Shakespeare, Marriage, Fatherhood, and my X

 

"Saturday Morning" or "The Cottager's Merchandise" by W. R. Bigg.

What is it with this Shakespeare dude? He insists that I should marry and have children, and he knows fully well how I feel about it. But not for a moment does he stop his whining.

8

Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy:
Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly,
Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy?
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds,
By unions married do offend thine ear,
They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear:
Mark how one string sweet husband to another,
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering;
Resembling sire, and child, and happy mother,
Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing:
Whose speechless song being many, seeming one,
Sings this to thee, 'Thou single wilt prove none'.

16

But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Make war upon this bloody tyrant Time?
And fortify your self in your decay
With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?
Now stand you on the top of happy hours,
And many maiden gardens yet unset,
With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers,
Much liker than your painted counterfeit:
So should the lines of life that life repair
Which this (Time's pencil) or my pupil pen
Neither in inward worth nor outward fair
Can make you live your self in eyes of men.
To give away your self, keeps your self still,
And you must live drawn by your own sweet skill.

3

Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest,
Now is the time that face should form another,
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose uneared womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb,
Of his self-love to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother's glass and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime,
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time.
But if thou live remembered not to be,
Die single and thine image dies with thee.

7

Lo in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
Serving with looks his sacred majesty,
And having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill,
Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
Attending on his golden pilgrimage:
But when from highmost pitch with weary car,
Like feeble age he reeleth from the day,
The eyes (fore duteous) now converted are
From his low tract and look another way:
So thou, thy self out-going in thy noon:
Unlooked on diest unless thou get a son.

A few weeks ago I saw X again, and also her son – the boy I was ready to adopt and become a father to. In the end, things did not work out between X and I; a big part of it was my decision to take up the lecturing position in Korea. Before we started dating the plan was already set. Knowing that I was going to go to Korea I had no intentions on starting a relationship. She, however, was quite nimble at breaking down my well fortified barriers. “I’ll wait for you,” she said.

I did not know that time could heal wounds so easily, that the mind is so quick to suppress bad memories. When I saw her again recently my heart jumped. “How long will you still stay in Korea?” she asked. “There’s six months remaining on my contract,” I answered, and added: “I’ll probably renew my contract for another two years thereafter; unless... unless there is something for me to come back to?” She only smiled, but gave no reply. Then later, “When you come by again, let’s have tea.”

Clearly I still have a soft spot for her and the boy. But to Shakespeare it seems being a stepfather is not good enough, for he admonishes that my “face should form another” lest my “image dies with [me],” suggesting that my offspring (“living flowers”) will resemble me closer than my self-portraits (“painted-counterfeit”). I’m not sure that I agree. I don’t resemble my father. And why am I considering Shakespeare a trustworthy sage regarding having or adopting children in the first place? Did he even have children?

“Die single and thine image dies with thee,” he says. Surely having children is not the only method to ensure “posterity.” And what is this nonsense about me “unbless[ing] some mother” because I do not intent to “husbandry” her “womb.” There must be women that feel that they are more than just “maiden gardens yet unset,” to whom life is more than just the “virtuous wish” to “bear . . . living flowers” to some man so that he can be remembered and his image not die with him.

“Thou single wilt prove none,” Shakespeare says. I have to disagree. A single person need not be incomplete. In fact, I feel quite complete now and would rather continue to be single than be in a relationship where my completion is dependent on the other person. I’ve gone that route once before and can confidently say that emotional dependence is extremely unhealthy. I do not want to be in a relationship where we complete each other [yuck!]; I want to be in a relationship where we complement each other. The distinction is substantial.

In jest I proposed (via email) to an equally independent friend of mine recently. She declined, saying that we both know that my heart will always belong to Monica Bellucci.