They’re cute, they’re innocent, and they’re monsters.

The holidays are approaching, which for many of us, means time with family. If you have any children at your gatherings, you may be more conscious (and conscientious) of being single and/or child-free.

If you look forward to one day becoming a parent, I advise you to avoid the remainder of this article. It may destroy your dreams. I describe here a situation that is in no way exaggerated or satirical — well, maybe a little.

Read on, if you must, but be ye warned.

I’ve seen the faces of evil

Have you felt pressure from your parents or in-laws to give them little munchkins who will call them Memaw and Pawpaw? If you want to show them good reasons why you’ve decided not to have children, meet my sister’s kids. They’re monsters.

Tolerating them would be so much easier if they looked like monsters. Unfortunately, they’re the cutest little things you ever saw.

One boy has naturally wavy blond hair and rosy cheeks. His brother looks similar, but with tighter curls, and their cute little sister is only five so of course, she says “the darndest things.”

I have special powers that their parents, obviously, do not. When these imps don’t get their way, I can see past their facades of cuteness and detect the evil within them.

Their telltale horns protrude from beneath their silken hair. Their banshee-like shrieks reverberate throughout my entire being while going undetected by their parents.

Wolves in sheep’s clothing, to be sure.

Mealtime

At our family dinners, food is the focal point. Though we have a large family, the amount of food made for our gathering would feed India for the foreseeable future.

Yet, the parents of the demon children can’t seem to find anything that their darlings are willing to consume. Nevertheless, a well-balanced plate of food is placed in front of them.

“I’m done,” one of the boys announces after two bites.

“Eat all the vegetables first,” his well-meaning mother says, “and then you can go play.”

“I’m full!” he declares.

This may not be a lie, as he’s already eaten more confections than Cookie Monster in his 58-year career. They were laid out on the dessert table before dinner by my parents who naively assumed all the children would know and obey the rule of no dessert before dinner.

“Eat two more bites,” his mother says.

Notice the requirement changes as “all the vegetables” turns into “two more bites.”

The golden-haired child disembarks from the table. He probably reasons that canola oil was used in the brownies, which should suffice for his allotment of vegetables for one day.

And who needs vegetables anyway? The sugar high he’s on should propel him through next Friday.

“I don’t want them.”

Ah, the truth emerges — he’s not full. Plus, he must save room for an after-dinner dessert.

“Please get back in the chair and eat your veggies,” his mother suggests.

Part of the innocent facade melts away, and a facial contortion replaces his angelic countenance. A wail escapes from deep within.

“One…” his mother begins.

Oh, boy. Here comes the counting.

“Twooooooo…”

You could’ve fit five Mississippi’s between one and two.

“I mean it.”

No, you don’t.

“Threeeeee…”

The wails become louder, eclipsing all other conversations in the room.

“Everybody is staring at you.”

He doesn’t care.

“Okay, but you can’t have any dessert,” she warns.

Good one. Perhaps the chocolate smeared across his face wasn’t enough of a giveaway that he already had his dessert.

The wailing stops as if flipped by a switch as he is quickly alerted to the possibility of another dessert. The halo reappears above his head as he returns to his place at the table. He pushes the food around his plate until his mother returns to the adult table.

After sufficient time elapses, Lucifer hops down from the chair without finishing his meal and runs out of the room. His mother opens her mouth to say something but falls silent as she rolls her eyes and shakes her head in resignation.

The child’s pre-dinner dessert and meager meal will eventually conclude with a frosted cupcake (or two).

Gorgons

I’m probably making the scenario out to be more endearing than the reality. As pleasant as it sounds to be the caretakers of these heavenly stars of light and joy, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.

Remember, I’m describing an interaction with only one of these angels. Just like Medusa, this lovely child has two siblings with similar intentions of overthrowing all democracy and decency throughout the world.

After the meal, the rest of the evening is filled with phrases from the parents, like “Go ask your mother” and “Go ask your father” and lies from the child, like “Dad said I could” and “I didn’t do it!”

The parents’ belief in their children’s levels of integrity is admirable but grossly misaligned.

Since I’m their uncle, I have no choice but to love them. Fortunately, I can do so from a safe distance. I can observe their antics and deviousness without being involved.

I’m not required nor compelled to allow them into my home for any significant time. I’m convinced that, like vampires, one must invite them into his home for them to gain access before sucking the life force from his body.

A valuable lesson

I’m grateful to these and other children like them. Whenever I feel unfulfilled, or believe my life is missing the pitter-patter of little feet, an evening with my nieces and nephews dispels such nonsense.

Growing up gay in a conservative family, I’ve had enough people trying to use guilt and other manipulation techniques to get me to do things I don’t want to do throughout my life. I certainly don’t need rapscallion children torturing me.

You may be fortunate enough not to have experienced such wickedness. Perhaps the children you’ve seen have all been paragons of virtue and had Amish-like obedience.

If you decide to birth what Robin Wilding 💎 calls “flesh potatoes,” they may turn out as beloved gems. However, please remember this statistic:

Only one in 10 children in North America turn out as decent human beings.
– Unsubstantiated Fake News Source (a.k.a. author’s opinion)

If you’re a gambler, you may throw caution to the wind and decide to create your own little monsters. In which case, this article has all been for naught.

Just don’t come crying to me when the smell of garlic repels you and you can’t see your reflection in the mirror.

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By the way, don’t show this to my sister. She may not appreciate the humor.

Thanks for reading!

*Original version published in Life Without Children on Medium.