Salt on my Tail Feathers
Salt on My Tail Feathers
by the Scarlet Phoenix (aka Sherry Rentschler)
Originally published July 10, 1998
I’m a tolerant person by nature. I believe that we should let people live their own lives, make their own choices, and learn by their own mistakes (and boy have I learned a few hard lessons!). I try to live and let live in the truest sense. But sometimes people don’t know how to do that for other people. Sometimes people judge you on their lives or their standards or their expectations. Like how I was treated for not having children. That’s the salt on my tail feathers!*
When I was in the military, I made a choice not to have children. Even before my first four years were up, I knew that I didn’t want little rug rats. Oh, not that I didn’t like children – in fact, I think they can be very adorable…sometimes. When I was a fresh, young teen, I was in great demand as a baby-sitter. Kids liked me and I was good with them. No, it wasn’t that I didn’t have an affinity for kids; I was too engrossed in my own life. I knew that I was too selfish and self-absorbed to give up any of my time to child rearing. However, when I married at 19, it didn’t take the women around me very long before they felt compelled to “reassure” me that soon I would want a home, and a van, and a dog…and my allotted 2.4 kids. I laughed at them and “reassured” them that I had no such plans. Smiling smugly, as if they carried some secret knowledge about me, I was hugged, patted, and told in time I would change my attitude. It was 1973. The flower children were ready to have children. But not me.
The years went on and I began to fulfill my dreams for myself. Travel (the military is good for that), meeting lots of interesting people, writing, and paying my own money for my college education. Somewhere around the fourth year of marriage, my husband began to hint that he thought it was time for “me to have kids.” (Notice the “me” part.). Yeah. Well, he married me knowing how I felt about not having children, but even he thought I would “come around.” No dice.
Good thing I didn’t; we got divorced. The women around me were now saying what a blessing it was that I didn’t have kids (those same women who earlier said I would change my mind and pop a bundle of joy). But when the right man came along, they were positive that I would rush right out and buy up all the baby clothes in sight. I kept laughing, amazed at their “faith” in my heretofore unseen and unfelt desire. Nevertheless, they were keeping the baby blankets warm for me anyway.
The years came and went and I married again (remember I said that we had to learn from our own mistakes?), and divorced again (I promise this was progress). It was 1984 and the baby boomers were now discovering that they could “have it all.” Well, I’d had enough! Once again, I was amazed at the number of women who felt compelled to tell me that it was “all right,” and that there was still “plenty of time for your babies.” Every time someone brought a baby to the office, the new mother seemed to land in my doorway asking me “don’t you want one just like him/her?” (Hello? Is there anyone listening to me, I wondered?) Somewhere in the middle of all that I got “fixed.” There would be NO children.
Now came the years just for me. I had a cat, I bought my first home, I had a sports car (a corvette!), and I had plenty of male company if I wanted it. Best of all, no feedings, no carpools, and no day care, no pediatrician, no PTA, no teen angst. My life was my own. I sometimes wondered if there was something “wrong” with me. I mean the ol’ internal “ticking” clock never “tocked.” I liked the silence and never considered regret.
Just before I retired from the military, I married a wonderful man who had four, early teenage children from a previous marriage and had no desire for more. He understood my not wanting any and never found fault with me for having chosen an office instead of a nursery. Like me, he thinks I’m okay just the way I am. Our best friends were a couple who also didn’t have children. When we have parties, we don’t invite children to come. We like to go to resorts for couples only and prefer not to go to the movies on Saturday matinee because of the little kids and babies. We enjoy this life and it’s a life of our choosing. When I want to stay up until 2 a.m. it’s my choice, and not because a child needs feeding. If I choose, I can sleep in until…whenever…and my choice allows me NOT to be bitter, resentful, neglectful, or abusive. I’d say self-awareness is a good thing (because in my early years I was self-absorbed, short-tempered, and unsettled).
Okay, so maybe when I’m 88 I’ll be alone with no children to hug me and tell me that they love me or that I can’t drive or that I don’t remember my name. I’ll always have ME, the man I love, limited friends, and I’m comfortable with that. I am not incomplete. I can assure you that I haven’t missed a thing in my life so far. Also, it’s okay if you don’t agree with my life choices because it was/is my life. So, if I’m comfortable with it, shouldn’t people just be glad for me? Am I less of a friend, or a boss, or a writer, or woman because I said “No” to kids? Live and let live…tolerance…a little respect for my womanhood as I define it, please! It’s no less than what I give to you.
As I write this, I’m 44 years old. Would you believe that just last week two women my age told me that it’s not too late to adopt? Nope, now I’m sure no one is listening because the moral judgements continue.
~ And that’s the salt on my tail feathers! ~
* * *
Post script: April 16, 2018 I’m 64 now and I’m a happy grandmother. There are eight grandchildren plus two great-grandchildren and though I don’t see them, I care about them. One in particular, whom I held as a newborn, captured my heart and smooshed it with love. It was an enlightening and joyous experience. Perhaps it was a glimmer of what mothers all over the world feel. I feel honored to know this particular love. But my mommy clock never quivered.
I want to share one thing. People mellow with time and attitudes soften, but fundamentally we are who we are. I find there are many women who experienced the cynosure I knew as a woman who made a choice and felt forced to defend that choice most of her fertile life. Even into my mid-50s, there were women who told me that I could still carry a baby with someone else’s eggs if I wished or said, “don’t give up, adopt!” (and thus proved that no one listened!).
Today, women are waiting until they are older – even in their 60s – to begin a family, adopt or even foster. Women are not condemned for working and juggling families and more and more women are finding ways to have those families and stay at home. A new generation is choosing not to have children at all. I admire each of them beyond words. Moreover, they have societal support and blessing. Thank goodness for changing times. Because women are not condemned for choosing a life without children too. It’s about time.
The best part? A few of today’s women have said to me, “I wish I’d been as honest with myself as you were to you.”
Ah, the breeze has cooled! I’m free to fly, at last.
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The moral to this story is when you believe something in your heart and soul, then trust your instincts. Don’t allow doubt or the opinions of others to dictate your life. In the end, no one has to live with the decisions you make but you. Trust yourself and never apologize for the path you choose. Whether you are a mother, hippie, transgender, self-published author, a military member, wannabe artist, student or office geek – whatever path you are on, let honesty and belief be your guides. Do not let social mores or societal judgements cause you to be or do something that you don’t want (and we’re talking about keeping true to the law too). Go forward without fear and regret.
I trusted myself in a time when the pressure was on to be more “stereotypical.” I rebelled though it wasn’t called that back then. I was shamed and shut out by my own gender. And men wondered what was wrong with me. I doubted myself but stuck to my guns. I’m happy that I did. Let it be that way for you too.
*(reference to being a phoenix with tail feathers, and unable to fly with salt on them).
Thanks for listening,
I remain, Yours Between the Lines,
Sherry
Next time, more on poetry and other goodies!
