Always Rings Twice (Or More)

Since I moved to my place, I've been getting a lot of marketing mail. Realtors, housekeeping services (both understandably), and school-age-children-related propaganda.

Every week I clean out my junk mail. Trained to be paranoid, I tear out my name and address, shred that portion, and recycle the rest. There is more the following week. There is more, and more still. I feel inundated, annoyed by the inconvenience.

These days, I'm plain seething. How DARE they target me based on my age and gender. To lump me in a specific demographic group implies assumptions. I am a certain age. I MUST have children. Never mind my disposition, preferences, conviction, let alone my individuality or identity.

To this day some find it hard to believe that some of us may choose not to have children. As if everybody must. Because that's the norm? What nature intended? To me, the reasons NOT to have children are numerous and obvious. Every time I run into parents and/or children in public situations, or when I listen while a friend or a family member recounts the challenges of parenting, I say to myself, "THIS is why." And I'm glad. Mentally high-fiving myself even.

I've been asked to list my reasons. (There are probably at least 5 bullet points.) I used to oblige. After a while, I think I don't owe anybody an explanation. It is as if this decision (if they can believe it's a conscious, calculated decision) is so unfathomable that it is my duty to justify it to strangers' satisfaction. Frankly, I'm tired of the burden of proof.

No doubt, I can imagine that the rewards of being a parent must be unparalleled. My unwillingness to go down that path is not a statement against those who do take the plunge. There is no need to preach the benefits. I did my own thinking (imagine that!) and outweighed them. Pure logic. Case closed.

All this said, what outrages me the most is putting myself in someone else's shoes, someone who didn't choose to be childless, and is constantly getting bombarded by cruel reminders of his/her very state, a state that might be considered failure, or reason to feel a void in life. Every piece of mail inviting your nonexistent child to pre-school, suggesting the best place to buy art supplies, or on after-school programs that vie for your attention. That must be fucking exhausting.

Heartless. Inconsiderate. Oblivious. Go away.