progeny. part iii. the godprogeny.

Clearly, as demonstrated in the previous two entries, I seem to be comprised of equal parts ineptitude and disinterest when it comes to ever having children. However, with the selfish goal of not growing old and dying alone in mind, it seems wise to have a few young ones around in some capacity.

After a lengthy discussion with a good friend in which we established that my potentially good parenting skills were essentially limited to buying excellent gifts and wrapping them attractively, she suggested that I could take over that role for her kids, should she ever have them. I left the conversation feeling useful and also reassured that I was not a complete social pariah as I could still serve some purpose contributing to someone’s happiness other than my own. So, I spent some time blissfully basking in the idea of being a fantastic Aunt to my friend’s kids. After about an hour of these warm fuzzy thoughts I realized that “Aunt” was the wrong word, and I actually meant “Godmother”. This slight confusion aside, I was even more enthused about adopting the Godparent role, once again possibly due to some confusion in terminology, this time resulting less from my own idiocy and more from depictions of “Godparents” in popular media. Namely, The Godfather and Cinderella.

I briefly toyed with the idea of modeling my Godparenting style after Don Vito Corleone. However, I didn’t think I could make anyone “an offer they couldn’t refuse” without being laughed at mercilessly, and I had a premonition that no matter how well gift-wrapped, a horse’s head in the bed may not be well received as a gift for the godprogeny. So, I put aside my love for cannoli and fine Italian clothing and decided this was not an ideal Godparent model.

Taking the role in a slightly different direction, I decided that I would make quite an apt fairy Godmother à la Cinderella. At last, I had found the perfect niche for myself in the world of child-rearing. I would remain entirely absent during the unfortunate times of pregnancy and birthing. During infancy and the terrible twos I would stay out of the limelight. Naturally I would gracefully step aside throughout childhood, adolescence and the angst-ridden preteen years, biding my time to wait for the perfect moment of introduction.

After years in absentia during which I will have achieved a great degree of career success, traveled the world, and amassed a stylish wardrobe free of baby spittle, I’ll step out of the shadows into my godparenting duties when the child is poised on the brink of adulthood. Prom night. Godprogeny and her mother have no doubt had tense words about attire, curfews and the like. I’ll swoop in, sweep the distraught mother aside and tend to the bewildered teen. After a few minutes of drying her tears and primping her hair, I’ll slip her into a glassy pair of Christian Louboutins, toss her the keys to a pumpkin-coloured Audi, and mutter something vague about a curfew.

My work done, I’ll sink into a comfy chair and split a celebratory bottle of champagne with the child’s mother. What a fine job we’ve done. Now, time to sit back a reap the rewards. One night of stellar godparenting will doubtlessly be returned by at least a few visits during the lonely days of old age.