IT

Since we announced we were having twins, people have been asking us, “Are you going to find out what they are?”

“What they are.” I’m assuming they will be humans (although, in one ultrasound, one looked so much like a fish that we have taken to calling the twins “the fish sticks”). But, of course, what they’re referring to is the gender (or genders) of the twins.

I can’t figure out why someone wouldn’t want to find this information out. This whole pregnancy thing has turned our lives upside down. Why would we willfully insert more uncertainty into the process? After learning we were having twins, I decided that I’ve had enough surprises for this year.

So Julie goes to the doctor in about a week, and we should know the genders then. A weird thing will happen on that date. The future Workman Twins will be somewhat more human. They will no longer be "its." Before you know the gender of a child, you just call it “it.” It sounds impersonal and dehumanizing. We’ve been spared the worst of it by having twins. “They” is a lot better than “it.” But separate them, and they’re still “its.”

But that’s the way it goes with English. If it’s got a penis, it’s a “he.” Vagina? She. Everything else—“it.” That’s actually one of the simplest things about English. Want to know what pronoun to attach to something? Have it drop it’s pants.

It’s not so simple with other languages. Most other languages, like French, try to assign genders to anything. Cars, toasters, CD players, newspapers, socks, they’ve all got genders. At least I think they do. Some words don’t, but I really can’t keep them straight.

And deep down inside, I don’t think the French can, either. From what I can gather, France is a mess. Their economy is stagnant, civil unrest reared its ugly head last summer, and the place doesn’t seem to be a hotbed of scientific discovery, either.

Sure, Airbus (a French company) is building that new, super-huge jet that will allow 500 people to develop deep-vein thrombosis at the same time, but the French have never put a man on the moon. They haven’t even launched a chimp, have they?

This seems to go for all French-speaking places. Just look at Quebec verses the rest of Canada. Toronto feels like a space-age city of the future. Quebec? It’s a third-world country. A very cute third-world country with some delightful old-world architecture, mind you, but a third-world country still the same.

And I can’t help but think the French language is to blame.

While the English-speaking world is out there inventing the internal combustion engine and microwave popcorn, French-speakers are holding conferences to figure out if a wireless modem has a penis.

Well, in about 7 days, we’ll know if any of our unborn kids have penises (peni?). I think they’re both girls. Julie thinks we’ve got one of each. But no matter what they turn out to be, I think it’s safe to say we’re not teaching them French. (Proposed twin experiment not withstanding.)

Note: The gender of these two little bundles of love will be determined by ultrasound. Many close friends may recall me calling ultrasounds a complete sham back in 2003. I have been shown ultrasounds purported to be of my children. Some look like something. Some look like static. The jury is still out for me. But as a bonus, I’m posting my deeply-thoughtful 2003 piece directly below this one.