mrs-roboto's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ode to Hymie Eli and Violet Meira This past weekend, Pete and I ran off to Orcas Island to celebrate his birthday. We rented a little cabin on the beach, had barbecues by sunset, and rode our bikes to the pier to fish. It was a lovely lazy weekend but really that's not what this entry is about. This entry is about my fictitious children. That's right, my make-believe kids. What the hell is she talking about, you ask? Well as most of you know, Pete and I made a decision early on in our relationship not to procreate. I could tell you a million reasons why we've chosen to remain childless but every time I discuss this I upset people so I won't get into it now. What I really want to talk about is how despite our moratorium on breeding, I still enjoy rambling on about how I'd raise my kids if I was going to have them. Alot of the time this conversation is spawned by seeing some kid throwing a temper tantrum in the supermarket and watching the parent stand idly by and do nothing (as in "If I was that child's parent, I'd ......."). But sometimes it's just a result of my own desire to hear myself go on and on about something that really doesn't apply to me. It's fun to talk out of your ass. I had always said I'd never raise my fictitious children in a big city. NEVER. Having been brought up in New York, I am fully aware of the dangers city kids face in their every day life. I also think city life is stressful for children and parents alike. My parents had to keep constant tabs on me when I was small because you just never know what could happen. I realize small country towns aren't entirely safe and idyllic either but statistics are in your favor. Fewer people means fewer freaks and knowing all your neighbors helps too. Cities also can be full of stuff that sounds like a good time but is actually incredibly lethal. Mom, if you're reading this you might want to skip the next paragraph or two as it will only make you very nervous. When I was between the ages of 9 and 11, my friends and I would subway surf. Subway surfing is the acting of jumping from street level onto a moving subway car, then flinging yourself face down on the top of the car and holding on for dear life as you soar through tunnels and stations. To say this is unsafe is really an understatement. Many years after I gave up riding the rails, a friend of my sisters was killed while doing this. There was a pipe hanging down in one of the tunnels and he hit it head on and was basically torn to pieces. I got my first fake ID at 15 and went to my first bar right around the same time. I bought beer and drank it in the park. I went to clubs and lied about my age to any guy I talked to. I cut school and walked around the city all day long. The list goes on and on. My ability to do these things was a direct result of being completely anonymous in this urban jungle and while I like that as an adult (it's totally rockin' to use my fake ID to buy beer and hang out in a park now), I think children need a sense of community. So after ruling out cities, you have to look to the suburbs. The issue there is that I would rather kill myself than live in a suburb. Okay, maybe that sounds a little extreme but truthfully, I feel really ill at ease in the burbs. They seem so forced, so pretend. A little bit o' country plus a little bit o' convenience but not too much of either one. Strip malls filled with chain restaurants make me angry and the whole lack of culture thing gets me too. Thus no suburban lifestyle for my make-believe family. This leaves the country, the way backwoods, the sticks. Problem here is I don't want to raise me a hesher (hesher- noun - a person with stringy hair who listens to Iron Maiden or whatever the modern day equivalent is while hanging out in gas station parking lots) or a hick. I'd also prefer not to raise the All American child. You know, the Prom Queen or the Football Captain because I'd never in a hundred years be able to relate to them. They'd be all enthusiastic about some silly Homecoming thing and my inner punk rocker would come out and totally tell them how lame they are (another reason I should not have kids at all I guess). Which leads us back to Orcas Island. I think I'd raise my fictitious kids (who incidentally have gained the names Hymie Eli and Violet Meira as I've been writing this) on Orcas Island. You see, Orcas is sort of like the country but no so much so that I'd wind up with a loser for a kid. There are many hippies raising their kids on the island so Hymie and Violet would be exposed to a liberal viewpoint. Problem is, hippies can be really annoying to live around. Like if I want to burn my garbage, they're going to be all up in my grill. No, no, just joking I wouldn't burn my garbage. That's a sin. But really being surrounded by a totally liberal community isn't really exposing my children to what the world is really like. Grrr....I guess my fictional family is just going to have wait till I figure this out. In the meanwhile, I'm going to see the Pixies in Vancouver. I'll report back on Monday. 4:25 p.m. - 2004-04-22 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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