Being a godfather - no thanks!

It was 2 July 1979, a hot summer's day. I was the happiest girl in the world. My sister had given birth to her first child a few hours earlier. Catherine had just been born on my birthday. My mum picked me up from the station that evening. «It's Meiteli», she whispered in my ear and squeezed me so tightly that I almost couldn't breathe. «And you're going to be a goddess!» Yes, I became a goddess. And I could have been bursting with pride.

I had always loved children, but the first baby in our family was of course something special. However, I was surprised that my parents were so happy. Catherine hadn't been planned, my sister had married heavily pregnant. A fact that was difficult for my very Catholic parents to digest.

The years went by and Catherine became more and more like me. We had a lot in common, even in terms of our personalities.

But then the little one arrived and delighted us all. I could watch her for hours, her little hands, her sweet little nose, her kissable mouth. And my sister was happy that I helped her and supported her in many ways. Sometimes, when I held her in my arms, I felt like Catherine was my child. And when I took her for a walk and people said: «Just like mum!», I nodded in agreement.

Catherine confided everything to me

The years went by and Catherine looked more and more like me. Blonde, freckled and blue-eyed, she was the spitting image of me. The baby became a toddler, a girl, a teenager. And what was clear from the start became more and more apparent over time: we had a lot in common, not just externally, but also in terms of our personalities.

When Catherine visited me, she always slept in my bed, confiding her secrets and her first heartbreaks to me. «You're the best goddess in the world,» she would say to me, and I would melt away. We were two of a kind. Catherine was not a spoilt child. When other children and teenagers wanted expensive presents, a little something was enough for her. If someone wanted to give her something expensive, she would say, slightly chastisingly and very sensibly: «Daddy, that cost too much. You have to keep your money together.»

She often amazed us with her inner wisdom and serenity. We would joke: Catherine is an old soul. And sometimes we swapped roles. When my boyfriend at the time went travelling the world and I was sad, she comforted me: «Gotti, you have to let the men go, then they'll come back to you.» Catherine was 17 years old at the time.

And then came Max ...

A few years later, a very good work colleague asked me if I would like to become her son's godmother. I was thrilled and accepted immediately. On the one hand I felt honoured, on the other hand I had had very good experiences. What could go wrong? In short: everything.

Max is now 18 years old and, looking back, I have to say that I was a bad godmother because I just couldn't connect with him. Because of my close relationship with Catherine, I thought it would automatically be the same again. But there was nothing to connect with.

Max was a foreign planet for me that I wanted to conquer in the early years, but when I realised that nothing was coming back from him, my interest in him waned.

Of course I thought he was cute as a little boy, but as a teenager he became a stranger to me and sometimes he even annoyed me. I remember one Christmas shopping trip when we didn't say three words to each other. I thought Max was a messed-up kid, and to him I was probably a stupid old lady who took time for him once a year and didn't even know his birthday by heart. Max was a foreign planet for me that I wanted to conquer in the early years, but when I realised that nothing came back from him, my interest in him waned.

«I am pregnant. Would you ...?»

Fortunately, he had a committed godfather who did a lot with him. Max's mum, with whom I am still close friends despite the failed sponsorship, was also tolerant. She quickly realised that there was no spark between me and Max. Of course, I still regularly ask her how Max is doing, but do I really care? The other day, his mum said to me: «He talks a lot now», and I understood the hint. «Oh, that's nice, then I'll have lunch with him soon.»

I don't like it when I don't know what to expect. And a child is a bag of surprises.

Somehow I have hope that our contact will improve after all. But I'm also a bit afraid that the grown-up Max will one day ask: «Why didn't you ever look after me?» And then I can't say: «You were always a stranger to me.» Or could I?

A few weeks ago, I went out for dinner with a younger friend. Over the second glass of wine, she looked at me meaningfully with a look I recognised. «I'm pregnant. Would you ... ?» I didn't let her finish. «That's sweet, and I'm honoured, but I'm fully occupied with two godchildren.»

Wonder bag child

I don't like it when I don't know what to expect. And a child is a grab bag, you never know what you're going to get. As a parent, it doesn't matter, you can't choose, and you usually love your own flesh and blood. A friend recently complained that her godchild had asked for golf equipment for her 14th birthday. And another, who had set up a savings account for her godson, received a phone call from him on his 18th birthday, during which he asked her to «let the money grow over».

I'm afraid that cute babies will turn into stuffy teenagers, that I won't do the child justice.

A few years ago, a friend complained that he wanted to surprise his godson with a trip to Paris for his 20th birthday, but the latter simply remarked: «Marc's godmother is flying to New York with him.»

What speaks against a godparenthood

Of course, it's not primarily the material demands that make me never want to be a godparent again. I'm afraid that cute babies will turn into grumpy teenagers, that I won't do the child justice or, even worse, that I won't like it and that cool parents will turn into bland contemporaries who display an unrestrained and offensive attitude of expectation on birthdays.

And I have no desire for additional responsibility. I'm not alone in this. Of course, there are friends who have five godchildren and regularly spend time with each of them and of course know everyone's birthday and blood group. But they are in the minority.

Catherine recently celebrated her wedding. Every guest was introduced at dinner. When it was my turn, she said: «This is my godmother, who taught me so much.» I was touched. And as for Max, I was certainly doing him an injustice. Even if he might not feel that way. He has enough people around him who love him and spoil him. Nevertheless, I'm going to have dinner with him now. Maybe we can become friends.