I was telling my mom about my reoccurring dreams featuring two dogs, as I sat looking at the two dogs in the vacant lot behind my house. As we talked the sunset made the world gold.
It was around 6:00 am, my dad was black. He said: “If you get this job we can really be proud of you… make us proud.” I saw his words as supportive but supportive of a narrow target, I realized that when we were white I could follow whatever dream I wanted but didn’t have to live up to anything in particular, or succeed at all really – I was free to be as motivated or unmotivated as I saw fit.
I put on heart shaped sunglasses and a suit, smiling at myself in the mirror. I was so androgynous that even I didn’t know if I was male or female, but I radiated self-confidence because I knew I was something to behold.
In a big empty room with white walls I held a tiny baby and was touched at how soft its skin was. I thought to myself: “This being will never be more perfect than it is now.” I looked at the people who had created this additional human in the world, comprehending how mysterious it must seem even after having known the process. I thought about how the child would most likely live long enough to face strife and know beauty and thought: “I never want to procreate.”
My mom said she was glad that I had known what it was like to be a parent in the dream, without having to go through a lifetime of sacrifice. She said that it is like how I described, and that being a parent was the right thing for her: “Just imagine being your mother,” she said, I replied that that would be too meta. She said she was glad I knew what I wanted.