Ah, youth.
Mine is gone many years, except in my heart when I gaze upon Susan (wife/partner/Princess).
She is my delight and my joy.
Together forty-six years, married forty of them, not always easy, not always nice, and wonderful to remember.
We knew early on we weren’t suited to have children. Anybody who knows my personal history knows I had no good models for parenting, and I openly worried my parents’…flaws?…methods. Yes, that’s better, methods of parenting would cause any children I had harm. As it was, I didn’t do my first wife proud except for the fact I left her, again knowing I was not suited to be a good husband, provider, and father.
I often consider that one of my first rational thoughts, recognizing how flawed I was.
Still have flaws, of course, and they are different ones, hopefully less vexsome ones, more along the line of liking a good superhero movie every once in a while because I need to veg out for a while.
And all that noted, I sometimes regret not having children.
A friend of mine recently had her tubes tied, so abhorrent was the thought of having children to her.
I chided her.
“Children are wonderful,” I told her. “Lightly roasted with a little salt, they’re delicious.”
Budda-boom!
And I still appreciate The Wild‘s sharing its younth with us.
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