No Kids? No Problem.

Kids are all right. I just never wanted any of my own.

I remain unpersuaded even as the government assesses ways to encourage Americans to have more children in developments reminiscent of The Handmaid's Tale.

According to a recent Pew study, 57% of adults under fifty who say they’re unlikely to ever have kids cite not wanting to have children as a primary reason.

The Irish satirist Jonathan Swift had it right when he proposed the eating of children in his essay “A Modest Proposal”: “A young healthy child well nursed, is, at a year old, a most delicious nourishing and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled; and I make no doubt that it will equally serve in a fricassee, or a ragout.”

In the ’90s, my dad, ever resourceful and a lover of kids, offered his own modest proposal to facilitate my acquisition of children. He was ahead of the curve on in vitro fertilization and also devised some outrageous scenarios that are best left unmentioned.

So ingrained in my dad was the belief that a happy life required children that he practically contorted biology to provide me with this option. 

Despite my profound appreciation for these well-meaning intentions, I remain content that he gave me his old Mercedes convertible rather than my own offspring. Cars are more useful than kids, and you don’t have to put up with bratty behavior or put them through college.

People may be talking about elective childlessness a bit more these days. The comedian Chelsea Handler's bit on “A Day in the Life of a Childless Woman” went viral.

And Psychology Today recently published a list of 11 reasons not to have kids. These included “no desire,” “career,” “environment,” “state of the world,” and “kids are expensive.” “No desire” tops my list, but the financial boon is also considerable.

I love the kids in my family and have the best possible arrangement as an uncle. This does not mean I ever felt compelled to have any of these creatures under my roof, toss a football, bankroll braces, or withstand their adolescence.

A few years ago, I worked with a life coach who challenged me to define my legacy. For parents, this one is too easy. Just say your kids are your legacy, and no one dares to disagree or probe further.

I’d indeed like my nieces to remember me fondly and to have made an impact on their lives. But I also try not to get hung up on the “legacy” question too often.

That requires much serious contemplation, and I’m still too busy being a kid to take that on.

Me as a kid; lucky for me, my parents felt differently

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