Today I once again drove several hours to attend a funeral in a distant part of the state. It was for my aunt Ada. I wasn’t terribly close to her, but I was fond of her. She may have been the happiest of my mother’s sisters (though I wouldn’t be dogmatic on the point). She worked for years as a school lunch worker, and sang with the Sweet Adelines. She was in her 80s, and her death was quick and easy, as such things go.

She was the last person living to have borne my maternal grandfather’s last name. (I’m not telling you what it is, because as you know it’s a common security question.) Though Grandpa has many descendants, they all come through the female line.

Turnout for the service was very good, and about half the crowd was her descendants and their spouses. It occurs to me that a very good (though not infallible) indicator of a persons’ happiness may be the number of children, grandchildren, etc. who show up at their funerals. I know conventional wisdom today says you’re happiest concentrating on career and self-actualization, but I think there’s a lot to be said for big families. My funeral, unless my plan for world domination succeeds, will probably be a fairly dismal affair.

Think how many people you know who have only one child, and are miserable because that child is unhappy or making bad life choices or on drugs or something. When you have one kid, you’re putting all your legacy eggs in one basket.

Have a “quiver full” (as the Bible puts it) of offspring, and you spread out the risk. One of those kids is likely to be happy and successful, and give you some satisfaction.

And let’s face it, “only” kids face challenges. When I was in school, and only kids were rare, it was commonly understood by the rest of us that only children had socialization problems. They came to school with expectations about how they’d be treated that were doomed to be disappointed. They’d missed out on the friction with siblings that prepares one for playing with others.

Advice on family planning, from a childless man. Take it for what it’s worth.

And farewell, Aunt Ada. You did good.