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Me, the Parent (Samuel Jones-Bastrop, LA)

Something I occasionally daydream about is
Having children of my own.
Hmm, to inseminate or not to inseminate. . .
That was never the question!
She better take that turkey baster
And play make-believe real good,
Because there are certain lines I don't cross,
Doors I do not knock upon, and walls I won't bust down!
I'm comfortable with adoption, though. After all,
I feel that as a gay man,
Adopting and loving an existing child
Is my special contribution to the great All-That-Is.
Nature has a way of balancing itself, you see.
But as far as choosing my child,
I have always favored the nontraditional.
Like, what if my daughter was white?
I mean, she would have found out she was adopted anyway. . .
But then again,
I don't want to be like one of those mothers of mixed race children
Having my daughter look a mess
All because, in this case, the parent doesn't know how to do white hair.
So maybe I'll skip the learning curve,
Skip possible frustration and (her) humiliation,
And just stick with the "Just For Me," "Carol's Daughter" type of child.
We'll see.


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