Copyright © 1998 Dr. Robin Baker and Elizabeth Oram.
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 0-88001-658-2
Chapter One
Highs and Lows
SCENE 1
Real Soap
Even as he stood up to speak, there were tears in his eyes. Looking around at the people who had come to celebrate his son's coming of age, he knew that the emotion of the moment — and the lump in his throat — were in danger of ruining this, one of his proudest moments. He paused, then leaned forward to pick up his drink. The act of swallowing helped clear his throat, but even so, as he forced out his first words, his voice was unsteady.
He thanked the guests for coming to help him and his wife celebrate this special occasion. Half turning to her, smiling and radiant by his side, he told them what a wonderful partner and mother she had been. Moreover, beautiful as she had always been, never had she been more so than when pregnant with their son. Nor would he ever forget that magical moment when he held him in his arms for the first time.
His son had been a model child, he told the captivated audience. Always happy, always responsible, he had been a wonderful playmate, friend and helper to his younger sister. He turned to her, sitting by her brother's side. They were still inseparable friends.
In a final flurry of emotion, he praised his son's character yet again, drew attention to his good looks, then declared modestly that he didn't know what he had done to deserve two such wonderful children. He then asked the guests to join with him in drinking the health of his most cherished son.
There was scarcely a dry eye in the room as the son stood up to reply. More assured and marginally less emotional than his father, he too began by thanking the guests for coming to what for him too was a most special occasion. As he spoke, the eyes of many a young girl amongst his audience betrayed their wish that he, or someone just like him, would sweep them off into a long and passionate relationship. He ended by turning to his parents and raising his glass. He thanked his father for being his friend and mentor, his mother for being always so serene and tolerant; he owed absolutely everything to them, their love and their constancy, he added. Echoing his father, he said that he too had no idea what he had done to deserve such wonderful parents, but he knew that in his life to come he wanted nothing more than to be just like them.
Scarcely had the credits begun to roll than the front door slammed to. The two viewers — a woman and her teenage daughter — just had time to exchange a look and laugh as they wiped away their tears, when a man's voice boomed out that there was mud all over the hall floor. Then the sitting-room door flew open and a large and very irate man stood framed in the doorway. There was mud all over the floor, he repeated, and what did they think they were doing, just sitting there while there was mud all over the hall floor? Suddenly recognising the theme music from the soap which was just ending, he ordered them to switch off `that rubbish', but did it himself almost as he was speaking. Looming over the two women, he announced that they were idle and good for nothing, that they never did anything but sit in front of the box. Pointing in the direction of the muddy floor, he thundered on that their son was no better, that if he didn't start working soon he would never get anywhere, that only trouble could come from hanging around on street corners, and that he obviously got his character from his mother.
Emotionally charged by the programme she had just watched, the mother leaped to her feet. He was just as bad, she shouted back. He was lazier than any of them, and she knew damn well where their son got his laziness from. The daughter snapped at the pair of them not to start arguing yet again — she couldn't stand it, she screamed — and ran out of the room. The woman pointed out to her mate what his bad temper had done, said she wished she had never met him, then asked why he didn't go out and get drunk tonight, like he did every night. He stormed out of the room, muttering obscenities under his breath as he went.
As he opened the front door, his son brushed past him into the house without a word, ignoring his father's promise to murder him if he left any more mud on the floor. When his mother pointed out what trouble he had caused and yelled at him to clear up his mess, he swore at her and stamped upstairs, spreading yet more mud as he went.
As the mother threw herself on to the sofa, she heard her offspring quarrelling upstairs. She threw back her head and yelled — so loudly that it hurt her throat and chest — `Will everybody just shut up, go away, and leave me in peace!'
The traditionally romantic view of parenthood is of a man and a woman in a long-term monogamous relationship working together to achieve a mutual aim, the producing and raising of a family. During pregnancy, the man is caring and attentive while the woman slowly swells, serenely waiting to give birth to the much longed-for baby. They then cherish and nurture each of their children, leading them happily and healthily through life and doing their best to encourage each child to realise his or her full potential. The children in their turn help each other and reward their parents' efforts with a continual show of gratitude and admiration for all that has been, and is being, done for them.
And of course, there are moments and situations when such romanticism is briefly realised. Every so often, even real people get a glimpse of the parental paradise portrayed on the television in the scene just depicted. But as all parents know, the day-to-day reality of parenthood and family life is very different. Pain and discomfort during pregnancy and labour, the difficulties of caring for babies and young children, arguments about and between children and the trials of adolescence are within every parent's experience. For some, parenthood may be a solitary affair and hence potentially even more difficult. For others, the nuclear family may give way to separation and step-parenthood. And for a few, potentially devastating problems such as incest, neglect, abuse or even murder may cloud their years as parents.
Most of the time, parenting does not involve extremes of emotions — it's more a pot-pourri of minor rewards and vexations. But almost any situation can escalate in a flash. It is as if family life is forever on a knife-edge. Those moments when parenthood is easy and rewarding can so readily metamorphose into nothing but conflict and worry.
Why should parenthood run along a knife-edge? Why should there be so many potential problems in something that is such an ancient and basic feature of human reproduction? Humans and their primate ancestors have been parenting now for so many millennia that we could perhaps be excused for expecting it all to be plain sailing. But it is not — and the aim of this book is to explain, using the philosophical and scientific perspective of the evolutionary biologist, why it is not.
The short answer is that although both parents and children all stand to gain if everybody cooperates, they stand to gain even more if at the same time they can promote their own interests. As it turns out, almost every aspect of parenthood generates a biological conflict of interests, and it is this conflict that spawns the difficulties that all parents experience. The result is that babies mean wars — between mother and father, between parents and children, and between the children themselves.