But what seems to me most
monstrous of all, some who do not even have poverty as an excuse, and in spite
of prosperity and even riches are so inhuman as not to rear later-born
offspring in order that those earlier born may inherit greater wealth—by such a
deed of wickedness planning prosperity for their surviving children.
That these may have a greater
share of their father's goods, their parents rob them of brothers, never having
learned how much better it is to have many brothers than to have many
possessions.
For possessions inspire intrigue
on the part of the neighbors, but brothers discourage intriguers. And
possessions need support, but brothers are the strongest supporters. One cannot
compare a good friend to a brother nor the help that others, friends and
equals, give to that which a brother gives.
If security and wealth were the conditions for raising
a family, you would think that the richer people would have more children. Yet
all of my experience tells me that quite the opposite is the case, that families
tend to become smaller with greater prosperity.
Perhaps the psychologists and sociologists can
offer some deeper insight on this, but I can’t help but wonder if it’s because
they actually think of money and power as ends, and not as means at all. They
wish to acquire, and they wish to consume, and they wish to be revered. The
child simply becomes an extension of that, another aspect of vanity, a reflection
of the parents’ glory.
If I thought that my own life was measured by my
worldly possessions, I would probably also be hesitant to give of myself. If I
can’t have it, and get
something out of it, what possible purpose would it serve? If I looked at a
child like an investment for my own satisfaction, it would be foolish to spread
myself too thin.
Once I define a good life by the conveniences and
luxuries that it offers, then I will also assume that my child’s happiness will
require such accessories. I may then work to provide all the externals, and I
may too easily neglect the internals. Forming a successful son or daughter, as
the world would define it, will cost me quite a bit, so one of them is probably
enough. Perhaps I will add a second as a backup. A third might be pushing it.
So to make my precious child more successful, to
make him more like me, I will pass on my money. Isn’t that the greatest gift I
can give him?
There might be another option, one that will never
occur to most people, because they sadly make life about gratification instead
of love. Inheriting a million dollars sounds quite nice, and I will rub my
hands thinking about what I can buy with it.
There is something far more precious in this life,
however, and it is called friendship.
If I had to choose between giving my son more money
or a loyal companion for life, which would I choose? Let me give him a brother,
or a sister, the joy of fellowship. Money comes and goes very quickly, but the
bond of family is much harder to break.
If I had my brother or sister with me, the gutter
would feel more bearable, far more bearable than being alone in my empty
suburban home.
I was once madly in love with a girl who had our whole
lives planned out, including our careers, where we would live, and the timing
of our children. There would be two, and only two, and the names were already
chosen. The first would come along six years after we were married, and the
second another four years after that. The first would be another lawyer, but
the second would be encouraged to become a doctor. The house was going to be a
frilly Victorian, and I was even told I could have an Irish Wolfhound for the
yard.
“Why not a third or a fourth child?”
“Don’t’ be so stupid! that’s not in the budget.”
Written in 2/2000
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