Not long ago the finance of a brilliant young lawyer came to her mother with an anxious face. “I have just discovered something about George,” she abruptly began, “and it worries me very much.”
As “George” was the daughter’s future husband the mother naturally pricked up her ears.
“I have discovered,” somberly continued the girl George loved, “that he doesn’t like children. He calls them ‘brats’ and thinks they’re a nuisance. And—oh mother, you know how much I like them!”
The mother was a wise woman. She did not put off her daughter with optimistic and bromidic comments about George’s probable change of heart when his own children came. Instead she sent for George and had a long private talk with him.
The young man was frank and indifferent. He did not like children and he did not care who knew it. The wise woman of the world who had expected to be his mother-in-law quietly drew him out. He admitted that he hoped he and his wife would not have children, or at least would have none for a long time to come. He magnanimously added that if they did come he would “have to make the best of them.” He was wholly unembarrassed as he discussed the subject. He seemed to think his viewpoint was an ordinary one. But his companion’s ultimatum at the end of the interview made him sit up with a jerk.
“George,” she said slowly, “I am going to do my utmost to persuade Grace to break her engagement to you.”
The young man could not believe he had heard right. He gasped and stammered. “On account of this nonsense about children?” he demanded. “On account of this tragedy about children,” said his companion. “My daughter is a born mother. She will want children and she will have them. If I can bring it about, she shall also have a real father for them; for unless she has she will be a very unhappy woman.”
The young man proceeded to reveal his real nature which he had hitherto concealed. He first argued and protested, then stormed and blustered.
Later, seeing that Grace was deeply impressed by her mother’s viewpoint, he tried to laugh off the whole matter as a tempest in a teapot. Last of all he settled down to pleadings, promises and lies. He had not realized, he explained, how strongly mother and daughter felt on the subject. He really was not so prejudiced as he had seemed. If he had children he was sure he would be fond of the little beggars in time. But he had betrayed himself too thoroughly. After weeks of strain and unhappiness for all three the engagement between Grace and George was broken off.
“You see,” said the mother of Grace in her final summing up of the situation, “motherhood is as important to a normal woman as wifehood. In many instances it is more important, as we see by looking around us. A mother’s joy in her children calls for partnership. She expects, indeed she demands, that their father’s pride and delight in them will be as great as her own. The one thing she will never forgive her husband is to fail these children. She will pardon affronts to herself, but not neglect or indifference toward them. I would rather have Grace grieve now for a year or two over her lost illusion than be unhappy all her life; and she would prefer this too.”
The breaking off of that engagement was the wise move of a wise mother. Her experience made the other mothers in her circle turn more observant eyes on the would-be suitors of their daughters. All mothers would do well to follow their example. It is advisable that a young man to whom a girl trusts her future should be many things. He should be clean, honest, industrious, ambitious, dependable and loyal. But most of all—and this vital point is the one the average girl considers least—he should be an excellent potential father.
From the editorial page of the Ladies Home Journal, June, 1921, Barton W. Currie, editor.
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