Zora Grizz

          I've had the fact that I had not procreated thrown in my face a lot lately. You can imagine.

 

          Not even just lately. My whole life.

 

          My boss, who knows nothing about me at all, who hired me because of my expertise in early childhood literacy, tells me all the time that I don't understand parents because I don't have kids.

 

          I remain silent, because this straight, cis, white, man controls my paycheck. But it's like trying to keep my face impassive after a stab wound. Every time. Not blinking as the knife is slowly removed from my abdomen. And he does this almost daily. 

 

          When I was 15, my first job was at the YMCA. I was an assistant swim teacher for the toddler swimming lessons. I taught them how to move in water and how to float. As multiple swim lessons took place in the shallow end, about 20-30 toddlers would sit half submerged in water on the steps with their 2 teachers. I would swim back and forth along the stairs, keeping the toddlers on the top step as they continuously tried to sink deeper or float off.

          As I was walking back from my 15 minute break one day (there were no swimming lessons happening in the pool at that time) I was walking past the lifeguard stand, where the shallow end turns into the deep end in about 4 - 5 feet deep of water. I just happened to turn my head and look down as I passed the shallow end and I saw a toddler, a boy with dark hair and red swim trunks, standing on the bottom of the pool right next to the wall, directly under the lifeguard stand: so close that the lifeguard didn't see him. He must have just gone under because he was still conscious and looking straight up at me. He was so small, he could not have been older than 2. 

          My brain wasn't even processing what I was doing at that point or any of these details. As soon as I saw the small figure on the bottom of the pool I was all but tripping over myself and clumsily flinging my body into the water. I'd been a competitive swimmer for 7 years at this point and I taught swim lessons, but my entrance into the pool wasn't graceful, wasn't strategic, wasn't practiced: it was panicked, it was nothing but dire urgency. Without taking a breath beforehand I plunged to the bottom and grabbed him, shoving him up above me and toward the air first and as soon as physically possible. I held him up above me as I came up for air, moving him fast towards the side of the pool. He was silent, wide eyed. He was breathing.

          All of this had happened in about 5-10 seconds, from my walking by to my pushing him up above me into the air. No one had even known he was gone. No one knew why I seemingly fell into the pool. No one understood for at least 5 additional seconds as I struggled to get the child out of the pool and onto the ground. Then it was as if everyone who had even registered that something might be happening, who had even started to watch in mild confusion, realized that I had pulled this child from the bottom of the pool and they all launched themselves up off of the reclining pool chairs, stood up, ran to me, helped me get the boy onto the side of the pool. They started screaming, yelling, panicking, crying.

          The boy was conscious, not even coughing. He hadn't even been under long enough to inhale water. He was terrified but okay. I remember a woman sobbing so hard it was almost screaming, almost as if she were the one who was drowning, her face ashen, and thanking me profusely. I remember people rubbing my back, which made me uncomfortable in my uniform two piece swimsuit and I tensed, my muscles turning to concrete, pulling away. I remember the commotion afterwards being almost too much for me to handle. I made sure the boy was okay, that he was with his parents and not some random creeper, that no one needed anything else from me, and then I silently detached myself from the chaos and slid back into the shallow end, unnoticed, waiting for swimming lessons to start again.

 

This child was already alive. You did not carry and push this child from your body. You are no mother. This anecdote from your life holds absolutely no meaning. Be quiet. Sit down. One day you will have children of your own and you will understand. You are young. You are a female. You don't understand yourself. You don't understand anything. But we do. We understand you.

 

          From the ages of 10-17 I also volunteered to teach swim lessons every summer to developmentally challenged adults and children, to help keep them safe in the water. I held their heads up as we learned how to float on our backs. I let them cling to me in the water, sure of their safety as long as they were touching me. I told them over and over, like a chant: never go in the water by yourself. I taught them to float so that if they did, they had a higher chance of surviving.

 

These children, these individuals, they were already alive. You did not carry and push these people from your body. You are no mother. This anecdote from your life holds absolutely no meaning. Be quiet. Sit down. One day you will have children of your own and you will understand. You are young. You are a female. You don't understand yourself. You don't understand anything. But we do. We understand you.

