It’s selfish to have a child at 79, Mr De Niro – I’m still mad about the early death of my dad

Whether it’s a failure of God or a cruel evolutionary quirk, something is off with the universe when it comes to making babies. The idea that the almost octogenarian Robert De Niro is able to pop out his seventh child at the ripe old age of 79 strikes me less as a medical miracle and more as a bad joke being played by the cosmos.

There should be a series of tests you need to pass to prove you’re not too old to father a child. If you can’t work the self-checkout at a supermarket or log into the iCloud without a grandchild to show you the ropes, you probably shouldn’t be juggling a newborn. I’m reminded of that famous line from When Harry Met Sally, when Meg Ryan’s Sally points out that Charlie Chaplin was still having babies at the age of 73. “Yeah”, says Billy Crystal’s Harry. “But he was too old to pick them up.”

How are De Niro’s knees, I wonder? I’m afraid to say that my first thought when hearing the “happy” news was: “How incredibly selfish.” I have my own bias, of course. I no longer have a dad. I was an adult, a fully-grown 25-year-old, and yet losing my father, the journalist AA Gill, age 62, still broke me.

I think anyone who’s fortunate enough to have never lost a loved one would be disturbed at how often those who have think about their dead. My dad died six years ago but missing him is still constant.

When Dad was dying I felt irrationally and unfairly angry at those who got to live into old age. I felt it all the time. It was people’s grandparents who received most of my illogical animosity. How were my friends’ parents’ parents still alive and pottering around when my dad was not? How were they allowed to keep living weary half-lives when my dad had so much of a full life left to go?

So, when I see Robert De Niro, already a grandfather, ensuring his kid will go through the same pain at even younger age, you bet I felt angry – I was beside myself with rage.

It’s true that we never know what's going to happen in life. No one can guarantee they, you or even I, will be here tomorrow, let alone in 10 years’ time. And a few years with an amazing parent is far more valuable than a lifetime with a crappy one. But while we can’t predict our futures, it’s only human to hope that all will go well, that we’ll get a long and happy middle before the inevitable conclusion.

If your father dies too soon, the only thing that gets you through that grief is remembering your time together – but when his child is old enough to create memories, De Niro will be 83. What memories will that child have of the elderly man they once knew? Not catch in the park, or learning to swim by the sea, or even arguing over curfews. They’re more likely to find their father in films than in memories.

Even if De Niro is lucky enough to make his centenary, he won’t see his kid old enough to graduate, walk down the aisle, or reach the tender age where luminaries like Leonardo Di Caprio would date them.

My disappointment in De Niro is the same one I feel when I see parents chain-smoking with children. It makes me think about the years my dad traded for cigarettes. And maybe that’s who I’m really mad at. Not De Niro for being a horny old man. I’m mad at my dad for dying too soon.

De Niro himself says that his seventh child wasn’t an accident but very much planned. His partner, American martial arts champion Tiffany Chen, is 45, and evidently looks after herself. Good. Mums need to be fighters. While it’s not possible for a woman to give birth at De Niro’s age, I don't think any woman would if they could. No mother would be that selfish. Personally, I think women deserve a fertility window that’s at least a decade longer than they’re currently assigned – and men should be capped at around the same time.

I sincerely hope that De Niro proves me wrong and is a great father to his latest little bundle of joy. What’s more, I hope he lives a healthy life, long enough to see his kid grow up, or at least see them out of nappies before he’s in them.