The Genetic Lottery

I’ve always wanted kids, but not kids of my own making. I fear that if I were to have an offspring of my own, I would automatically be responsible for this little being I bring into the universe. Will my child be ugly, beautiful, obese, thin, happy, sad, disabled? Regardless, I will love my child – but love is always a choice. Such as when you choose a partner. You don’t wake up one day with the epiphany that you’re in love; you make a conscious decision to love, commit, and devote yourself to someone. And when you do, you try to choose someone who’s smart, funny, and good looking. With a child though, you’re hooped if you don’t win the genetic lottery. Quite honestly, I don’t have faith in my own genes.

I remember bringing home my report card to two unhappy parents. A “B” average, really? They asked. Yes mom, yes dad. It says right here that B’s are good and C+ is above average. I responded. Do you want to be just above average? An A is excellent. 
And now it has been engrained into me that being good isn’t enough, when you have the choice to be excellent. I don’t want to bring into this world an above average child of my own, of which I will be responsible for and has all my flaws, my weaknesses and my sins. I’ve unsuccessfully spent the past 28 years of my life fixing and failing my problems, the last thing I need to do is recreate them only to fail them again. I want my own excellent child, but am not quite ready to drop my questionable sperm into a nebulous vortex of equally questionable eggs. I want to adopt so that if ever my child hates me, my son or daughter will know that I’m not the creator to hate, but the one who’s cleaning up that creator’s mess. I’m not good enough to bring excellent life into this world, but I’ll be excellent to save another because that responsibility will be of my own volition and not one I inadvertently created for myself.

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