Robert Nurden
When I ‘came out’ as a childless man in my late sixties, I knew I’d surprise some old friends. They were used to seeing me as ‘Robert, the permanent bachelor’, someone who was reasonably content with his life.
But the people I shocked – and how I shocked them – was a total revelation to me. And I still – I’m now 73 - haven’t been able to completely work out what the problem is. The way I ‘came out’ was by writing a book.
Let’s start with the positive. It was the guys – all of them fathers – who said to me: ‘Thank you for talking about this. I’d never given it a moment’s thought before. But you’re right: it must be painful for men who always assumed they’d be fathers but then they don’t achieve their dreams, for whatever reason.’ With those simple heartfelt words, beamed full-on from pronatalist HQ, that made a lovely connection between me and them. And they meant it. I was knocked back and my friendship with these men has become stronger. And these were the very guys who I thought would wonder what on earth I was going on about.
Another positive thing to come out of this: most of the supportive comments and reviews I received were from childless women. They ‘got it’ straightaway and I have made some wonderful new friendships with many in the community.
That’s the friend side of things. But it’s the foe side that still leaves me baffled. A number of fathers – and most of them were grandfathers as well – really objected to me talking about missing out on being a parent. Basically, they were saying: ‘Stop complaining. Just accept it and move on.’ One said: ‘I don’t like being shouted at by another man’. Another just didn’t get it, however much I tried to explain. Most just refused to acknowledge it as an issue and went back to talking about football.
Of course, no one has to take this on; people are free to think and say what they want. But these guys were my friends, or at least I thought they were. As I said earlier, some were just unable to accept a different Robert. So, I lost their friendship. Perhaps we never were that close anyway.
But it was the ones who got angry that intrigued me. Why? I wondered. The more I looked at the facts the more I realised that they weren’t very happy in their lives. Relations with their partner were not good; or they were having a rocky time with their kids; or they had divorced and were unable to see much of the children. There were all sorts of variations on this menu of unhappiness and I had unearthed it. That’s what they didn’t like: being found out.
You see, I think us childless people get pretty good at being perceptive and having psychological insight. No one can pull the wool over our eyes - we’ve been through too much. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. And sometimes the pronatalist world is not the stable edifice we think it is. People living out that form of life can be as uncertain as we are. Never forget: circumstances have made us unconventional and we have a unique vision about life. Savour it. It gives us understanding.
Oh, one last thing. For a year a good mate of mine and father of two had kept on telling me he just didn’t understand my grief as a childless man. We nearly fell out over it. Then last week I spent time with him and just about the first thing he said was: ‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I really get it now. I am so sorry for the pain you feel.’ We hugged. It was wonderful and our friendshipis now stronger than ever. A friend became a foe, then went back to being a friend again. That kind of change is good.