 

          From the ages of 11-17 I probably babysat every child within a hundred mile radius, watching them grow up. Helping them with their homework. Feeding them dinner. Reading them bedtime stories. Checking for monsters under the bed, in the closet, assuring them that I was actually certified in monster safety and they were safe. Locking all the doors and windows, never answering the door for anyone but their parents at the appointed time. Keeping watch during the night, making sure they were safe until their parents got home.

 

These children were already alive. You did not carry and push these children from your body. You are no mother. This anecdote from your life holds absolutely no meaning. Be quiet. Sit down. One day you will have children of your own and you will understand. You are young. You are a female. You don't understand yourself. You don't understand anything. But we do. We understand you.

 

          At 19, I was a Direct Caretaker at at a group home for children (ages 3-12) whose parents has abused them so horrifically and to such dire consequence (children with missing limbs, children who had been used in cult rituals, 7 years olds who had been raped everyday of their life, children with permanently stunted growth because for years their only food came from what they could steal out of garbage cans, children who had been left in washing machines) that their parental rights had been terminated by the court and the children were now custody of the state. 

          I loved these children with all my heart. Most, understandably, had behavioral issues so severe that they would age out of the group home without ever being fostered, let alone adopted. I brought them to their doctor's appointments. I talked with their doctors about their medication, their side effects, their symptoms, problems they were having, changes we could implement. I added butter to their sandwich bread, mayonnaise, extra lunch meat on their sandwiches, anything I could do to help when their anxiety was so unmanageable they were experiencing rapid weight loss at age 11. I tucked my kids into bed at night. I bathed them when they soiled themselves from PTSD flashbacks. I bought them clothes. I fed them. I made sure they got on the school bus on time in the morning and that they came home from school safe each day. I listened to their secrets. I hugged them if that was ok with them. I set boundaries. I enforced time outs. I broke up fights. I worked 16, 20, hour shifts and sat in a chair in their hallway all night long when they didn't feel safe because other staff used the night shift to sleep on the couch.

 

These 9 children were already alive. You did not carry and push these children from your body. You are no mother. This anecdote from your life holds absolutely no meaning. Be quiet. Sit down. One day you will have children of your own and you will understand. You are young. You are a female. You don't understand yourself. You don't understand anything. But we do. We understand you.

 

          My first serious relationship, he wanted kids. He pressured me to change my mind a lot. It was very confusing for me. I loved him. But I knew it wasn't okay for him to pressure me.

          I've been in several serious relationships with men where they decided they wanted kids and assured me, and themselves, that I didn't know what I was talking about and that I would change my mind.

 

I knew what I was talking about. I've never changed my mind.

 

Your children are not yet alive. You have not yet carried and pushed these children from your body. You are no mother, not yet. These anecdotes from your life hold absolutely no meaning. Be quiet. Sit down. One day you will have children of your own and you will understand. You are young. You are a female. You don't understand yourself. You don't understand anything. But we do. We understand you.

 

          As a children's librarian, I made sure to bring in resources whenever I learned that my kids didn't have glasses and they needed them. Didn't have shoes. Didn't have clothes that fit their growing bodies. Didn't have meals. I found a way, everytime, to get them what they needed. I brought in a free glasses program for kids. I went to Goodwill and bought shoes. I brought in a social worker for free, weekly, office hours, I partnered with free meals programs. I raided my own closet and brought in clothes: Washed, folded, tied up in grocery bags, and given discreetly, as if I had just found them like that under the counter. I listened as they whispered what they were scared of and I talked with them, got them books. Let them know the library was a safe space.

 

These children were already alive. You did not carry and push these children from your body. You are no mother. This anecdote from your life holds absolutely no meaning. Be quiet. Sit down. One day you will have children of your own and you will understand. You are young. You are a female. You don't understand yourself. You don't understand anything. But we do. We understand you.

 

          I've chosen, over and over again, not to be pregnant, not to give birth, not to have a biological child. I don't need a reason. I've never wanted that. 

 

          I would be a badass step-parent, of this I have no doubt. I've never been against helping to raise a child. I just know what I do and don't want happening in my body. I don’t need a reason.

 

          I have spent my life pouring my time, energy, compassion, knowledge, and drive to help into the lives of countless children who deserve everything. Deserve the world. I give them what I can.

 

          So to be met at every turn with judgment, disrespect, scorn, condescension, and legislation against me is….exhausting. It's despair incarnate. It's hopelessness. I can only shout this so many times, yelling it all into a vacuum.

 

Why?