How Can I Protect Her From This Culture?

Two posts in such a short time is almost unprecedented for me unless I am on the drunken end of the sober hyperbole.  Oh wait, I totally am.  I was sitting on my futon, because I refuse to clean off my desk right now, trying to do a little bit of writing.  I was inspired by a member of my bloglist Elliot MacLeod-Michael who has a new blog for a personal project of his.  Bro, I feel ya on the writer front.  Aside though, I was trying to work on a few nascent projects which have stagnated recently, and drew a huge blank.  So I busted out my emergency vodka, pulled out some music, and have been compiling random ideas towards short stories for a while.  So, I was listening to "Dear Coach's Corner" by Propagandhi because of my obsession with nationalism in recent posts due to my overexposure to American football.  I love college football.  The NFL is alright in my book, but I don't get nearly as excited as I do for NCAA football.  Anyways, they end the song with a certain line that got me thinking, and which I appropriated partially as the title: "How can I protect her from this culture of death?" I got rid of the death part, because that doesn't have bearing on the ideas that I formulated.  The narrator here is asking what he should explain to his niece about the culture of nationalism surrounding Canadian Hockey.  This isn't about nationalism, although that context got me thinking.  Thinking heavily, but not about my niece; I don't have one.  While my younger brother has been with his girlfriend for about four years now, and she told me that they've been discussing marriage (over a year ago), that he's not quite finished with school yet.  And you know, first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes *insert name* with a fucking baby carriage.

I do not have children.  As I have reiterated many times before, I'm 25 years old, which means I am at that age where two things are happening: first, friends of mine are getting married.  My final count, which does not include engagements or things I may not be aware of, is five.  Within the last two years, five couples who are my friends have gotten married.  And many more people I was acquainted with, like classmates from high school.  Second, they have started having fucking babies.  Which is up to about four in the past year.  And a few before, and a few more friends are pregnant.  Some of them are not married (i do not care about that).  Needless to say, I'm about balls deep in the 'family creation' segment of life.  If more of my friends weren't emotionally damaged (like myself), those numbers would probably be much higher.  So there's all that.  By the time I'm thirty, those numbers will have multiplied.  I am not ready for this.  But, it gave me some insight to a potential future position I am rabidly not ready for: parenthood.

We've seen the sitcoms.  Parents and kids but heads, everyone has a laugh, that's that.  Episode over.  I remember my surprisingly normal, run-of-the-mill childhood; my parents loved each other, and yeah, they fought some, like every married couple, but they stayed together until the day my mom died of cancer.  Kind of atypical in today's world it seems, but they're most definitely not the reason I'm as fucked up as I am.  I love my parents.  They were great parents.  Which makes me wonder how I will treat my own hellish offspring.

I used to have this vision of the future: One day, I'd finally complete my Great American Novel, and be lavished in praise because of it.  But I wouldn't have a follow-up, much like Ralph Ellison, one of my idols (He did, just not nearly on the level that Invisible Man was.  So I'd find myself comfortably in a teaching position at a medium-sized American University, get married, crap out a few kids, the whole nine yards.  Then, I'd turn fifty, and off myself in my office.  Because I never came up with a follow-up that was good enough in my eyes.  And they'll find enough material to publish a post-humorous novel and a few short story collections, and my widow lives a good life fucking some lithe, young twenty-something.  And people will ask my children about me, and they'll have this to say," he was alright, but kind of a dick.  It always seemed like he went senile."  That was my vision of my future.  Instead of being corralled by vicious writer's block.  But, it takes time.  So I ain't too fucking worried right now.  Yeah, the last two years of my life have essentially been wasted time, but who counts that shit, ya know?

