Thank You for Not Breeding

I never had children. Now that I am being dragged, kicking and screaming, into my twilight years, I have decidedly mixed feelings about this.

On the one hand, it would be nice to now have fully formed adult children. My daughter, “Emma” (named after Ms. Goldman) and my son, Che (no explanation needed) and I would do all sorts of fun and meaningful activities together.

On Sundays, we’d go to church, and Wednesdays, Bible class. We’d have meals together, where we’d discuss what God is doing in our lives.

There’s only one problem with this scenario: none of it would be true. And, worse than that, my children would likely detest me.

See, the thing is that is when I was actually raising my dearly beloved apocryphal children, I would have been a true Berkeley believer. My offspring would have been bred to rebel and question authority: (and like so many bewildered parents out here, I would have found out that that included me.)

You see, I drank the Berkeley Kool-aid for decades. I thought, “Why be normal?”; why buy into the whole sexist, racist, oppressive, thing? Thus, by day, Emma and Che would have attended the radical public schools, and by night, they would have accompanied me to political lectures.

And now, I would be a laughingstock to my dear children. Why? because I have changed. I have now become what they were raised to despise and fear: Normal. Patriotic. God-fearing.

Aside from the harsh reality that I’d be anathema to my darling Emma and Che, there are other reasons why it was probably better that I didn’t have children. For one, my children would have been raised around here, on the mean streets of Berkeley and in their Hades-like schools.

My progeny would have been screamed at by the paranoid, and had their backpacks and electronic devises absconded by thugs. The schools would have taught them the malignant concept of collective guilt, that is, because of the color of their skin, they are responsible for everything bad that has ever happened. So no matter how much my children would try to be good people, they would never feel good enough.

When they weren’t learning that they were terrible people, the kids would be in lockdown, either at school or at truly communistic experiments, such as the Mosaic Project. Probably conjured up by a clone of Karl Marx, at Mosaic camp, local public school and private school children spend five days together in the woods.

The utopian idea of Mosaic is that all the races would live together in harmony, while attending various sensitivity groups where they sing social justice songs. In reality, from what I’ve heard, there can be lockdowns in the cabins, with sexual harassment, theft, and bullying not uncommon.

And if you’re a parent, don’t bother to volunteer to chaperone the whole, ghastly affair. In this revolutionary paradise, no parents are allowed.

Just so the Catholic school children around here aren’t left out of Shangri-la, there is a similar camp for Catholic children, called Caritas Creek. Also a five-day camp, it looks like a copy cat of Mosaic.

Catholic school children attend the camp, without parents, learning tolerance and eco-love (pantheism?) with diverse types of children. There isn’t anything even remotely Christian about the camp, which promotes a New Age concept of the “Spirit of Love.”

At Caritas Creek camp, the Catholic school children participate in various “trust” exercises, for instance, falling backwards into the arms of their fellow students. But haven’t there been horrendous scandals in the Catholic Church with the abuse of children?

Given that, does anyone else out there see the danger of programming the kiddies to trust everyone? Wouldn’t the children then override their natural, God-given intuition around fear, for instance, of falling backwards and also of dealing with creepy people?

As I review the scene around here for children, you can understand why I have ambivalent feelings about not procreating. On the one hand, kids are wonderful. .. . breathed into existence by Almighty God. On the other hand, if children aren’t raised with wholesome family values, more harm may be done to them and society than good.

Though I, like so many Berkeley parents, would have raised Emma and Che with the best of intentions, my children would likely be confused messes: tattooed, copiously pierced, identity confused, and guilty as all get out. And I’d be throwing out big bucks on shrinks and acupuncturists.

So in the end, it’s probably better that I didn’t produce yet another confused Berkeley young adult. Because unless a child is raised with a healthy respect for authority, morals, manners, and most importantly, faith in God, then they are raised in darkness. And I wouldn’t want any child, especially mine, to be raised that way.

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