Chris Jepson: On exposing yourself

I’ve told all my beautiful children I loved ’em all dearly, oh, for about the first 18 months, until the word “No!” started rolling out of their perfect little mouths. I joke. Of course, I loved ’em far, far longer. Yes, depending on the child, way-up until the age of 12 or 13, whenever that unfortunate teenage brain ailment known as puberty began metastasizing in their personalities.

I had my daughter as a very young man and two sons a decade or so later. Having babies — I recommend — is something you should do when you’re young. There is something to be said for “not knowing any better.” Babies (and children) are incredibly time-consuming, demanding and, as anyone who’s had the experience clearly understands, make you conform to their schedule. You will. That is the way of life.

That’s why I inwardly laugh when I see some balding, gray-haired chap on Park Avenue who is obviously on his second, perhaps third much younger wife and he’s pushing a pram with a baby or two. The zippy “new” wife often appears so bored and our “old” guy has a sullen, down-at-the-mouth look of, “My gawd, what have I done?” What he’s done is to simultaneously have children in his 20s and his 60s. He now has a wife younger than his daughter. Too funny.

Chances are, what he’s done is cashed in (or out) the old model for a younger, sleeker model. Oh, I get it. I do. Any man I know who still has blood coursing through his, uh, um veins finds any beautiful woman of any age frankly desirable. That’s the nature of our species. I won’t even attempt to apologize for that fact. Might as well deny gravity.

An old dude with a young woman gets to be the wise ol’ man. The teacher. Oh, and don’t forget that sexy bulge . . . in his back pocket. So attractive. So desirable. Money and experience are, indeed, sexy. Your old model (spouse) didn’t truly understand or appreciate you, didn’t grow intellectually, became out-of-shape, but lo-and-behold Miss Tender Loins did or does or could or might and, my goodness, life is so damn sweet again. And it is. You’re 20! You’re reborn! Alas, the party, the novelty, like anything in life lasts until it doesn’t. ‘Tis true.

And then — voila! — you’re a papa again, because that is what young women do; have babies. (See second paragraph above for what follows next.) And then you do the math and you realize you’ll be in your 80s and your youngest is still in high school.

I imagine that can be good, too. Whatever. Onward. Out with the old. In with the new. What you sacrifice or lose with the “new” is history. Someone who experienced you when you weren’t so terrific, weren’t so confident, didn’t make such good decisions, and were often selfish and small. Perhaps, poorer. For the novel, you’ll discard the old, someone, chances are, you literally grew-up with. Someone who challenged your B.S. Someone who knew (and experienced) your flaws. But, someone, if lucky, who kept you humble and — by implication — grounded.

But then again, perhaps that explains — in part — as to why some couples go their separate ways. It’s the desire for, the illusion of greener, less judgmental grass.

Relationships. You choose whom to marry. Children have no choice. You may divorce but children are for life. I agree with Leslie Gordon who observed, “Parenthood doesn’t improve one’s character, it exposes it.”