Children are born of essence and virtue; not just mere acts of coitus. Material things will always wither—bless the soul of death and its purpose.
To him who seeks to immortalize himself via reproduction I leave this advice in humble respect: abandon the drive to create offspring which are bound to the mortality of flesh and skin. Retardate (wrong word; “recede”) into the realm which knows no bounds—the imaginary—and cultivate (or procreate) children of your own. Deliver these children into your era after proper gestation and allow time to do what it does best: imprint your legacy into its sands as your children grow in the hearts of mere mortals. They would continue to harbour your kids close to their every decision; paying due respect to you, their father. And when death does its rounds on earth’s [prison] grounds, you will embrace its sickle in blissful peace; understanding very well that purpose with which the grim is the grim. For you are thus immortal. You are in the hearts of men, the memories of children, the inks of paper and the bits of bytes.
p.s: credits to @AfricanDad for forcing my thoughts into this ramble with his tweet—which may or may not have hinted anything.