When 'If' Becomes 'When'

He may or may not have known that Halloween was coming soon -- the neighborhood boy I found myself watching about a week ago.

"What a dope that boy is," I thought to myself. "I hope that when I have a son, he's just like that kid."

He was probably 4 years old and was wearing a hat that made it look as if a massive, yellow, fuzzy spider was sitting on his head. The spider's legs stretched out to the boy's shoulders and bounced as he ran in circles around a tree.

That sort of attire is appropriate in all seasons and all settings, I think. Heading to church? Better put on your best spider hat. Going to the beach? Keep the sun off with your spider hat.

He was playing a game that I would call "Wrap A Tree With A Jump Rope." You play the game like this:
1) Affix one end of a jump rope to a small tree.
2) Grab end of said jump rope not attached to the tree; run at full speed around tree.
3) When you have wound the jump rope around the tree, turn and repeat step two in the opposite direction.

I watched Tether Boy and his arachnoid hat play their little game for several minutes, when suddenly I sat up in panic.

"IF I have a son," I corrected myself. "I hope that IF I have a son, he's like that kid. 'If,' not 'when.'"

I was so concerned by this disturbing failure to use the speculative sense in my internal dialogue that I deliberately sped to work. Responsible adults have children, and responsible adults do not speed. By speeding on the way to work, I was proving to the universe that I am still not ready for kids.

"In your face, Universe! I am wild and crazy! Oh, yeah! Woo!" I shouted out as I hit the freeway. "Admittedly, I am only doing 60 mph in a 55-mph zone, but, you know, I don't want to drive too fast; a ticket would jack up the cost of my insurance. Plus, speeders put themselves and others at risk and ARGH! I'M A RESPONSIBLE ADULT! NOOOOOOOO!"

There was a time in my life, not too long ago, when this was not a concern. Every time I spotted a child throwing a tantrum in a supermarket, or heard the hell-spawn giggle of "Sesame Street's" Elmo coming from some toy, I would mutter to myself: "That is why I am not having children."

But somewhere along the way I experienced -- to quote former Vice President Al Gore -- a "toning down of rhetoric" when it comes to kids. I am no longer vehemently opposed to them in theory. I am in this "if" stage of thinking about children. And that's probably a dangerous place to be.

Now, when I hear those squawking electronic toys issue forth Elmo's commands to sing, I tell myself: "If I had a child, he or she would not be allowed to have toys that make so much noise."

Any parents reading this column have just suffered a minor seizure of rage at the above sentence. When they calm down, they will e-mail me a response that basically goes like this: "You are a damned fool. You can make all the declarations you want about parenting when you don't yet have any children, but as soon as you are confronted by a 3-year-old who can ask for cotton candy 700 times in an hour, you will break like all the rest."

I know. Children may be blessings, but they are blessings that magically turn every dollar you earn into clothes smeared with foodstuffs; blessings that cough and sneeze and poop and vomit and then get old enough to slam doors and scream, "You just don't understand!"

Still, this dangerous "if" stage persists. When my father was my age, he had a 3-year-old son -- me -- and that worked out pretty well for him (he does, after all, have the best son ever). What if...

But that's where it stays for now. I may slip occasionally, but "if" has not yet become "when." My parents and my wife's parents will have to wait a while longer for screaming, candy-starved tiny versions of us.

The only "when" I'm concerned about right now is when I am going to buy myself a cool spider hat.

Chris Cope is married, with no children. His column appears every other Tuesday.