Talke talks | One and then?

Howdy from Texas, dear readers, I don't know what makes me more of a freak in Texas, the fact that I, an only child and daughter of two only children, am raising an only child with another only child in a state that worships children and is full of extended families, or the fact that I grew up completely without religion and remain an unbeliever in a state that worships simplistic Bible verses and is full of container churches.

I owe both irregularities to my native Russia, and both are connected. In the USSR, religion was not easy; however, political, social, and other insecurity were a result of the revolution, and so birth rates plummeted. Instead of drowning their sorrows in religion, Soviet people became atheistic, superstitious, and drunken. Suddenly, having a single child seemed perfectly normal to many. In contrast to residents of other poor countries, who have as many children as possible to survive and use them in agriculture, in Soviet Russia the collective farms ensured that the level of poverty was the same for everyone, regardless of fertility. Why then conjure up even more insecurity, thought many Soviet people, whose rejection of the extended family I support even without immeasurable suffering.

Now, for once, this text isn't about me, but about my daughter. Will she turn out to be a freak like me? The Russian parents and other ex-post-Soviets I meet in Texas are often keen to have children because they're religious again. It turns out that a number of American splinter religions, such as Pentecostals, Mormons, and Baptists, recruited believers in Eastern Europe in the 1990s. Of course, they all became devout out of conviction and didn't want to simply emigrate to America quickly and cheaply!

Those in my circle of friends who are still atheists and only children have decided to start extended families here in the US, allegedly out of loneliness (or cultural appropriation?). In general, minorities here are living it up when it comes to having children; Chinese people have as many children as they want without the state harassing them like it used to; Indians are happy to have daughters because women are valuable. It's fascinating what a life of progressiveness and prosperity (at least so far) can do to family planning.

But I remain steadfast. If there's one thing I've learned as a fulfilled only child with an equally fulfilled only child, it's that you have to share your satisfaction with your mini-family often and openly, to avoid being mistakenly pitied or unnecessarily questioned. US parents with a single child call themselves "one and done"; they no longer plan or regret anything and want to nip all dubious allegations of failed attempts and faint hope in the bud, and that's how I always introduce myself. After all, Jesus was somehow an only child—not according to the Bible, but according to common exegesis.

I thought I had a solution for the lack of religion as well. When I'm not writing this column, you can find me at the art museum, where I like to take my daughter. Religious conversations arise while looking at paintings without having to go to church ( I'm doing that just for you ).

After my daughter had once again questioned me at length about the Via Dolorosa, Mary's outfit, and Veronica's funny face cloth, she turned to a sexy picture of Venus and Mars: "Who are they?" "Other gods," I said. "Can you choose which god you like best?" she asked me. Brilliant, I thought, barely concealing my joy. I've raised a religiously interested agnostic!

But the euphoria didn't last long. My daughter returned to Christ, happily humming love songs to Him with friends at Bible summer camp and wearing a "Jesus is King" T-shirt. At least I can say that I've integrated my daughter a little more than my parents did me back then. And I hope she doesn't try to convert me like the Americans once did with Eastern Europeans.