One of my earliest memories, of just my Dad and me, is walking back from the library with a bag of books. I would have been about 9 and aside from me making really shitty jokes about “heavy reading” we also occasionally dipped into serious conversations.
The kind of conversations that would make you think, “why the fuck is that 9 year old having that conversation?”.
One of these was about whether it was strange that I wanted to grow up to be a dad (despite probably not knowing how babies were made at the time). My Dad, bless him, told me that it was completely natural and then probably tried to change the conversation as quickly as possible; I’m still waiting for “the talk”.
So that was Marc Lawton, 9 years old. Now, at the age of 32, I’m less eager. My mother told me that she didn’t see me having kids at least 8 years ago and so far she’s been proven correct.
And as I think about it, she’s probably right. If it happened then fair enough, but if it doesn’t then I’m not gonna feel disappointed. I have, so far, 6 nephews and nieces that I love enormously and there’s no pressure to carry on the Lawton line. I’d much rather prefer to be able to find someone that I get on with and doesn’t get too annoyed by me. And let’s face it, there’re too many people as it is and it certainly would be less expensive to not have to buy all those nappies and toys.
What can I say? It’s classic Marc time where I think of things that there’s no point in thinking about whatsoever. But it’s what I do – I think about pointless things.
I’m a decent uncle – not sure the responsibility of parenthood would suit me though.
As fathers commonly go, it is seldom a misfortune to be fatherless; and considering the general run of sons, as seldom a misfortune to be childless.
Philip Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfield
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