Breeders Versus the Childless

Mrs. Wit and I attended a back-yard barbecue a few weeks ago, little knowing that we would be the only childless couple in attendance. Breeders and childless couples at a party are like different species of animal at the watering hole. We tolerate each other because we both want to be there to slake our parched social lives, but mutual mistrust complicates all communications. When forced to occupy common ground, we tiptoe around one another, eyes averted, careful not to do something that might spur a conversation. Hand signals, nods and blatant telegraphing of intentions are needed. 

Even with all that, no connection between the childless and a pro-progeny couple lasts for very long, because kids will always divert our attention.

 We walked in the front door and followed the noise of conversation to the kitchen. The hosts, Craig and Lisa welcomed us and re-introduced themselves. As we made with the hi-how-ya-doin-been-a-whiles, two more couples walked in from the back yard. We said quick hellos and made a few half hearted jabs at finding common conversational ground.

Mother #1: “Hey, have you seen the Cars movie?”

Me: “No. I heard it was good, though. Have you seen Babel or Notes on A Scandal?”

Mother #1: “Oh, no. The kids would never sit still through those.”

Me: “Ah…right.”   

Thereafter, we pretended to be occupied elsewhere. We recognized that we were members of rival herds on the procreation Savannah. Despite knowing each other for years, we had absolutely nothing to talk about. To busy myself, I went back to assembling my potluck dinner.

Mother #1 did the same, turning to ask her three-year-old daughter, “Honey, do you want pickles?”

No reply.

Mother #1 continued to load her plate. “Sweety, do you want a hot dog or a hamburger?”

The daughter picked her nose in response

“Okay, I’m gonna give you a hot dog, but you’d better eat it! Not like last time. Remember what mommy said?”

The daughter examined the booger on end of her finger.

“She’s adorable,” I said to mother #1.

“Oh, thank you!” she smiled.

Outside, I saw my sister-in-law Jennifer and her husband Stef seated at a round table under the portico of the big Spanish-style house. The yard was immense for Arizona, with a large pool and barbecue area taking half the yard and a big grassy area literally overrun with mobs of kids aged two to eight.

I took a seat next to Stef. I used to have great conversations with him and enjoyed his company immensely. I miss that. When he became a father, he grew sort of quiet. Then when the second child came, he disappeared into his computer room and now emerges only for sustenance and hygiene.

Steve and I ate our hamburgers and stared into the middle distance while the hurricane of screaming children and bustling mothers swirled around us. At the far corner of the yard, all the other fathers stood around the barbecue, drinking beer. They gathered there  because a grill, or any fire, is an instinctual rallying point for tribal men. There, out of earshot of theirs wives, they can re-affirm their masculinity by burning stuff. They can talk about sprinkler systems and cell phones and combat-related video games: the modern-day equivalent of discussing weather, rumors of the movements of game animals and actual combat. The grill also happened to be as far away as possible from the wives, who never strayed more than twenty feet from the buffet table. Most importantly, the barbecue sat next to the pool, which was completely fenced off from the kids. Whoever designed this back yard was an exceptionally clever husband and father. 

As the evening progressed, I began to notice that the other three chairs at my table were always occupied by someone, but never by the same person for more than thirty seconds. As soon as one woman sat down and began to eat or drink or talk, a child would begin to cry or take a third piece of cake or make another child eat something found in the grass and the mother would pounce on the child like a leopard on a gazelle, leaving her dinner and the conversation lying on the table. 

Mother #2 sat down with plate of food. “So Paul, how ‘s the insurance business going?”

“Well,” I said, “it’s going okay. December and January were slow, but February was better…”

But she wasn’t listening to me. Her eyes were fixed on something over my shoulder.

“…and March is shaping up…”

“Jack! You put that down! JACK! Don’t throw things at your sister!” Mother #2 bolted the table to disarm Jack. 

Jennifer, my sister-in-law, took the seat that mother #2 just vacated and pushed aside the plate of food to make room for her own.

“What’s shakin’ bacon?” She asked, smiling.

Before I could answer, Stef woke from his reverie. “Jenn, where’s little James?”

Jenn: “Out here somewhere. I’ve been inside getting food.”

“Why don’t you go find him?” Stef said, though he had finished his meal and Jenn had only taken one bite of hers. Jenn jumped up and began to scan the yard for her boy. Stef instantly reverted to his vacant stare.

My six-year-old niece, Sophie, walked up with a boy that appeared to be eight or nine.

“Uncle Paul, this my boyfriend! I love him!”

“Really? What’s his name?” I asked.

Sophie: “I don’t know…”

“Well, let’s hope that this is that last time you have to admit that!”

Sophie: “Huh?”

“Have fun, sweetie.”

Sophie and boy toy ran off hand in hand, their early interest in the opposite sex nearly ensuring that they would be joining the ranks of the breeders some day. Hopefully not too soon.

Janet returned and sat down.

“Your daughter has a boyfriend,” I told her.

“I’m sure it’s harmless, ” she said as she looked out to the yard. There, she saw her daughter wrap her arms tightly around the waist of her anonymous friend. She gazed  deeply into his eyes and smiled. He seemed puzzled.

“Sophie! Get over here!” Jenn snapped at her daughter.

Sophie released her grip and ran over to her mother.

“Here. Eat your hot dog.” Jenn shoved a hot dog at Sophie.

“Jeesh! She’s here five minutes and she has somebody,” Jenn said to me. “I’m here my whole life, and I’m like a disease.”

Janet and I cracked up at her Sixteen Candles reference.

Stef reached consciousness once again. “James is eating gravel.”

Jenn jumped up and ran to James. Stef glazed over.

Sophie munched her hot dog and her everlasting love ran up to the table. “Hey what’s-your-face, there’s a place to eat over here!” The two ran off to a park bench in the corner of the yard.

Mother # 3 sat down and began yelling instructions to her kids, who were riding a miniature battery-powered Jeep around the yard. Lisa, the hostess, sat down and joined us. Mother # 3 began to talk to Lisa about going to Disney World, but Lisa did not pay attention. She was distracted by her daughter who was on the far side of the yard crying about something or other.Mother #3 realized that Lisa was not paying any attention, but out of embarrassment, she continued to talk anyway. As she continued she searched from face to face to see if anyone heard her. I was the only person looking at her, so she locked onto me and continued her story. “…my kids would love to go to Orlando, because they’ve already been to Disney Land. They are just joys to travel with…they just sit quietly in the back seat and stare out the window…” 

As I listened, I thought to myself, “That’s because your kids are so thick that they barely qualify as sentient beings.”

Meanwhile, I looked over her shoulder and watched her daughters plow the motorized mini-jeep into a miniature umbrella table at which three miniature people were seated. The table fell over and the three kids began to bawl. Mother #3 snapped her head around and sprang to her feet to yell at her little reckless drivers. 

At that point, I’d had enough and gave Mrs. Wit the sign that I wanted to leave. We made our exit, pausing to say goodbye to Craig, who stood supervising the playroom. There, various children were having fun with the thousands of dollars worth of electronic toys and gadgets that he and Lisa keep there. Apparently, the best thing about electronic toys is throwing them at each other. We asked about Lisa, as we hadn’t seen her for a while and Craig explained that she was upstairs trying to calm her son, who was having a ‘meltdown.’

As we passed through the kitchen crowd on the way to the door, one of the mothers finally spoke directly to us: “So when are you having kids?”

“Never!” Mrs. Wit and I answered in unison. Neither of us turned to look back at the watering hole.

.....