I probably won't have children, for reasons that I have already written about. In fewer than two weeks, I'll be 41. Even if the conglomerate had happened when I was a lot younger and I had more time to meet someone and start a career and a family, being born to a woman who has been treated the way that the conglomerate has treated me would be painful and I'd rather not inflict that on a child.
That doesn't mean that I'm immune to the healing effects of babies. A few days ago, I talked to someone about how puppies and kittens never fail to make people smile, wriggling and bouncing up to everyone, eager to love, astonished and delighted by everything. I tend to dislike things that sentimentalize the youth of any species; I have to be desperate for heartwarming things to seek those awful, contrived pictures of puppies and kittens for which there unfortunately always seems to be a market. They are not the reality.
Human babies are less demonstrative than the young of many mammals. I think that probably has something to do with their lack of independent mobility. It has to be frustrating to be a baby; I'm sure that you can't help noticing that everyone around you can walk, talk, make things happen and stop things from happening, while all you can do is incoherently mention how you feel and hope your petition gets addressed sooner rather than later.
What human babies share with all babies is being at the beginning. Their innocence is always a reminder to the rest of us that we didn't start our lives hating, fearing, struggling with cynicism or despair, ready to laugh at idealists, vengeful or insecure. Babies, whether they are toothlessly smiling or squalling, are the essence of hope.
Copyright L. Kochman, July 6, 2015 @ 7:49 a.m.
