A few years back, I considered children something I'd at one point wind up acquiring, but where specifics were concerned I had very little (read: nothing) laid out. I had no idea when or with whom, and I had no idea what to do with the things once they showed up.

You may notice I am saying "children" and "them" here, as opposed to "a child" and "it." I did at the time have the quantity pegged at two, and there it remains for the time being. I cannot conceivably see it being raised any higher, unless of course I go completely insane (though I suppose my many children would probably be removed from my custody at that point anyway).

Anyway, these days I still haven't the foggiest idea when they'll show up or who will pop them out into the world, but one very significant aspect of my handle on the concept has undergone a dramatic change. Perhaps it's because I was in a situation which put the possibility much closer to reality than it had ever been, and that I've therefore developed an attachment born out of that period of relative proximity. Perhaps I've just matured some. In any case, I find myself considering the notion more fondly -- and as well with more enthusiasm -- than I ever have in the past.

Now then, why am I thinking about this in the first place? And, more importantly, why am I bothering to write about it in so public a medium? Because, my dear (and frequently misrepresented) Watson, I overheard a coworker mention something offhandedly which made me realize that -- despite my newfound state of lukewarm fuzziness at the prospect of children I can call my own -- I am sorely in need of organizing my thoughts pertaining to the matter, and having a public audience will force me to be reasonable and at least somewhat thorough in doing so.

This of course begs the question, "What was it you overheard?" Something quite unassuming, as a matter of fact, something that I'd normally not be likely even to hear. My coworker (we'll call him Tony, that being his name) was talking about how easy it was to entertain his two-year-old son in contrast to his teenage daughter. "I can just take him to the park and let him run around," Tony said, audibly relishing the simplicity his son's easy amusement was affording him. "Bam, half a day gone."

There, that was it. Half a day.

Not gonna lie, that snippet right there struck me with a bit of worry. "What the hell do you do with a kid the other half day? And what about the whole one lined up in the chamber right after that?" Seriously!

So, okay, the kid's maybe sort of tuckered out after rampaging around in a field like a feral dog for three hours. At that age, I guess I'd probably be on course to catching a few recuperative winks. But you can't let them sleep too long during the day, right? Because then they'll just be up half the night rampaging around in their room like a... well, like an energetic but otherwise normal dog. That's no good. So they're down for an hour. That's a total of four (out of roughly twelve available) day hours spent. Eight hours left -- a full work day, a length of time during which I sometimes find myself with nothing to do despite it being other peoples' jobs to see to it that no hand falls idle. Throw a few meals in there, and we're down perhaps another two hours. Six hours! That's enough time to drive across the state at a leisurely pace and still have time to stop for peeing and power naps as often as I'd like! Do we play catch, the kid and me? Can a child even throw anything heavier than a fit at two years old? Maybe he watches some TV. But what if he's sick of PBS and the History Channel, and all the cartoons left on the air by that time are total brain-sucking shit? Throw on some Python and hope the Gilliam segues are enough to keep him entertained for the six hours remaining before it's time for him to go cower under the covers and learn how to fear at the imaginary hands of whatever he mistakenly believes has set up camp beneath the bed he's about to wet?

Do two-year-olds even sleep in beds? God I'm clueless.

Perhaps I could give him my old Legos. Or, you know, something as equally facilitating of self-directed creation that at the same time isn't small enough for the little idiot to jam just far enough down his own throat to necessitate a surprise visit to the ER.

Yes, I understand that the above is some very slippery slope-play, but what I'm trying to do is illustrate why this fear exists for me -- all those considerations, all those possibilities, and yet I didn't even finish out a full day in the life of  my Alternate Reality Future-Self. Even extrapolating out ten and twenty steps down the line, I haven't yet begun to scratch the surface of the possible. Terrifying.

And yes, I know that this exact variety of fear can be found in any day-to-day situation, and yet I've not wound up underneath a bus or with my ribs broken at the bottom of a stairwell or even with an upset stomach from spoilt milk with my cereal. We adapt to the unfamiliar and the off-the-cuff, and we usually come out on top (or at the very least survive). I understand that it  is supremely unlikely that I will have no idea which end to cover with a diaper, or that I'll expect an infant to throw a pizza in the oven when he gets hungry despite his nearly-complete lack of motor skills (not to mention a woefully inadequate culinary skill set).

In short, I suppose that all this really boils down to is a big, "I'm not ready yet." I'm not even ready to try to be ready. However, from where I'm standing, I'm pretty sure I can see the silhouette of readiness off on the horizon, somewhere a good ways farther down the path I've been on these last few years. It's a little difficult to tell if I'm closing the gap any from this distance and at this pace, but seeing anything at all is a marked improvement over the shut-eyed wandering I had once made a habit of; it's there ahead of me and, although it is itself a terrifying thing, I am willingly putting one foot in front of the other on my way toward it. In time, in time.

Now then, before closing, I'd like to take a moment to offer my congratulations to anybody who has given a child a good upbringing; you may as well go climb Everest or perhaps just begin levitating by sheer force of will, because you've already accomplished the most difficult task a human being can take upon themselves to complete. Go take a vacation.

As for me, I'll just continue to cower under the covers for a little while longer, slowly trying to figure out how to overcome the fear of the very real future beneath the bed I'm about to wet.

FOREWORD: I apologize for any huge gaps in logic here. I've never put my thoughts on this topic down on "paper" before, so it's at best iffy, at worst terminally flawed. Either way, nice to be able to collect my thoughts. Just a warning from a guy without any background in philosophy that the philosophy up ahead may well be rubbish.

Perhaps more to the point: Can there be an afterlife without a soul? No. Since an afterlife implies some sort of continued consciousness, it cannot be had without a means of immaterial containment and transfer of said consciousness, which would otherwise pass with the body. Reincarnation does not fit the bill for an afterlife, as the consciousness is not persistent, and is therefore instead just the continuation of an initial animating force.

Now then, assuming there is a God, and assuming that said God has created mankind in order to see which of these is faithful unto It, then I think an afterlife is possible (but not necessarily implied). This iteration of God has a desire (if not a need) for affection or validation, which It has attempted to fill by the creation of creatures (humans) capable of loving/needing, but which are also capable of self-direction. The God has placed these creatures in an environment which can potentially distract them from Its intended purpose for them, a purpose which, if achieved, gratifies the God. This is where it splits: humans can either function as pets or companions. As pets, our company is enjoyed until we pass away, at which time we cease to have any sort of connection. Since it does not take a soul to be self-directed, an afterlife would not exist in this scenario. However, as companions, life becomes a proving ground for establishing the sort of company which would be pleasing to the God to have on a continued basis. In this way It achieves diverse, yet agreeable, companions, and an afterlife becomes a possibility.

But if one believes in Darwinian evolution, then the God/human model loses a lot of weight, even if God is only viewed as a First Mover. Why would all these millions of years of soulless life exist leading up to the advent of the soul-bearing human if the goal is an afterlife populated by humans? In the context of time being something more than a man-made interpretation of change to explain decay, I'd say that actually rules out an afterlife by way of nixing likelihood of the human soul.

I guess the ultimate point is that an afterlife implies soul, soul implies purpose, and purpose implies a sentient God.