“Be someone’s crazy aunt.”
I saw that phrase on social media a few years ago and upon reflection, it turns out that’s yours truly to the a, the u, the n and a capital T.
Many women wouldn’t admit this on Mother’s Day, and if they do, they take grief for it from certain circles — but I never really wanted kids of my own, despite the fact that back in high school, I scrawled the name of a boy I thought I loved, and names for the kids we might have, in a journal.
Didn’t marry (or even get past making out with) the guy. Didn’t have Zoey, Anastasia, Christian, Micah, Jeremiah, Paige or Layla, either.
But oh, how I love this Crazy Aunt Britt role.
I think about things like that when, invariably, a chipper clerk at a store says “Happy Mother’s Day!” if I shop on the holiday. I let it slide — they mean well, even though assuming someone wants to hear that, and the hurt those words could bring for a slew of reasons … well, you get it. I could say something like “Yeah, right. I have teenagers, 17 and 18. They’re lazy and loud and they puke on the floor while I’m asleep,” but this cat mom just moves on and leaves ’em wondering.
Anyway, I don’t remember how the conversation came up, but early on in my marriage that’s nearing 43 years, Doug and I had a chat that ended with us, almost in unison, agreeing: “Oh my god, I’m glad you don’t want to have kids, either.”
It wasn’t like I hated the idea of being someone’s mother. Or that I don’t appreciate the sacrifices of moms everywhere, because motherhood is wonderful choice for some people — choice being the operative word in that sentence.
I’ve seen motherhood at its finest in action, after all: I had the Best Mommy in The World. I’ve written about her many times over the years, including a 2018 FLORIDA TODAY series on her journey through dementia. She died the day before Mother’s Day that year, a death which, despite its horrible timing, was a gift — a release from dementia’s soul-stealing grip.
She told me once to tell people who asked why I didn’t have kids that she liked me just the way I am.
Just because I didn’t want to have kids doesn’t mean I don’t adore them.
And Crazy Aunt Britt has lots of them, a big, extended, diverse circle of kind, talented humans, many of them children of people I cherish.
The kids who’ve slipped into our lives made a lasting impression
It’s a gift to be the friend and adopted aunt to nephews and nieces who — whether they came by blood or by heart or simply because I wanted to give them presents — are our kin.
Doug and have watched all “our” children grow, thrive, cry, try to find their way in a world that’s not always fair and seldom easy to navigate. We love hearing from them.
Rachel, Andrea and Jesse: When my brother married their mother, they joined a brood whose Christmas parties were loud and full of ham. And dumplings.
There’s Kelly, who lives in Indiana, and Kate, her sister, who lives in New York. When my husband, a drummer, played in the band at the marriage of their mother, Peg, to Doug’s friend Roger, the girls slipped him a note that asked if he could play “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.” Kate has two daughters. Kelly chose not to have children but is, Kate assures, the best, fun-having aunt around. I have no doubt.
Amber and Krista? We met through their mom, Lyn, and lived with them in Indiana for weeks when we had to give up our rental house before we took off for Doug’s new job in Arizona. When Lyn died, I dug up every photo I could find from our adventures. I hope they still eat ice cream straight out of the container.
And Jessie and Hannah. Their loving parents, Ellen and Jay, owned the restaurant where I slung beer and pizza before I became a full-time journalist. We chased butterflies and once, a bat. Picked flowers in the woods. They’re moms now. I’m betting they’re pros at capturing memories that time and distance can’t steal.
Long-age holidays and gifts: Do you remember when …
My older sister, Linda, has two sons who have their own families now. They are among my dearest friends and are two of the best men I know.
B, who owns his own business, bought the farm I grew up on and, with his wife, Mikayla, is raising two wee ones. Elle, going on 3, sleeps in my old bedroom. I will meet her little brother, now 5 months old, later this summer. I cannot wait.
My oldest nephew, Tony, is an artist, the co-creator of “The Walking Dead” and the father of Emmy, 16. A few days ago, I asked him to tell me something he remembered about me from his childhood.
His answer came in a message that made my face leak and confirmed my long-held notion that one doesn’t have to give birth to feel special, and needed, and loved.
“When I was a kid, my Aunt Britt was this semi-mythical creature who would appear on holidays and special occasions,” he wrote.
He talked about the presents I’d bring, like Pee Wee Herman specials, a Meat Puppets CD and VHS tapes with early episodes of “Mystery Science Theater 3000.” About sitting with his little brother, watching in “confused wonder” as I roped my siblings into dancing along with the kids on “A Charlie Brown Christmas.” He remembers “joyous family meals, a lot of good-natured (albeit brutal) ribbing, and a handful of very heated socio-political arguments” before Doug and I had to leave for the airport and head back to Arizona.
“My aunt would get in the car, and I’d watch my mom and grandmother stand in the front yard, clinging to each other and sobbing their eyes out, watching her drive away for about a mile or so before finally dipping out of sight,” he said. “… I kinda thought they were laying it on a bit thick. After all, it wasn’t like they were sending her off to war or something.
“Nowadays, though, I totally get it. They had just gotten a fleeting taste of their family being made whole again, and that’s one hell of a hard thing to come down from. My aunt was the only person I had known to (almost) fully escape the gravitational pull of our hometown, a concept that blew my little hillbilly mind. I saw her interview rock stars and presidents and chase her dreams.”
But, Tony wrote about the aunt who’s crying again just sharing this, “she planted a seed in me, that I needed to go see what else was out there waiting for me. Now with a daughter of my own, I’m even more thankful.
“I’m glad that she will have grown up seeing our aunt out there doing her thing and seeing the effect that’s had on me following suit … though I might be a little resentful of ol’ Britt’s influence, come the inevitable moment I have to go stand in my yard, watching and sobbing as my kid drives off chasing dreams of her own.”
Don’t despair, kid.
Crazy Aunt Britt is just a phone call and plane ride away.
We’ll lay it on thick and stand there wailing all night if we have to.
Britt Kennerly is education/breaking news/Style editor at FLORIDA TODAY. Contact Kennerly at 321-917-4744 or bkennerly@floridatoday.com. Twitter: @bybrittkennerly Facebook: /bybrittkennerly
This article originally appeared on Florida Today: Be someone’s crazy aunt. I promise, you won’t regret it | Opinion
Reporting by Britt Kennerly, Florida Today / Florida Today
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