Posted on | September 30, 2011 | 26 Comments
My unfortunate penchant for double-entendres made it rather difficult for me to read the following article:
A lawyer who donated sperm to pay his way through college has learned that he has fathered an astonishing 70 children.
More than 15 of those have already attempted to contact 33-year-old Ben Seisler.
The donor confessed to his fiancée as part of a new reality show, Sperm Donor, that aired on the Style Network on Tuesday.
“On the one hand, these kids are biologically my kids. On the other hand they are not my kids.”
Does it really matter which hand he used?
Another quote, from the man’s fiancée: “Did you think of the consequences that would come of it?” Ba-da-BOOM-crash!
Here is a scene from the show:
That scene is the climax of the first episode. Ba-da-BOOM-crash!
More seriously, we learn that there is a “Donor Sibling Registry” that connects the offspring of sperm donors to their half-siblings and their biological fathers. The Boston Globe reported:
The situation highlights the complicated issues that are starting to emerge now that a sizable cohort of donor-conceived children are growing up and wanting information about their biological fathers. Issues such as: What if the kids want to meet the fathers? What if children from the same sperm donor meet each other, and unwittingly get married? When’s the right time to tell your girlfriend that you were a sperm donor?
These are issues a lot of men may not have considered back at the sperm bank, a lucrative source of quick cash. Seisler averaged $150 per donation . . .
This is another one of those unintended consequences of “progress” that no one seems to have foreseen when technology made possible the long-term storage of semen as a marketable commodity. Being the father of six children myself — did it the old-fashioned way, IYKWIMAITYD — I’m happy with the result. Thinking back to my youth, however, I might bemoan the missed opportunities for profit.
Hell, I could have been a millionaire by the time I was 17 . . .
Perhaps you’ll want to hit the tip jar as a gesture of gratitude that there aren’t hundreds of my offspring in the world, and to help provide for the (relatively) few there are.