My sister is still, as of this writing, swollen with pregnancy, but I reckon she'll pop at some point soon because...okay, I just jinxed it, she's now going to carry the baby into March. Sorry, sis.
Anyway, before the birth of Jermajesty Beyonce, I will say that the past few weeks of waiting for her to arrive have caused me to wonder about my own fitness as a parent, should I be lucky enough to con a woman into loving me. I'm great with the cousins and half-cousins who have come through my grandparents' abode over the years for babysitting (that's not me saying that, I have testimonials that me taking a whiffle bat to the crotch kept Lil Satan entertained enough to allow the grands some much-needed bickering time), but the thought of my own kid, a little copy of me, somehow being born onto this planet and then asking me to clean up his or her shit, well, that's just a little unnerving.
You see, my experiences with women have been of the disappointing kind, sometimes I was the instigator of it or she was, but the result was usually the same; something that started off kinda nice devolved because one or both of us was too insecure to really think this might last.
So god forbid that I bring a child into that equation. Also, it doesn't help that, of the various couplings within my family (marriage-wise, I mean; no incest that I know of), only a couple are of the "romantic, isn't it?" variety. What I mean is, marriage and family are not conducive to happiness amongst my family, or if it is, it's aided by the abuse and misuse of alcohol and/or drugs. Depression seems to run in the family, as well as "playful" ball-busting that, for someone as sensitive as me, has sometimes come off as more mean than meaningful (see my thoughts on Thanksgiving).
But I always had an "out": my father's side of the family. Granted, I know next to nothing about them, but that's the point: I can come up with all sorts of identities for the man and his kinfolks. He could have been a hero, and his father before him, and they never spent any major holiday sitting around the table eying each other with mutual suspicion and ill-concieved contempt for some imagined past wrong. Not that my family is Swedish malaise personified, but let's just say Ingmar Bergman could have a field day with them (I've only seen a couple of Bergman films, but really, you see one and you get the idea. Plus, I read both of his autobiographies). But my father's side, the family I didn't know...they could be just about anything.
To this day, my efforts to construct what my father was really like, assuming he's not around anymore (I don't even know if that's the case or not) have failed, or I just haven't pursued them to the best of my ability. It's this lack of closure, maybe, that has something to do with my lack to be the kind of guy I could see having a family, and being there. Maybe, deep down, I fear I'd run away at the first sign of trouble (say, the part where my future girlfriend or wife says "we need to talk" and indicates that yes, my sperm is powerful enough to propogate the species), or I'd just plain suck at it. Maybe I should quit being such a scaredy cat.
Anyway, not to extend all this to my as-yet unborn niece, but I hope she gets none of the weird shit that the rest of my family has; I know I'll try my best to be Uncle Trevor for her, and not "weird Uncle Trevor who lives in the basement and never talks to women." I'll love her no matter when she's born, but I hope for my sister's sake it's before St Patty's day.
Trevor
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