When Children Become the Great Divide

Dear Miss Manners:

My wife and I had a dinner party the other night, and among the guests was an old friend and colleague with whom I have a lot in common. We go way back. It was a fine dinner with a small group of people. That is until my 3-year-old walked into the room. She was not crying or throwing a tantrum. We didn’t break out the baby pictures. The problem, at least in the eyes of my friend, was that she was there at all. This friend, who, by the way, is married but seems committed to having no children of her own, rolled her eyes, squirmed and made it clear the presence of a child made her extremely uncomfortable. Well, the whole scene made me terribly uncomfortable, in my own home no less, and I resent it. Should I write off the friendship? Is it possible for me to maintain a friendship with someone who expresses such disdain for my own children?

Sincerely,

Gentle Reader

I didn’t really write to Miss Manners. I drew my own line in the sand and concluded that despite our common past, the friendship would never again be the same. But the whole episode was deeply disturbing. I resented being put in the position of feeling as if I had to apologize for my child. And I don’t like severing ties. I can count my close friends on one hand, and I let them go reluctantly.

In the end, what I discovered was a Dirty Little Secret about parenthood that my mother never shared. Or maybe my mother didn’t know. It’s about the difference between people who have children and those who profess, proudly, almost boastfully, that they neither want children nor care to be around anyone else’s. They hate kids. We can be friends, they’ll tell you, but just don’t try my patience by mentioning your child. You’ve heard it all before.

All this seems particularly relevant as the baby boomers move into middle age. Ours was the generation that waited longer to get married and even longer to have children. We concentrated our energies on career and ambition. There wasn’t time for anything else. I am no exception. I was almost 32 when I married and 35 when I became a father.

Marriage, and certainly parenthood, are not for everyone, of course. I know a good many people my age--funny, worldly, interesting people--who have decided to go it alone. They joke about their pets being their kids and spend their weekends back East, or at the theater, or at that chic new restaurant on the Westside.

In many ways I envy them. If I took a trip during the weekend, chances are it was to the mall with my daughter. The last memorable movie I saw was “The Little Mermaid,” and that was because there was a little blonde with a pink hair band sitting beside me. It was her first time in a theater.

And if my wife and I ever make it to that restaurant on the Westside, we’ll pay for it the next morning with a heavy dose of guilt for leaving our adoring daughter behind.

Those who trumpet their dislike of children are the ones who groan when a mother and her infant sit in front of them on a plane. They wonder why Mom can’t keep the kid’s mouth shut as the plane climbs to 30,000 feet. They shoot her scornful looks. I don’t like wailing kids on planes or rowdy youngsters in restaurants either, but if a 6-month-old wants to cry on a plane, there is nothing a mother can do about it. Any parent will tell you that.

All this comes back to the dinner party, and that Dirty Little Secret. Professionally, that friend and I still share the same values. We work toward many of the same goals, share many of the same ideals. But personally, we have become strangers. My friend’s work consumes her life, and I suspect she spends most of her off hours either talking or thinking about what she’s left behind the office door.

Privately, I want her freedom and spontaneity, and her ability to focus all her mental energies toward the job. I suspect a lot of parents feel the same way. But day care, sick children and sleepless nights with a fitful infant have a way of changing that.

It’s not that you lose the ambition or the commitment to work, but your profession finds itself competing with other demons for your time. Is my child all right? Am I repeating the mistakes of my father? Did we check out the preschool thoroughly enough? Will she resent us for working, for not spending enough time by her side?

My childless friends can’t understand this, and I suppose I can’t expect them to. But what they really can’t appreciate is how parenthood changes you, softens you in some ways, makes you into a different person.

And it hardens you, too. People once willing to turn the other cheek and forgive suddenly get very tough on crime once they have a child. Show me a convicted child molester and I’ll show you 100 parents willing to throw the switch.

Yes, as a parent you become intolerant, too. Intolerant of those who can’t or don’t wish to understand what it’s like on the other side. Yet in my book, boasting about hating children makes one at least as intolerant as those of us with kids. Don’t interrupt my peace! Keep that kid out of the room!

So there it is, a quandary even Miss Manners probably cannot solve. Maybe dinner parties like mine are inevitable. It takes only an instant to realize that as far as some friendships are concerned, it’s children who draw the line.