Too Many Children

We were assigned to write a political narrative poem for my creative writing class. This isn't so bad as it sounds; categories for poetry are pretty flexible. One of the examples he gave of political narrative was a strange, thought-provoking poem about American consumerist culture, and another a poem I found really amusing about rap music, with very apt descriptions (doesn't "a thousand schizophrenic Shakespeares" describe rap perfectly?).

Still, I wasn't inspired. Then I thought doing one about how we always wanted Mom to have more kids might work for political. However, I had a hard time getting it to be narrative. So I started writing about a baby we wanted to adopt once. I liked the idea and incorporated much that I had written for my first idea.

Too Many Children

We called him Joel.

In our minds, he was perfect and adorable.

He was just the right fit for our family.

“Timmy is getting too old,” we complained to Mom.

“We need another baby.”

“Too old?” she asked. “I’m too old.”

“No,” we said. “People have babies even in their 50’s sometimes.

You should have twins. There’ll be more baby to go around.

It’ll be easy now. We can help.”

“You can’t just order twins,” Mom said.

“Or a baby, for that matter.”

We didn’t care.

At church, we jabbered to our friends,

All at least twice our barely double-digit ages,

About the babies.

“Ruth and Naomi will be their names,” my older sister declared,

Flipping her long brown locks behind her thin shoulders.

“Ruth Arlene and Naomi Annabelle,” she added.

Fifteen months older than I, Deanna was a name enthusiast.

“After our grandmothers,” I informed, grinning.

Our audience would smile at us,

And we were too young to notice the raised eyebrows.

The next week, Mom would be stopped by a hand on her shoulder.

“Congratulations! How many is this?”

The questioner would receive a blank look.

“You’re not pregnant?” they’d ask.

Mom would shake her graying head, smiling.

“Your daughters were talking about twins…”

“They’re just talking. Wistful thinking.”

“Oh,” was the reply.

Every birthday, no one told what they wished for.

There was no need—we knew.

Wait for the singing to end.

“Make a wish!” they’d cry.

Shut your eyes tight.

Whisper under your breath.

I wish Mom would have another baby.

Open your eyes.

Blow, long and steady, until you waver,

Forcing out the last bit of breath.

Sometimes all the flames went out, sometimes not.

Would the wish come true?

Babbling little Timmy couldn’t be called a baby any more,

But there was no sign of another one.

“The older you are,” Mom said,

“the more likely you’ll have complications with the pregnancy.”

“We should adopt,” Deanna suggested.

“Yeah!” we all clamored.

“Our house would never pass inspection,” said Mom.

“That’d be fun,” Dad said. “But adoption is expensive.”

They dismissed it, but late at night when we couldn’t hear, they talked.

I don’t know how we found him,

But we called him Joel,

Our choice from Deanna’s piles of library name books.

We gathered around the armoire,

Looking at his information on the computer screen.

He was going to be a little person when he was born.

We had never seen him, but we loved him.

She wasn’t married, but his mom chose to give him life.      

But not to us.

“Why?” we asked. “Why wouldn’t she let us have him?”

“We have too many kids,” Dad said.

“She thought he wouldn’t get enough attention.”

“Enough attention!” we laughed.

With six older siblings, what child would have more?

“That’s not how they think,” Dad explained.

“They think that he won’t have as much time with the parents.”

We did not understand. He would have plenty of attention.

We could help him.

We could reach things for him.

We would love him.

It was not to be. Some other family got him.

A perfect, 2.5 kid family, perhaps.

Or maybe he was an only child,

So that his parents could give him their full attention,

Without half-a-dozen other people to distract them from him.

Without half-a-dozen people to love him,

Or pray for him,

Or be extra hands and legs for his little body,

Or care for him and their parents when they are old.

Our wishes came true, twice more—

Though they weren’t twins,

So we did fight over getting to hold the baby.

We were happy to be blessed with two more siblings,

But sometimes,

We wish there were nine

And think of Joel.

I took some liberties with the story about Joel; I think it was actually after Paul was born when it happened, and of course none of the speech is exact quotation. Other things I also made more specific than I actually knew.

I was interested to hear people's responses when I read it in the workshop. Their remarks weren't entirely unexpected, but I was still somewhat surprised.

They didn't like my use in the second line of "perfect and adorable." They also wanted to know more about the family and what their interactions are like. Someone said it was like a children's book, and another agreed, saying, "Oh, yeah, it's fairy-tale like." A lot of people thought the use of dialogue was unique and worked.

