I have nothing against children. You only hear people without kids having to utter these words. But it’s true. I really don’t. I realize that they are necessary to continue the species and several diaper companies. They’re cute when opening Christmas presents. Also, many of my favorite films probably would not have been made if, let’s say, Danny Devito was the closest thing to a child on the planet. The only real concern I had about them was their ability to spew forth, like some Yellowstone geyser, from any number of orifices. That also includes the piercing screams of my niece Madeline, who once shrieked so loud it interrupted our satellite reception.
Since the closest I’d ever been to having a baby was one scare in college and a particularly gluttonous evening at a pizza buffet, they really didn’t enter my mind much at all. They were like boats to me. I would hear that people wanted them and they were very expensive, but I’d have to go out of my way to see one. You would think that would all change when my siblings started having babies, but to their credit, it really didn’t. You see, I’m the youngest of six kids. I’m so far down the babysitting list, it would be like the Secretary of Agriculture being elevated to President. So when my sister Monica asked me to watch her children, I desperately asked, “What happened? Is everyone okay?!”
While events had conspired against Monica, it luckily didn’t include the surprise nuclear attack from the Russians I’d semi-expected. Relieved, I agreed to watch her two children Jacob and Madeline. Now, my sister has subsequently had three more children and two slightly smaller kidney stones since then. But I would have to disagree with the ABC classic sitcom and tell you: two is enough. That day included the first and second times I’ve ever changed a diaper and another bathroom story I don’t want to go into. When asked, I honestly told my sister Monica, “They behaved better than I literally thought possible… And it was still horrible.”
I chalked this bump in the road up to experience and got back to living life. However, my relationship with children would become slightly more complex once I took a job working for Citibank. I was in my mid twenties and going through my favorite part of any job- the lengthy training period. It was just like school except there was no homework and they paid you to go. Our class had all sorts in it. This included a woman suffering from night-blindness and a tall, oaf who had a peculiar mix of arrogance and incompetence. We called him “Knuckles” because he would get so frustrated when he got a question wrong, he’d tightly make fists bearing his white knuckles. Moments later, he would assuredly answer another question incorrectly or misuse the word “idyllic” and the cycle would begin again. I am confident that, by the writing of this, Knuckles is either murdered or in jail for murder.
One day in training, I was approached by two well-meaning, middle-aged women with puzzled looks on their faces. This happened often in this class. However, instead of a question about the FDIC or funds availability, one of them said, “Paul, we noticed you don’t wear a wedding ring.” Now, it was my turn to look puzzled. “I also don’t wear a turban,” I responded. They looked at each other and didn’t know quite how to respond. So, they just asked the same question. “So, you’re not married?” After I told them I wasn’t, the shorter of the two replied, “Oh, you’re divorced.” I told them I wasn’t married, nor have I ever been married and they were astonished. This should have prepared me for the follow-up, “Well, how many kids do you have?”
We had practiced assumptive closing techniques in class, but this was getting ridiculous. It was like they were asking, “Paul, what is it going to take to get you into a broken marriage with two kids today?” I would have been more annoyed but these ladies, who I had already decided would fight crime under the aliases of “Nightblind” and “Short Round,” meant no harm by any of this. Then one of them chimed, “Oh! You’re gay!” After I explained to them I was too messy and out of shape to be gay, they felt like they were out of options. They couldn’t fathom that I didn’t have kids by 25. I would soon find out that at Citibank in San Antonio, I was the oddball.
Back then, the Department of Labor seemed to think that only 34% of Americans in the workplace had a child under the age of 18. Unless the majority of these people worked at our site, I just don’t know how that could be the case. At our Citibank campus, you could get a girl pregnant by borrowing her pen. If you drank from the same glass, mazel tov, twins! They even constructed a separate childcare facility just for Citibank employees after I got there. I noticed this, but it really didn’t matter that much to me. I didn’t want kids and had taken a high school health class so I knew how to keep from having them.
Then, the holidays rolled around. As we inched closer to Christmas, our workload was dropping and the company started offering voluntary time off. Now, I volunteer for time off the way Justin Bieber volunteers for ridicule- enthusiastically. However, I was told by a diminutive manager-in-training he was starting with people who “had families.” Like the oaf, I clenched my fists and could feel my rage pooling in my whitening knuckles. I calmly explained to the manager that all of Citibank’s scheduling was done on a merit basis because, if they put what he just told me on paper, they would be begging for lawsuits. I went on to explain that he was inviting the fury of any number of people who had no family and therefore, in his eyes, nothing to lose by throwing him out the window. He immediately told me to go home and wished me a Merry Christmas.
Apparently, this happens a lot. 80% of American workers feel that childless workers get less attention to their needs then their counterparts. 81% feel that childless workers carry more of the burden. One H.R. representative explained in an L.A. Times article that many of the childless workers also get more looks when they call in sick saying, “The boss thinks they stayed out late and not that their baby was sick.” Having often done this myself, I feel partially responsible for this one. But for years, a friend of mine has had to work every Christmas, despite his seniority and title, because he didn't have children. Another friend recently told her mother she was running late for work and her mom responded, “You can’t be late until you have a child.”
That stings. It was because of these inequities, that noted spinster Leslie Lafayette started the ChildFree Network in 1992. Their platform, like the Lakers’ Triangle Offense, was three-pronged. First, abolish all tax breaks for getting knocked up. Second, childless people should not be forced to cover for parents at work. Finally, insurance carriers who pool resources should not pay for in-vitro fertilizations. I also think they were trying to get “Baby on Board” signs to read “I May Not Have a Baby on Board, But Please Don’t Hit Me Anyway.”
As with most cases, my research into this matter revealed that you were only hearing the loudest voices. Many parents had concerns that they weren’t being promoted because of their family commitments and that they weren’t as visible. That seemed like a real concern from reasonable people. Then I read about people who weren’t anti-child but worried the company didn’t realize it was their priority versus someone else’s priority. That seemed reasonable too.
I decided to go to the ChildFree Network’s website for more information. However, I couldn’t find it. It didn’t exist. I wondered, “Had all the ChildFree Network supporters died off and had no children to replace them?” I also considered that none of them had any twelve year-olds to teach them how to use their computers. Neither was the case. Apparently, Leslie Lafayette left her organization after getting pregnant… I’m just kidding. Although, that’d be pretty funny. No, she went on to work on other commitments and the national ChildFree Network organization sort of died. The 33 local chapters were swallowed by Vancouver based “No Kidding.” As the stupid pun would imply, this is not a joke. Their name is actually “No Kidding.” I went to their website and it was typically Canadian. While it was careful not to offend, it really didn’t stand for anything either. It’s website reads, “We are non-political, non-religious, and do not endorse or oppose any cause.”
Wow. I’ll say that again and backwards… Wow. If a group doesn’t support or oppose anything, I’m not really sure what it does. I mean, even a bowling league supports bowling. When I first started at Citibank, I had to fill out my benefits form. They wanted to know who my beneficiary was in case I was listening carefully to upper management and had a sudden and massive aneurism. I asked, “What happens if I don’t list one?” The HR rep told me my check would revert back to my estate. “My estate,” I thought? My estate consisted of a pretty nice beer cooler, a used Toyota Corolla, and $35,000 in student loans. I would eventually leave Citibank in 2008 and a few months later their stock would drop 96%. I tell those who will listen, the two are related. Maybe, that would be my legacy? For now, it’ll have to do. But I really don’t have anything against real children… No kidding.
