1/15/24
Theoretically, I love children. I am genuinely enthralled by the concept of raising my own offspring, teaching them your wisdom, guiding them through life, and loving them with such an intense passion. I just don’t think it’s meant for me. At least, that is the mindset I have right now for my future. Things may change.
Children, for me, are too unexpected. For one, I am a queer man. Yes, I could have children with a wife, but she could be infertile, or I could be infertile. Moreover, the baby could die at birth, the mother could die, or they could both die. With a man, I would want to pass down my genetics, but my husband could disagree, or, again, I could be infertile. I have said all this completely disregarding my apathy towards marriage and not mentioning the likelihood of my mental illnesses passing down.
There are so many obstacles just leading up to the birth of my possible future child. Though, I would be lying if I claimed that having children has not crossed my mind. I am specifically interested in the names of my children. I do not care about the supposed genders of my children regarding their names (and personal expression), but there are some names that I would prefer attached to a gender. For example, I would name one of my children Joan, but I’d like it better for a boy. I have always liked the name Joan, which I had learned in reference to Joan of Arc, but I have since also associated it with my favorite author, Joan Didion. I would also consider passing down my first name, Aden, to a child. Aden used to be the capital of Yemen. It was a beautiful port city on the coast of the Gulf of Aden, which my mom visited often in her youth. It was ravaged by the ongoing war and the Battle of Aden, but its beauty projects through me (or so I would like to think). In Arabic, Aden means paradise. I really enjoy my name, but I would consider un-whitewashing the pronunciation. I have pronounced my name rhyming with “Jayden,” when it should probably be pronounced rhyming with “Madden.”
I take names very seriously, as I am sure is apparent. My dogs’ names are Atticus Finn and Fiona Lucille, whom I named. They are both Yorkshire terriers, ages five and one, who weigh no more than seven pounds combined. For short, my family calls them Finn and Lucy. I named Atticus based on the character in To Kill a Mockingbird, which is a favorite book for my mother and me. His middle name, Finn, is from Adventure Time, my favorite show. I chose Lucy’s first name because I thought Fiona and Finn coupled adorably. Plus, the female version of Finn in Adventure Time is named Fionna. Lucille comes from Lucille Ball, whom my mother and I admire.
If I ever procure offspring, I will handle the decision of their names with care.
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