My grandmother, who is a very level-headed, dignified elderly lady, recently suggested I look into sperm donation instead of the dating game to find the father of my future children. Needless to say, I have not had a very successful run with relationships. My experience is that South African guys' interest is tweaked when they hear that the girl is a doctor. They immediately think (and some say aloud), “Wow, you must be so clever!” This is inevitably followed by, “Ooh, you must make big bucks…”
The guy quickly catches on that being a doctor does not mean you’re loaded but rather that you often have to work late; get up at night to go to work and cancel dinner dates because you’re caught up in theatre. Their natural instinct of wanting a nurturing figure to adore them 24/7 takes over and things aren’t so rose-coloured anymore. Add to that, that the girl doctor is often more independent, ambitious and sometimes higher earning than the guy and he almost certainly develops an inferiority complex.
One could suggest that a straight forward solution would be to marry a fellow doctor. Many girls do precisely that. Imagine though the dinner time conversation one would have for the rest of your life: just medical jargon. No wonder so many doctors' kids go into the same field as their parents: they’re never exposed to any other life. Most male doctors would still prefer to marry a nurse than a fellow doctor. It appears that such a partnership suites the male ego better than the doctor-doctor alliance.
My gran herself was married to a doctor and raised three children. She taught Afrikaans and Geography for a number of years before settling down with my grandfather and running his medical practice. She is well-educated and enlightened especially so for the times in which she grew up. Even so, she followed a fairly traditional course in love and marriage. For her to have considered sperm donation as a way of furthering her own gene pool via her only granddaughter is rather revolutionary.
I recently read an article in a popular magazine about this exact topic. The magazine featured the three most sought-after sperm donors in Europe. All three were of Scandinavian origin; all three boffins of some sort; ambitious and not too bad looking (though rather nerdy). Women from all over the globe, including some South Africans, requested these guys’ genes to mix and mingle with their own and form hundreds of new little earth walkers. It seems that women are drawing on sperm banks much more frequently than I had ever imagined.
The question is: why are we not finding suitable mates? There are more females on earth than there are males and therefore not every girl will find a partner. Besides that, it seems that all the good-looking guys turn out to be gay. Then there are the cry-babies, the mommy’s boys, the a-romantics and the plain villains. Neither a good option. One of my theories is that all the chemicals and hormones in our tap water nowadays, a major one being Oestrogen, interfere with the development of a proper man. In my grandmother’s dating years, the men were strong; their greatest aim was to protect their family against any form of predator. They went to the army where they had to carry about heavy poles and survive in pouring rain storms for weeks on end. They came home with emotional scars but also biceps. A man would retire at the end of a working day to a cigar, the evening paper and pensiveness. Today’s male needs elicit steroids to develop muscles. The ones who don’t bother are called metro sexuals. They write poems and discuss their feelings without being prompted. If you seek the rougher sort you end up with the type that dangle their pants under the bum line, reek and smoke ciggies. They're bound to disappear as soon as you ask for child support.
So, would I opt out of this hazard-strew mating game and browse the internet for a suitable sperm donor as my granny suggests? Goodness, that might be a much scarier prospect. And what would I tell the child? I don’t think I’m broody enough yet to take this suggestion seriously. If you’re reading this and have actually gone that route, please let me hear your views.
Someone once said that to love is to have your heart broken. This may be so, yet most of us plunge into the obstacle course of having our hearts broken numerous times in the hope that perfect and full-filling love awaits us round the next corner. Is that all-amazing, flying-carpet, fairy-tale in-love feeling worth sifting through the pant-hangers, the steroid poppers and the mommy’s boys for one’s perfect fit. Currently, I’d say I’m still willing to take the risk and play the game.