On sale now

I started shopping for sperm today. The last time we did this - about four years ago - we spent a few months perusing online catalogues of the more reputable sperm banks, (shying away from the websites of those individuals who feel they are doing the world a great service by offering their premium seed FREE (plus shipping) to any interested lucky lady,) but today I just logged onto our bank of choice and found what I was looking for in about five minutes. It's weird to think I could have found so easily the genetic material for our future offspring (Segundo, as I like to think of him, even though AR's mom is hoping for a girl, and she usually gets what she wants) and to be honest, it sort of takes the fun out of it.

Shopping for sperm is a little like looking for used furniture, if you lived in an Aldous Huxley novel and that furniture formed the framework of your society. Sure there was some initial queasiness at the thought of going to a complete stranger for something so personal and consequential, but that didn't compare to the uneasiness I felt when I thought about using the sperm of someone we know. Way too much potential for weird feelings, broken friendships and lawsuits down that road. It helps that the bank we used subjects their donors to a rigorous screeening process and gives you more information about each doner than you're likely to know about your own partner - from hair color and favorite foods to SAT scores and detailed health histories of extended family members. So once you enter this brave new world, you find yourself getting very picky. This guy wears glasses? Forget it. This one has hay fever? Out. This dude's maternal aunt had vericose veins? Next!

And if that weren't enough, they now offer even more than they did four years ago. For a small fee, we can get a baby picture of the donor, an audio interview, a description of facial features, a Keirsey Temperament Sorter - none of which we are interested in. We want to know about the genes; the person who donated them is immaterial. When people refer to The Boy's father, I correct them. He has a donor, I say, and then they get huffy. He has to have a father, they insist. It's a biological fact; that sperm had to come from someone. But as far as AnnaRay and I and our kid are concerned (unless the kid tells us he feels otherwise, which he may well do someday) there is no person attached to that little vial of genetic material. We are in the market for a list of characteristics, and those traits come to us at our doctor's office in a sterile package.

One new thing I did find interesting, though, was the donor essays, in which they address the question of why they're donating in the first place. That was always a hard thing for me to imagine, and I guessed it had something to do with ego. It turns out that, like everything else, it's all about the money. The essays I read all said pretty much the same thing: I like the idea of helping people who want a family, but really I'm looking for a way to pay off my college loans.

God Bless America.