Laurie's Story

At the age of eight, I stood before a full-length mirror in my bedroom, staring at my reflection. I remember thinking, "Why was I born a girl? Why couldn't I have been a boy?" My face reflected the inner turmoil, which should have been reserved for others much older than I was. I wandered aimlessly into the kitchen and absent-mindedly stared out the kitchen window. In the distance, I spotted my mother struggling with heavy boxes of fruit as she tried to place them into the back of a truck. "Why does Mom work so hard all the time?" The thought echoed incessantly through my mind. It did not seem fair to see my mother constantly working so hard for long hours. My mother's sacrifice of herself for her family gave me no desire to follow in her footsteps. I turned away from the window and wandered past brightly coloured fish in their tanks, through the dining room to our upright grand piano. I sat down on the piano bench and began to practice my lesson. "Stop that awful noise!" my father's voice boomed from the easy chair in the living room. "I'm trying to watch TV. Why aren't you out helping your mother?" I sighed, slowly stood up, pushed in the piano bench and shuffled through the dining room and kitchen, down the hallway and out the back door to find my mother

I realized that I had been born a girl and could not change this fact. In my family, the men and boys were kings; the women and girls were servants. "It is God's will," the familial liturgy reiterated in my soul. "It may be God's will for me to be a girl," my mind countered, "but I won't get married or have children." I assumed the two possibilities were inseparably linked. It was then that I determined that children were not for me. Slowly, over time, I resolved my position as a woman in society with an uneasy truce. I became very happy to be a woman. However, my reaction to the injustice of my family of origin, and of many other families I had seen around me, continued to remind me faithfully of my oath to remain childless.

At 24, a young woman, I stood at the university bus stop, this time staring across a road. My thoughts were on my work as a student. "The bus is late," I impatiently thought as I shifted the weight of my packsack to my other arm. I became restless and turned 180 degrees to face gray walls and uninviting concrete. My mind drifted into fleeting escape. "I've seen you here before." A voice from in front of me shattered my silence. I turned quickly to look behind me, trying to discover to whom this man was talking. There was no one behind me. I suddenly realized that he was talking to me. Over a short time, we became friends and got to know each other quite well. I discovered that he, too, did not want children. Soon after we met, we were married. In the years following, and through our separation and divorce, I have discovered equality is in many ways elusive. I still choose to believe that it is possible to have equal sharing of responsibilities in the best relationships -- with or without children. For now, and perhaps for the remainder of my life, I have chosen to live without children -- children of my own, that is. Every year, I have many children -- other people's children, as I have become a teacher. I quite enjoy being with children, but for me, not having my own is the right choice.