'I wanted to make my parents happy': How a gay son navigated cultural, parental pressure to have kids

In the new series "Should I have kids?" CBC Manitoba's Creator Network asked gen-Zers and millennials to contemplate their reasons for choosing to have, or not have, children. In personal essays and videos, they reveal those reasons, from unresolved grief to finances, identity and the climate crisis. Click here to read Part 1 of the series.

In this piece, Winnipegger Richard Barus explores the challenges he faced in living up to cultural and parental expectations to have children. Artist Zephyra Vun captures Barus's personal journey in her original illustrations.

Next week: Filmmaker Samantha Don says she still feels like a kid herself. So should she really have kids of her own?

"We will no longer ask you both to get married. However, I want you to consider giving me a grandchild." 

I clearly remember those words from my mom. It was just before Christmas 2017. My parents, along with my brother and me, were on a family holiday in Bali. 

My brother and I were grown men — 31 and 29 years old and living in Australia and Jakarta, respectively, away from our parents' home in a small town in Indonesia. It had been a while since the four of us had gathered in one place. 

We booked a beautiful villa not far from the beach. That is where my mom decided to ask for grandchildren. My dad, who has never been able to easily address his emotions, was silently pushing for grandbabies too.

They were tired of being asked by family and relatives over and over again when my brother and I were going to settle down, find nice girls and get married.

In our culture … sons must eventually find wives. Grandchildren are expected, if not demanded.- Richard Barus

My parents wouldn't get the answer they wanted that day, or any day soon. That's because my brother and I are both gay.

Welcome to our family drama. 

Despite being born and raised in Indonesia together, my brother and I have completely different personalities.

He's more of an introvert. He likes staying home. I am an extrovert to the core. I hate being alone, but love meeting new people and travelling.

He's in engineering. I'm in business. We couldn't be more opposite, except for this one major thing: our sexuality. 

I came out to my parents about seven years ago. My brother came out a couple of years after me. Our parents were devastated. I have forgotten the actual details of my coming-out moment. It was unpleasant. I remember that. My parents and I stopped talking for months.

My brother and I both waited until we were financially independent to deliver the unbearable reality to our mom and dad. We were scared they would stop supporting our education after discovering the truth.

'This is every family's empire'

In our culture, like many others, having a son is a major source of pride. Sons must eventually find wives. Grandchildren are expected, if not demanded. We must multiply, increase in number, expand the family tree, create a family legacy and ensure the family line for generations. This is every family's empire.

Unfortunately, neither my brother nor I could meet our family's expectations. Complicating matters, in my home community, people look up to my parents. Both of my parents are doctors, practising in a small conservative town where people talk. They have faced many questions about my brother and me.

"Does your son have a girlfriend?"

"When are you expecting a grandchild?"   

Those questions were so difficult for them.

On our family vacation in Bali, all their frustration, hurt and heartache bled out during our four-day holiday. On night two, my mom asked both my brother and me to consider getting married. 

I had anticipated this talk. It didn't go well. Voices were raised. Tensions rose. We had to call off the conversation when emotions became too heated. 

I desperately wanted to alleviate the tension and stress in the family. So I agreed to be a father in the future.- Richard Barus 

Morning three: awkward. No one was talking to each other. By dinner that day, we had all regrouped and called a truce. 

And that's when my mom delivered the line that drove my thoughts and actions for years to come: "We will no longer ask you both to get married. However, I want you to consider giving me a grandchild."

My brother was firm on his decision. No children. No wife. Period. I wanted to make my parents happy but I wasn't willing to marry someone I did not love.

Yet I desperately wanted to alleviate the tension and stress in the family. 

So I agreed to be a father in the future.

The surrogacy option

They were so relieved. I felt like I saved Christmas. Everyone relaxed. My parents were delighted. We celebrated Christmas in happiness. 