So, I fuck bitches.  Sometimes, I don't use a condom.  I'll admit that.  However, I use one up until a woman says that she is alright without me using one.  Yes, there is desensitization, but it doesn't bother me.  My dick is like a fucking hockey puck; one inch long, but four inches across.  It's all about girth.  Bitches love girth.  Needless to say, my condomless escapades have left me with the possibility of the most debilitating forms of STD: Children.  I have only had one pregnancy scare in my 5 years of sexual activity (I know, I graduated high school a virgin.  Rub it in.  Then, I went two more years almost.  I wasn't a ladies man.  Still fucking really aren't, just can get my swag on when applicable).  I accidentally inside her, and she ended up being a week late on her great indicator.  Turned out ok in the end; she wasn't pregnant, and I, being terrified, bolted after the prognosis was good. Felt kind of bad, but I was super scared.  That was coincidentally the day I began pulling out if I wasn't wearing a condom, regardless of birth control (I read a study where pulling out, if done properly, is about as effective as a condom.  Then again, you have to do it right, and it's kind of hard).  So, I was prepared to raise that kid if she wanted to (if she wanted a sheshmortion, I was cool with that too.  Her call.  That's what I said before the pregnancy test came back negative) which means I would have entered the realm of fatherhood.  Something that terrifies me.  Because I'm not sure what kind of father I would be.

If I had a boy, the answer is really fucking easy.  I raise him like my father raised me and my two younger brothers.  Hopefully more towards my brothers, because they are functioning members of society.  Then again, some people are just born fucked up.  I'm one of those people.  But a boy, is easy as shit.  I encourage him to be active to avoid the fatitude I myself am currently stuck with due to a lifetime of inactivity (however, down 14 pounds in the past month.  Huzzah).  Help him cultivate a few cool hobbies.  Teach him to treat women with respect (yes, I mentioned bitches earlier, but that is out of my current situation.  Witness recent posts).  Tell him if he works hard, he can achieve anything he wants.  Basically, lie to the poor kid.  Because he can handle it, because I'll make sure he can, just like my dad did to me.  I found out on Saturday the contents of my dad's "birds and bees" talk pre-college.  I never experienced it, but that's because they awkwardly explained such things when a friend of mine from high school got his girlfriend pregnant when we were 16 or so.  Both of my brother's got that talk before going to college, mainly the "sex doesn't equal love" angle.  But I got that a few years ahead of schedule (still don't know why my parents waited until we went to college.  We're a pretty liberal family.  Maybe because it's a pretty decent time for such things).  So if I have a son, I can impart the lessons my father imparted on me.  But what if I have a daughter?

My extended family is cursed with boys.  Out of a total of 15 grandchildren my grandparents have, only 3 are girls.  Out of the newest generation of children (my grandparent's great-grandchildren), 2 are girls, 2 are boys, with one each on the way.  My female cousins are like sisters to me, because my extended family is super close.  That's how we roll.  My dad's generation was really close with their cousins, same thing here.  Two of my female cousins are four and seven years older, the other is four years younger.  I'm pretty protective of my younger female cousin, but that's a long story (her brother and I are the same age).  So that's my history with girl babies.  The most confusing babies of all time.  Not initially, because all babies act the same for a year or two, but later in life.  For instance, they have vaginas.  And therefore periods.  The most terrifying thing in all of mankind.

So, if I ever have a daughter, what then?  How do I protect her from this culture that we live in?  Because let's face it, even though women can do all sorts of things, stuff that even 50 years ago would seem insane, they are still treated like women.  This isn't a sexist or anti-sexist post.  This is out of pure interest and partial worry.  It's not how I would raise her, necessarily; it's how I know she'll act.  Despite the leaps forward that women have made this century, there's still everything I have done to women that I cannot escape.  My first girlfriend, the one I lost my virginity to, who dumped me three months later because she wanted more and I wasn't prepared to commit to that level.  The craziest of my exs, who I belittled and criticized until I dumped her because of her problems.  The girl I obsessed about but could never have.  The fat girl I fucked just to break my slump.  My current obsessions, my friend who isn't mine to have right now.  Whoever her mother is.  The list could go on.  How can I ever create a member of the opposite sex if I know those things can happen to her?  If I know that douchebags who are even worse than me can defile her and treat her like shit.  It's a thought that's occurred to me.  Because even though I cannot handle children right now, I know that one day, despite my best effort, I will have one.  My brothers will carry on the family name.  I just will need a reason for a woman to eventually stick around.  Why, in this culture of bitches and hoes, would I ever want to raise a girl?  Who will eventually leave me for another man?  Another man who will defile her womanhood?  My little girl, who I treat better that my sons, because she will, and always be, her daddy's little girl?

Here is Nick Cave's garage band Grinderman with a song about fucking.  Because it's relevant, maybe: