, and head for the door. “Have a good night.”
Cards on the table: I’m grateful for my hysterectomy. At the same time, I look at parents with a special level of respect and honor—especially given the current state of the world (seriously, thank you for your service). I like kids, but they’re not for everyone, and everyone who wants children can’t always have them. How much would those words have stung if I’d had miscarriages? Or endometriosis? What if I did want kids, but, as a trans man, felt terrified at the idea of navigating that world? I didn’t handle those comments in that way for myself but for everyone who could be hurt by those kinds of comments in an already harsh, hurtful environment.
I received the gift of my nieces, and the rest of the Scoular clan, when I married my wife. The oldest two didn’t always know me as Uncle Finn. They’re going to grow up watching me change into who I really am, all the while cherishing and respecting their Aunt Rozzie. I’m showing them that what really matters in a partnership is how the parties involved treasure one another and work together, not who the world first said they should be. It’s too early to know what the babies are going to see when they look at me when they grow, but they’re going to learn the same things. All four of them are going to know that they’re my heart. My wife’s too.
Do parents feel something different for their own kids than what I feel for my nieces? Probably. Is holding that over my head like a trophy even remotely helpful? Absolutely not. We’re all here to look after the next generation the best way we can as individuals. Loving, influencing, and making them is not a competition. I thought we were beyond that, but I guess not, so here I am, being an asshole in the berthing bathroom.
So, whether you have kids or not, want kids or not, be mindful that we’re not all on the same path, nor were we all called to the same path. Whatever your path is, it most certainly isn’t meant to be a competition.
Finnely King-Scoular (’14) is stationed at Naval Station Norfolk in Norfolk, VA, where he lives with his wife, Rosalind (’13). His writing, including the Faerie Court Chronicles series from NineStar Press, focuses on contemporary fantasy with an emphasis on LGBTQ+ representation.
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1000% this! I hope we’re heading toward a world where we can say, “I don’t plan on having kids/don’t want to have kids/can’t have kids” without it derailing a conversation. And my personal pet peeve: when a couple refers to having babies as “starting a family,” as if they weren’t “valid” as a family already.