The professor wrote, "It's tough to pull off a poem in 3rd person [I think he means first person plural?] without imposing a definable group voice, but you almost almost almost pull it off." I also found it hilarious when he marked by the part about what we did at birthdays and wrote childhood fertility/baby Ritual!

I originally called it, "The Perfect Family." Most of them didn't like that. One suggested I "reword the title because it is a little contradictory." Of course, I meant it sort of sarcastically, with a double meaning, a satire of what people consider a perfect family. But one guy said bluntly, "I have an aversion to the word perfect."

One girl said that she thought the conclusion was a little judgmental because it's difficult to predict whether Joel received the love he needed. "However, I do not think this was the narrator's intention. Consider revising these lines to help the reader." They are often, especially my professor, concerned about people sounding judgmental.

But the biggest thing, the main question was this: why do they want more kids? Why isn't what they have enough?

"Consider explaining why the family wants another child after six children already." My professor wrote, "big question: why do they want more kids?"

I didn't know how to explain. I didn't understand: why wouldn't you want more kids?

The most interesting and telling critique was from the guy who wrote that he had an aversion to the word perfect. He said:

I philosophically have a difficult time with this poem and it makes it hard for me to read it objectively, but the family in this poem seem to love each other, and you portray it rather eloquently. I think this poem is very well written and in the eyes of the right audience, will be appreciated.

In the eyes of the right audience. I philosophically have a difficult time with this poem.

That was my trouble with many of the critiques I did: philosophically I differed so much with the poem that it was hard to read objectively. (Especially since in my opinion, they ought not to have been read by any audience, nor written to begin with.)

Isn't that fascinating? I found it interesting that he would say that. It's amazing how your worldview affects your thoughts and opinions, even on things you wouldn't think it would (an idea I shall return to if I post my last poem).

It's not simply a Christian worldview, I have come to find out. Even many Christians, and not just marginalized Christians either, do not value children. Let me rephrase that. They value children, because you cannot be a Christian, read and believe Scripture, and not value children. But they do not love and delight in children. I am not saying that everyone should want more than six kids. The older I get, the more I understand why not everyone is wholly positive about having kids, something I didn't when I was younger. But that doesn't mean that you cannot understand that having many children is a joy.

I have discovered that, in this, my family is something of an anomaly. Even many children from big families do not embrace the idea. Perhaps, however, that has to do with the nature of the children they grew up with.

We've heard lots of comments like this:

"You liked having that many brothers and sisters? I can't deal with the ones I have."
"I wish my brother was like yours."
"Your sisters are so nice. My sister would never do that."
"One sister is more than enough for me!"

"You wanted more siblings?" people ask when we excitedly told Mom was pregnant or said something about wishing she'd had twins.

Do we want more? More best friends? More help around the house? More amusement? More babies? More birthday parties (dude, any excuse for more ice cream is good!)? More people to give Christmas presents to? More brothers- and sisters-in-law? More nieces and nephews? More cousins for our kids? Yes!

I've thought lately what it'll be like when most of us move out. Just imagine: the boys can have the big bedroom-they'll have so much space!-and Kristen can have the boys' room and a walk-in closet to herself! That sounds amazing. I would love it. I have never had the experience of having my own room.

But as I thought about it, I thought, no. I do not envy my youngest siblings. I don't want my own room. I would much rather have my siblings than space. As I am fond of saying, siblings are awesome.

I've thought about that as I've talked with my youngest sister. She doesn't like the idea of Deanna getting married because she doesn't want her to leave. When I tried to convince her that it was good, she said pitifully, "But it's been fun having her here, right?" It's sad and adorable that it affects her so much even at such a young age.

"It's been fun having her." That's a pretty good summary.

Not everyone is called to be in a family with lots of kids. But few relationships-perhaps none save my parents-have shaped me more than those with my siblings. I am thankful. I don't think you can have too many.

Okay, that's not true. My sister used to say she wanted to have 50 and adopt 50. That's a little excessive. I like to remember all of my siblings' names at least. Of course, if you named them all after the states and their capitals as she was going to, that might help.

A good ending ought to tie everything all together. It should never be something random that has nothing to do with the essay. However, nothing is coming to mind and I feel like posting this. Perhaps later I will think of a good ending and change this. Until then this will have to do.

On the other hand, since I write for my own enjoyment, I will probably never change this.

Siblings are awesome. Is that an acceptable ending?