I was pleasantly surprised when the last guy I dated - we'll call him "Steve" - said he was glad I didn't have kids. He'd already done the "Dad-thing" and had no interest in doing it again.
Fine by me.
Don't get me wrong, I love kids - other people's kids. I love to indulge them, wind them up and send them home - so I can get ready for my date with Steve.
Children are fabulous, and recently I've discovered yet even one more reason I love the little urchins. In dating, I've learned, children give invaluable insights into a parent's character.
An involved dad
I dated one man a third and fourth time based almost entirely on the caring way he spoke of his sons. Certainly, there weren't many other reasons.
As he checked in by cell phone with his preteen boys at bedtime, a nurturing side to his personality emerged - a side otherwise buried deep behind his dating persona.
As a parent, he cared, but he didn't overdo. An occasional anecdote can be charming, but hearing the minutiae of shopping for exactly the right Sparkly Strawberry doll or Astro-Dino action figure causes my eyes to glaze over. I love kids, but some things only a parent, or grandparent, can enjoy.
An involved dad racks up points, and then we have the "other."
We dated for a month, and he answered direct questions about his daughters, so I knew he had two and their ages, but that was it. I didn't pry.
However, on a walk around Green Lake after Christmas, I asked about the gifts he'd given his daughters.
"They don't celebrate Christmas," he answered shortly. "They're Jewish."
"Oh," I continued, "what did you get them for Hanukkah?"
"Nothing. I'm not Jewish!"
We made it around the lake, but not much farther.
The big lie and then the bigger one
I don't expect Super Dad, but knowing their kids' names, ages and favorite school subject has become required, as well as a certain level of honesty.
Asked out by a total stranger, I demanded he answer a few questions first.
"Are you married?"
"No."
"Are you involved with anyone?"
"No."
"Are you divorced?"
"No."
We talked more, and I eventually asked, "Do you have children?"
He answered firmly, "No! I told you I wasn't married."
I didn't see - and still don't - what one has to do with the other. I wrote it off to a high level of moral fiber and went out with him.
Two weeks later, we discovered we had mutual friends in common.
Immediately thereafter, he sat me down to declare his undying devotion (for the third time) and his desire to tell me something before I heard about it and misunderstood.
I won't waste your time - or mine again - with the long-winded, circuitous explanation of his troubles. It came down to his being separated.
I pasted on a sympathetic smile; my brain had quickly calculated the difficulty and expense of locating a cab home from the restaurant.
When he got to the part about his three kids, I dropped the pretense and walked out.
I considered, momentarily, instructing this particular jerk, that while lying about being married may make him reprehensible, denying his children puts him in (to my mind) a whole new category of loathsome rubbish.
Then I realized such garbage would never hear or understand the finer points of paternal devotion, and I kept striding.
A test run
As for Steve, well, he's gone, too. His jealousy got the better of him. Not over a dashing, devilishly handsome, rich stud, but over two teenagers.
Steve objected when I watched out for a niece and nephew while their parents took a second honeymoon. All my time, it turns out, should be about Steve, Steve, STEVE!
As I say, I love children. And if that dashing stud does ever show up, he can have his own offspring or not. But if not, I may borrow a few little nippers from someone just for a test run.
Sofia, who lives in North Seattle, can be reached at needitor@nwlink.com.
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