If you don't know a whole lot about the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I will tell you that, boy-howdy, do they like to breed!

With that in mind, I was somewhat surprised that it took three years of marriage before a family member asked The Kid Question. And I was somewhat amused that the question came from my 6-year-old nephew, Chase:

"When are you and Aunt Rachel gonna have a kid?" he asked.

"It'll probably be a while. Why should we have kids, though, when we've got you?" I replied.

"I'm not your kid," he said.

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"I know, stud. That way Aunt Rachel and I can have fun with you, and play and stuff, and we never have to tell you what to do," I told him.

"Oh," he mused, "You're pretty smart."

Darn right I am! As much as I enjoy the mechanics of the baby-making process, I'm just not ready to have a child of my own.

I was reminded of that fact last week after reading Julie Moos' column. The tabula rasa nature of children means that they have to be told really obvious things like: "Don't spray Mommy with gasoline."

I don't think I could handle that. Reading Julie's column, I tried to imagine what my reaction would have been to a face full of toxic liquid: "Dear Lord, please give me sight, so that I can find the boy and kill him."

After all, I can make another one.

"It isn't that parents don't feel that way," Julie told me "It's that they learn those feelings will pass and that they occur under the umbrella of this tremendous love."

Again, if I were a parent, I would want to beat my child with that umbrella. Parenting requires an incredible amount of patience that I'm afraid I simply do not have. I mean, I'm ready to kill people when my printer doesn't work.

I also lack that amazing parental tolerance for gross things.

All of my nieces and nephews have demonstrated an otherworldly proclivity toward spreading foodstuffs on everything -- their faces, their clothing, and their hands.

And once they are completely covered in chocolate sauce, ketchup, and Fruity Pebbles -- their devious rosy-cheeked grins spotted with pork chop -- they immediately seek out the cleanest thing in the household. Which, of course, is usually Uncle Chris.

As an erstwhile marching band member, I'm afraid I've never displayed much athletic prowess, but I move with Jackie Chan-like agility when confronted by a 4-year-old armed with a Pop Tart.

Another reason I'm not ready for children is that I'm not sure I'm ready for the competition. Just about any parent will tell you that a child demands a heck of a lot of attention. And my wife will tell you that I also demand a heck of a lot of attention. I can just imagine my son and I at the swimming pool:

SON: Dad, watch me do a dive!
ME: No, watch me, son.
SON: Dad! Watch me!
ME: No, watch me first!
SON: Fine. Go ahead.
ME: Son, you're not watching! You have to watch!
SON: I am watching, Dad.
ME: No you're not -- you're reading your book. C'mon, watch me! Watch me!

Imagine the strain on my poor wife in such a situation!

Fortunately, Rachel has also expressed concern about having children at this point in our lives. She once told a friend that we would not be having any children until I stopped acting so weird.

And people wonder why I wear a kilt ...

Chris Cope is married, with no children. His column appears every other Tuesday.