I remember the very moment I made this decision. I was living in National City, in Southern California. I was only about twelve years old. Running around with some friends in our wonderful neighborhood which was semi-rural even though it was in the middle of a huge city and suburbs, I thought to myself, “I don’t ever want to have kids who dislike me as much as I dislike my parents. So I’m never going to have kids.”

I didn’t have a clue that there was way to parent that would inspire my children to respect and love me. I must have had the idea that it was a natural state of being–kids just didn’t really like their parents. My parents in many ways were fantastic. I loved the way they took us camping frequently. ONe month trips across country every year were so much fun. Being a Navy brat, we moved frequently. But my parents always found homes that had friendly neighborhoods, and we would join a church that had good sunday schools. My mom made a good home made dinner almost every night. My dad took me fishing and told me that  I could do anything I wanted.

But they also believed that they had the right to tell me what to do and demand obedience when they wanted it. I got spanked infrequently, got my mouth washed out with soap a few times, and was yelled at or spoken to sternly more times than I enjoyed. My parents believed that it was their job to raise me in a way that I would fit into society the way they wanted to fit in. They thought they had to send me to school so I could learn. They took me to a regular doctor to treat symptoms instead of figuring out what the cause of the symptoms were.

To them, me speaking disrespectfully and thus questioning their omnipresent wisdom was one of the worst offenses.They didn’t know that sugar and processed foods were very bad for me. They believed that making me go to church would help me to love God and adopt their spiritual values. And worst of all, they had no clue that my feelings were indicators that I had legitimate needs.  Thus, unwanted feelings like anger, disappointment, and sadness were treated as something that needed to be changed by every method except for acceptance and empathic listening–for the most part.

Both my parents are dead. I honor them this moment, grateful that they did the best that they could with the knowledge they had. I know that they were influenced by society and peers and their ancestors. Why I chose to so tenaciously parent in the way I did, against all odds and at times with little support except by my children’s fathers–is really a miracle.

So why did I have kids when I made the decision never be a parent? I wish I could say it was because my parents never taught me about the birds and the bees. But the story of how I conceived my children is so personal, so mysterious, so amazing–that I am choosing not to share publicly because of other people who cherish their privacy.

The only thing I can figure out is that we have this amazing Creator who loves me so much. My beloved Creator who only wants the best for me knew that the best thing for me to do was be a mother. The Creator to whom I did my best to surrender to was given permission to direct my life in a way that I would have never chosen. I am SOOOOOO glad that this mysterious, loving, omnipresent Creator inspired me to perform actions which resulted in two beautiful babies–one now thirteen and the other twenty. Wow! is all I can say.

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