. . . may account for part of it. I had a good buddy whom I met in junior high; he got me into "Star Trek" fandom, which led to our meeting our first wives and then my second. We hung out together over more than 20 years.

Then he married wife no. 2 and started having children right, left, and down the middle. Now I don't care for children (actually that's a gross understatement). So the last thing I wanted to do was visit a house full of yelling kids, half of whom smelled like used diapers -- and the last thing he was able to do was get away from all that for a while. He kept parroting the Parental Party Line, e.g., "It's the greatest thing I've ever done," "It's all worth it," et cetera ad nauseam . . . but I noticed he took every opportunity to slink away from the hellhole of his home, and smoke a few joints in peace and quiet.

He was living on the Gulf Coast when Katrina hit. I haven't been able to locate him, and the chances of his being online are small (with all those rugrats, he couldn't afford a phone, let alone a computer). I hope he's okay. But if I woke up in his life tomorrow, the first thing I'd do is look for a gun to use on myself.

Different paths in life, I guess. And the divergence between the paths of parents and non-parents is the biggest of all.

__________________
* *
-- Paul W. (The Benzadmiral)
('03 Buick Park Avenue, charcoal/cream)
Formerly:
'97 C230, smoke silver/parchment; '86 420SEL, anthracite/light grey; '84 280CE (W123), dark blue/palomino