Why I’ll probably never be a parent

I know no one rash – or arrogant – enough to claim they know the answer to the nature vs. nurture question, nor the proportional effect each has on a child’s sexual development. But the thought that I might influence my child towards a lifestyle choice guaranteed to bring them pain and unhappiness – however remote that chance may be – is horrifying to me. That’s why, quite simply, I wouldn’t bring a child up in a gay household and, if by some chance I were to end up having a child with a woman, I would seek to insulate that child from inappropriate situations and influences until they were old enough to understand the principles, ramifications and, yes, the mechanics surrounding such an enormous decision.

I’d describe myself as 90-95% gay. I would never have chosen to be this way. No one would choose it. You’d have to be mad. Yet there’s a view, promulgated by the mostly socially liberal media, that almost any lifestyle choice is alright these days. It chimes with, and to some degree emerges from, that vacuous milieu of bien pensant chat show psychology that says everything’s OK, as long as you’re OK with it. “Live your best life,” says Oprah Winfrey. “It’s OK, if it’s OK for you.”

But everything isn’t OK. And, ceteris paribus, no one would choose to have a gay child rather than a straight one. It would be like wishing that they were born disabled – not just because homosexuality is aberrant, but because that child will suffer unnecessarily. Again, you’d have to be mad. Or evil.

To some extent, it’s a pragmatic thing. As a parent, you want your child to have the best possible start in life, so, given the choice, you’d want it to be white, male, straight, clever and gorgeous… right?

Is being homosexual “wrong”? Something somewhere inside of me says Yes. You probably don’t agree. But I think we can all agree that, unless you live in the cosseted bubble of a liberal metropolis, the reality of growing up gay for most people is a horribly lonely, miserable experience. (If you don’t know, take it from me: it is.)

The feelings of alienation and rejection it engenders are responsible for the sorts of repugnant tribal posturing you see on the streets of Soho on a Friday night, as bitterly unhappy queers engage in degrading and repulsive behaviour, simply because they want to feel a part of something after a lifetime of marginalisation.

They see themselves as faulty, so they exaggerate their imperfections in the company of others they see as similarly defective. Ironically, it’s precisely that profound feeling of being somehow broken that means a gay man’s sexuality often comes to be the defining characteristic of his personality. Who wouldn’t want to protect a child from a path that leads to such destructive self-loathing?

(That’s not to say there aren’t upsides to being gay, of course. You can get laid any time, any place, anywhere – especially in the age of the iPhone – if that’s your thing.)

Labour MP Chris Bryant shows off his new "marble effect" bathroom tiling.

Part of the reason people feel unwilling to say what they really feel about protecting children from inappropriate influence is the bludgeon of liberal opinion which has so comprehensively – and damagingly – hijacked public debate. These days, belligerent minority interest warriors like Labour MP Chris Bryant peer hawkishly over the mace in Parliament, almost willing their opponents to say something they can screech with righteous indignation about.

But the battle for gay rights has been won. All these preening poofs in public life do is make life more difficult for regular young gay people by reinforcing the stereotypes about gay behaviour: reminding a struggling child’s myopic dad that queers are uppity, in-your-face, camp-as-tits faggots who’ll rape you as soon as look at you.

Campaigners like Peter Tatchell, more obsolescent by the day, underscore the differences between us all, while making people feel too terrified even to refer to them. They’re certainly not working to make those differences irrelevant. In some cases, they’re even using the innocent wonder of a child to score cheap campaigning points, which, frankly, is disgusting.

Recently, a good friend of mine became pregnant. She’s a sassy chick with what the glossies call “a fabulous international lifestyle” and lots of metropolitan friends. But if the gags about fairy godmothers become more than a joke, I’ll probably, no doubt inappropriately, transgress the tested limits of our friendship and tell her so. Because her child deserves to be protected from the seedier aspects of life until properly equipped to cope with them.

And that’s why I’ll probably never have a child of my own – which isn’t a statement I make with any pleasure.

I think I’d have made a great dad. I mean, aside from being clever and charming and witty and fantastically good looking, I’d spoil them rotten while being fastidiously attentive to their academic performance and career aspirations. But it’s wrong to expose an innocent child to the possibility of gay influence.

I don’t hate myself and I don’t hate my sexuality. (Granted, I have a complicated relationship with the latter.) Nor do I hate other gay men. (Where would fat girls be without them?) But if my beliefs about raising kids get me branded a homophobic homo… well, so be it.