A few years ago a friend asked me if I would be willing to donate sperm to her and her partner should they choose to have a child. The idea freaked me out and made me excited all at the same time.

I don’t like children nor do I get along with them all that well. They seem so helpless and inexperienced. Of course they have good reason to be, and I was just as helpless, if not more, when I was a kid. I marveled at some of the stupidest things in the world. One Sunday when I was four years old, I forced myself to watch a full episode of Sunday Morning with Charles Kuralt. When it was over I sprinted into my father’s office to tell him what I had done.

What would you do if a small kid lacking even a full set of teeth and the ability to wipe himself came bounding into your office to announce he had just watched Charles Kuralt for a full hour and a half? There are some people with an instinct towards patience and nurturing; selfless creatures able to set aside their own agendas to help shape a new life in a healthy and stimulating way.

When we were younger my friend P told me that I would be a terrible father because I’m too selfish. I was shaken at the time, but the more I think about it the more I think he might be true. I don’t know if I could listen to my child enumerate the lore of Dragonball Z or tell tales of fishstick wars in the cafeteria with a straight face. Would I have the restraint to not nod off midway through or take advantage of the time to catch up on deleting old text messages?

Still, I’ve wanted to be a parent for a long time. I remain uncomfortable with my selfishness, and for whatever life is worth, I feel like there’s nothing more meaningful than passing something along for the future. The idea that I might be able to cheat my way into half-accomplishing that metaphysical task seemed like a good deal. I could have the satisfaction of passing along my helical secret for another generation while avoiding the more uncomfortable challenges of actually raising a child into a healthy and functional adult.

Now that I’m “freelancing” for the foreseeable future I started to wonder whether or not it would be worth it to become a sperm donor to earn a little extra money at the end of the month. I know the money in sperm donation is marginal, but fifty bucks is still fifty bucks.

I decided that I couldn’t give sperm to my friends because I didn’t think I could handle the idea that my child was out there in the world without my being able to be a regular part of its life. I may have no idea how to handle a child and my brain flips over at the thought of returning to those adolescent discoveries of all the things taken for granted in adult life, but if a part of me is reborn somewhere in the world than I want to confront those things.

Also, I was in love with one of the women involved and I thought that might be a little awkward.

Now that my own immediate survival is slightly less certain, the idea of auctioning off my future babies seems like a much more realistic possibility. Maybe there is a place in the world for my junior, and maybe it might be better if I have nothing to do with him or her. Maybe it’s an even trade: fifty dollars for an anonymous scrap of immortality, playing happily in the green fields of a ranch house out in the country side, flying a kite or chasing raccoons through the forest. I’d masturbate to that.

 

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