Contraception Regret at Red Lobster

Last weekend we decided to take a trip across the border to Port Huron, Michigan, to do a bit of shopping. Like the majority of Canadians who make the same international trip in search of lower prices and cheap gas, we shopped at Hobby Lobby, Target, and T.J. Maxx. I may have stopped into Wild Bill’s Tobacco Shop to stock up…Who am I kidding? I have an account there and look forward to the buy-one-get-one deals on cigars and my beloved Stoker’s Wintergreen.

Port Huron—only an hour or so from my home—is hardly an exotic location, but any trip across the border is fun. Whenever you spend time on foreign soil there is a feeling of novelty and excitement.

I don’t know about you, but after a day spent under the fluorescent lights of department stores, I feel both extremely lethargic and very thirsty. As a result, we usually seek out a quintessentially American restaurant to refuel. It was an Ember Day, so I decided we should make the heroic sacrifice to forgo meat for this Holy Day of Opportunity and eat at Red Lobster. Originally, we tried Olive Garden, but the projected wait time was far too long with six little kids who were already getting fidgety after a day of shopping.

Although we do not have the biggest Catholic family around, we are certainly a sight to be seen in the childless secular world. Without fail, when we walk into a restaurant with our six children ranging from age eight to infant, the hostess’ expression is usually a mix of wonder, excitement, and dread. Anyone with a large family can relate: people sitting at the tables—especially the elderly—look fondly upon the brood of children as if an exotic animal has walked into the building. We often hear, “You must be busy!” or my favorite joking quip, “Are they all yours?” It was much the same as we waited for and approached our table.

A middle-aged couple was seated across the aisle from us, and the woman was fixated on our children, especially our toddler, Clementine. Admittedly, although I am a bit biased, Clementine—with her sprouting pigtails and impossibly plump cheeks—is the archetype of a doll-faced little girl. She is also as volatile and rapid in movements as she is cute. No menu or piece of cutlery is out of her grasp, even if her high chair is feet away. She may or may not have eaten a crayon and crumpled 47 napkins; it is impossible to know for sure.

In any event, Clementine was sick of her high chair after about an hour and a half, so against my better judgment I decided to take her out of the containment mechanism and put her on my lap while my wife took our other daughter to the restroom. Almost as if miraculous, Clementine came down from the edge of a tantrum and became sweet and gentle—she just wanted to cuddle. 

I noticed the woman across the aisle was fawning over the reaction between father and daughter, so I smiled. She told me how well the children were behaving and how she was so impressed that six children could keep it together for so long in a restaurant. Of course, she was looking through rose-colored glasses and did not hear the empty threats I whispered to the children at various times throughout the meal. 

I told her thank you and exchanged pleasantries. Then she told me something I have heard so many versions of: “I couldn’t do it, we stopped after three.” After the comment, she released a nervous laugh, and her husband continued to contemplate his plate and didn’t look up. She told me something I have heard so many versions of: “I couldn’t do it, we stopped after three.” After the comment, she released a nervous laugh, and her husband continued to contemplate his plate and didn’t look up.Tweet This

These moments are always a tad awkward for me, as I don’t really know what to say when someone tells me that either she was spayed or her husband was neutered. Aside from being a disordered thing to do, it is also intensely personal to reveal such intimate details to a stranger; it is almost as if people feel the need to justify themselves to those with larger families. At any rate, given that I didn’t know what to say, I too forced an uninspired laugh and went back to singing a nursery rhyme to Clementine.

A moment later I could sense that the woman was still looking, so I looked up and smiled. It was the saddest thing; in real-time, I saw her face change from a loving gaze of affection and longing to a heartbroken expression as her eyes filled with tears and her lips began to quiver. Her countenance fell, the smile lines beside her eyes went from up to down, and a great sorrow gripped her most painfully.

She looked away and looked at her plate. I looked over at her husband, not that I was hoping to have any more intensely-personal nonverbal communication with a stranger, but the man’s wife was about to break down and cry so it was only natural. He slowly turned his head and looked at me sheepishly with an expression as if to say: “Well, I am not really sure what to do now…” In his expression, I could tell that he knew their immediate future would be filled with a silent and tense ride home, likely a bottle of wine and a couch waiting for his wife while he pretended that everything was fine. 

She was so sad, and he clearly felt so utterly helpless and foolish. I was trying not to notice as my children asked me if they had behaved well enough to have the ice cream sundae that comes with the kids’ meal. They had, by the way.

What a tragedy. Their story is not unique. It represents the reality for the vast majority of Westerners who have contracepted away the continual growth of the human family; and for what? Two incomes, a boat, and a timeshare in the Florida Keys? 

We prayed the Rosary on our drive home, and my mind wandered to this couple and the millions of other couples plagued with this regret and disorder. Their grown children are likely childless or, maybe, have had a respectable 1.5 children so as to not get in the way of career and education ambitions. Generations upon generations of comparatively poor ancestors had large families and loads of grandchildren. But a stupid poison pill and medical procedures suitable for domestic animals have destroyed familial legacies and lineages that stood the test of time through plagues, famines, and great migrations. 

Of course, no one is guaranteed a big family, and the cross of infertility is heavy. However, there is a qualitative difference between the longing to have more kids if it were possible and the shameful regret one feels when one sits at the kitchen table and looks at all the empty chairs that should have been filled. No amount of money or personal development in education or the business world is worth the pain I saw on that woman’s face, and I wouldn’t wish that excruciating heartbreak and regret on my worst enemy.