Even though I had agreed to become a father, I knew that wouldn't be enough. My mom pitched the idea of legally marrying an "understanding woman," having some kids and then simply living separate lives. I couldn't agree to this.

My dad was opposed to the idea of adoption.

"I want to pass on our legacy to a blood-related descendant," he had said over the years, and said again in Bali. 

Knowing my dad would not go for adoption, I proposed surrogacy. I wanted to strategically please my parents, and surrogacy seemed to be the best approach. I could have a biological child, and I didn't have to marry someone I didn't love. It wouldn't stop the questions about my lack of a wife, but at least my parents would have their grandchild.

Fast forward to March 2018: my parents and I met in California to have a meeting with a surrogacy agent. It was a wake-up call. The fees, from donor selection to baby delivery, could reach up to $100,000 US in California, we learned. The cost caught everyone off guard.

Aside from the price, other questions remained. We didn't know where or who would be raising the child. There was a question of citizenship too. I was Indonesian. The baby would be born in the U.S., making it a citizen. I was still building my career in Jakarta and didn't want to resettle somewhere new and start over. 

After a family discussion, my parents and I decided not to pursue surrogacy. They were disappointed but I felt a slight burden lifted from my shoulders as I had extra time to reflect and think.

Time to reflect

I have had years now to reflect on parenthood since we dropped the surrogacy option. 

In 2019, I moved to Winnipeg, where I knew there was more acceptance of LGBTQ+ people. I needed to be in a city with more inclusion and acceptance. I needed to ensure the safety and well-being of any of my future children. They would have to be in a place that was open and accepting of gay parents.  

In Winnipeg, I have also found someone very special. He is my life partner. We have now been together for three years.

When we started dating, we never had serious conversations about having children. At first, he hinted that he didn't want children.

Strangely, this felt like a gift. I got time without pressure. As time went on, I began reflecting more deeply on my parental motivations. Did I really want to be a dad, or was I just trying to make my parents happy?

I have had space to think about the emotional, financial and other serious responsibilities of raising children.

Instead of rushing toward parenthood, I took time for myself. I finished my MBA and began a career, while deepening my relationship with my partner.

My parents don't bring up the topic of children anymore. We have all let this discussion die.- Richard Barus

My relationship with my parents has deepened in a way, too. 

I am positive that my parents want the best for me. I think they are proud knowing I made a brave choice by leaving my career, family and friends to move to Canada, where people accept my true self. 

My parents don't bring up the topic of children anymore. We have all let this discussion die. None of us ever mention it. I don't know if they now accept the situation and have moved on or not. 

I think the expectation is still there, but maybe they don't want to poke the sleeping bear. And I'm not sure I want to awaken that beast either. 

I want to do what's right — not only for my family or myself, but for a child. 

I'm now 33. I still don't know the answers to this or what the "next act" holds for me. What I do know is, when I am ready, my decision to have children will be shaped by freedom, not expectations or tension. 

My forever family, whatever it looks like — with or without children — will be shaped by inclusion, hope and love.  

About the illustrations

Winnipeg artist Zephyra Vun created these continuous single-line drawings to illustrate Richard Barus's personal story. 

The single line "acts as a timeline, a linear trajectory of a life originally informed by tradition and assumption," says Vun. 

"The timeline begins more tight, dense, and structured, progressively becoming more loose and undefined, symbolizing the transformation of a life 'shaped by freedom not expectations or tension.'

"This literal unravelling represents the letting go of that expectation and embracing the unpredictability and possibility of life unfolding naturally, without tension.

"It reflects Richard's journey of finding his own way — releasing the assumed trajectory of his timeline, finding community in Winnipeg, and creating his own life with his partner, shaped by 'inclusion, hope and love.'"

CBC Creator Network is a national storytelling initiative that amplifies the voices, unique perspectives and stories of diverse creators across Canada. We work with emerging storytellers to help produce original content including short films, social videos, photo series, personal essays, audio essays, illustrations and animation.

Check out Creator Network Manitoba projects here.