Achilles
If I have a boy, I will call him Priscilla. Or Gyneconde. Or Gertrude. Or "little fuck" if he is really annoying. Now that would be rather charming. "Slimey, come here". "Stupid little bastard, you waste of sperm, do your room". Mwah ah ah. I had better not have a boy. Or rather, a boy had rather not have me. I don't think I could handle it. I really have a hard time understanding what is the fuss about boys. Every time I see people marveling at them, I think there must be some joke going on, that maybe people don’t want to traumatize him and tell him how ugly and vulgar he looks.
Oh, and why do little boys all look retarded? While little girls always look attentive and awake, boys always have that vague disinterested face, like they don’t know what is going on around them. Good opportunity to inadvertently get them run over by a car, will you tell me… indeed, now that I think of it.
Ewww... I just had the most frightsome thought: can you imagine the day when he becomes a teenager? His glands starting to send the wrong signals to his brain… how he would suddenly start stinking and have that stupid pervert grin that all teenage boys display when they see a woman (or whatever enervates them, they don’t need much to be sexually excited). I would become rather frightened if that kind of depraved little beast lived in my house. Ugh.
I know. I would send him to training school. Get rid of him during the holidays. I hear boy scouts are appropriate if I want to make of him a cute home-broken little homosexual. Nothing like a good rape by a smooth and clean Catholic priest to break down those little fuckers. Mwah ah ah.
Oh OK, let’s not go too far into my violent distaste for boys. It is primal, you understand. It is like, I don’t know how I would react if I realized I had that kind of XY parasite in my womb. I shudder at the thought of a penis-endowed embryo growing inside me. I think that this cell-proliferation is rather disgusting. I didn’t pay for that. I don’t think I should go through all this, go through all that pain and then end up having created one more of those people I literally abhor. Ech. Not that I would abort it, but I sure wouldn’t devote much attention to “that”. It would be a lot better off far away from me. ‘cause I don’t want to make it into a traumatized individual. I am not that bad.
It is just a matter of realism: I can’t bring up a boy, some people like boys, so let’s give them the boy. The problem is with me, I know that, and I also know there is no solution. Pragmatism. That is my leitmotiv. Don’t do something you don’t want to do, because that will end up badly. I couldn’t fake love for a little boy. He would soon realize I am a bit repulsed, and I don’t want to impose that sense of shame on it.
I think I got a bit carried away. This was all brought up by the following thought: why do people keep on thinking in terms of “girls’ names” and “boys’ names”? This artificial barrier should be broken down. Especially since I can’t think of a cute boys’ name, while there are plenty cute girls names around: Alice, Lilian, Melany, Ana, Sophia, Clayliss, etc, etc. If I had a boy, I would really give him a girls’ name. I like confused little boys. They are the cutest.
Seriously: why should I, a woman, a feminist, comply with society’s pressure to raise “well formatted” boys and men, those same boys and men who will be the bane of my sisters? Why should I live in the fear of one day being called up by the cops telling me my son raped somebody? Why should I have to see him treating his girlfriends badly and hear him talking shit of women behind my back (who knows, maybe even talking shit about me… I think he would hate me).
Why should I live with the fear that, one day, he would join the army in the stupid drive to prove his virility? Why should I bear the shame of having a professional killer in the family? No, if I had a boy, I would make of him a girl, dress him in cute outfits, generally get him away from all those boy things.
But like happened with Achilles, I fear that he would be found out and taken up in the craziness of this world of men. All my efforts brought to naught. I would cry for days on end. I would be like that woman in Moore’s movie, the one who lost a son to war in Iraq. Sick, sick, sick and revolted.
No, don’t raise a man. Bring up a woman. Society doesn’t care about a woman. It will leave her alone, free to develop herself and her talents. A boy will never have that opportunity. He will be taken up, appropriated, estranged. He will never become a full human being. Only an instrument of oppression in the hands of others. Or worse, he will become one of the ones who rule others. That kind of men you are taught to admire, to whose destiny you are told your boys should aspire, but who incarnate the most utter ugliness of our societies. Its decrepitude and arrogance. The symbols and arrangers of death.