black/white. either/or. one/the other. your side/mine.

The last thing the internet needs right now is another think piece about abortion. This isn’t one. This is just my little 1,400-word opinion, but I feel compelled to share it. I honestly sat down to scribble a few thoughts for myself, but then this all just happened. Some things I’m itching to say, I guess. Enough to drag me out of a long blog hibernation. There’s so much shouting going on right now. It’d be nice to talk.

Separately, this will be its own long story: I’ve spent the weekend cleaning my house (“tidying”) using the KonMari method from The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up. One remnant of the past, hidden in a desk drawer, was a stack of index cards from my senior research paper in high school. About stem cell research. (Very 2002.)

I tossed them in the recycle bin, but not before quickly flipping through. Couple of thoughts: 1) I was such a smarty pants and so thorough. Meticulously transcribing MLA sources by hand, and noting I’d met the limit of “2 internet sources,” funny. 2) It’s interesting to see my current beliefs at their very earliest stages. While the paper was mostly about stem cell research and its promising potential in medical research (pushes up 18-year-old glasses), there were some connections to abortion. Because embryos. And science.

So here we are, today. Another awful news story about another terrible situation to remind us that the world is ultimately cold and cruel. (Think of the lions and poor zebras, even. It’s rough out there.) It is sad. Another sad gun story in America. (BUT THAT’S ANOTHER STORY!) On to my story:

The now-infamous Planned Parenthood Videos, which most likely inspired the Colorado Springs gunman to some degree, also inspired a local protest in August by our dear City Councilman Justin Burnett at the Springfield Planned Parenthood. (Which, of course, doesn’t provide abortion services. Nor does any other anyplace in the state of Missouri, save the one (1) in St. Louis.) When I heard there was a Stand with Planned Parenthood event to counter, I decided to put my hashtag activism to action and actually show up.

So I went. Early on a Saturday morning. Joined others in pink t-shirts and we held our “Stand with Planned Parenthood” and “Healthcare Happens Here” signs. We stood in the clinic parking lot, while the protest group set up across Battlefield (appropriate street name, if there ever was one), and some right near us on our side of the street, also holding signs. Most were silent, many probably praying, and surely well-meaning people, albeit misinformed.

But a few were outspoken. Sarcastic. Arrogant. Holding hand-painted poster boards with such winning slogans as, “Hearts lungs and livers? P.P. Delivers.”

I’ll admit some of the PP chants were obnoxious in their own right. Like flippant little Baby-Killer Cheers, if one chose to look at it that way.
– They say No Choice. We say Pro Choice!
– 5, 6, 7, 8 — Separate the church and state!

Oy. As a professional writer of ad copy, I’d caution that using rhyme in headlines is a dangerous game. I came up with a few alternatives, to entertain myself:
– These are complicated issues. Why you focusing on tissues?
– We have heads and we have hearts! We do not sell baby parts!
– Abstinence-only education / only leads to procreation.

(Man. Those are good.)

One of the Pro-Lifer women (who was there with her husband and children. A few whole families were there—good luck with those therapy bills in 20 years, kids!) was shouting things at no one in particular, at all of us, the whole time. Nothing too provocative, but still totally shitty. Verbally subtweeting. Her entire demeanor screamed for a good face-punch. (There’s a reason they make us sign a form promising not to interact with protestors…)

A few times, different people in our group outside the clinic took the (portable, shoulder-carried) microphone to motivate the crowd and speak-to-but-not-speak-to the people on the other side.

Partly because I just felt compelled to, but also because that lady’s shit-house attitude was pushing my buttons, I decided to step up to the mic as well. I tried to be a little peace-maker, build a tiny bridge between their side and mine. I said something along the lines of, “When I was a kid, I joined with my church at Pro Life rallies like this. And now that I’m standing here, I know it’s easy to vilify the other side. But we both want quality lives for all and we want healthcare for all.”

(Something like that. Like Tom Hanks in You’ve Got Mail: I was eloquent! Shit!) I’m sure I didn’t change any minds. But it helped me feel better, to reaffirm to myself out loud how I feel. And why I was there.

In retrospect, I kinda wish I would’ve finished with direct eye contact, a slow finger point and, “You don’t know my story, biiiiitch.” Mic drop.

Missed opportunity.

I was thinking today about misconceptions about Pro Choice people. And I’m sure that goes both ways. See, too many extreme believers in anything see things as black/white, either/or. One/the other. Your side/mine. Pro Life/Pro Choice. (Implying, or sometimes outright saying, that we are “pro murder” or “pro death.”)

Of course we’re not.

We look at a very complicated issue and see it differently. Pro Life folks think every fertilized zygote has a soul and God’s special twinkle in their developing tissue. (*Zygotes don’t have eyes.) Pro Choice folks (and the majority of scientists, physicians—people much better informed than I am) don’t ascribe to that notion.

I’m so sick of hearing about “baby parts” being “sold” by the big, bad evil scientists of Planned Parenthood. Besides all the ways that’s totally untrue, it’s so not even the point.

I’m reluctant to post much about PP on social media. Couple reasons: 1) I don’t like Facebook conflict. 2) My parents. But today, a tweet by Andy Richter resonated enough to get an RT:

To call fetal tissue “baby parts” shows a childish ignorance about medical research. Imagine a Dr. calling muscle tissue “people meat”…

(Stay out of the @replies if you, too, have internet-conflict-induced PTSD.)

Maybe the very complicated issue is that simple: You see it that way. We don’t. Maybe there is no middle ground, and there’s no coming to a compromise. Maybe it’s Dr. Seuss’ Bitter Butter Battle. Maybe we’ll all blow each other to Sala-ma-goo before we ease up a little and try to find a better way.

After the shooting, I saw another tweet (why do I go down these rabbit holes? why?) from some dude (always the foremost authorities on any subject: Some Dudes) about Planned Parenthood, saying something like:

“1 person shot in Colorado. 6,000 babies murdered a day.”

That makes my head hurt for numerous reasons…but first, it’s not even accurate. CDC’s reporting from 2011 was literally 1/3 of that total number. (and some will still say that’s too many…and I wouldn’t disagree. So many potential tangents here: access to healthcare and birth control…Abstinence-Only sex education…complicated.)

But still. His point. And mine.

Goes without saying (I hope.): Abortion isn’t a convenient “oops, whatever” plan B birth control option. (I have to imagine very few women see it that way, btw.) What it is, is a personal and complicated and I have to believe difficult…can I say personal one more time? And not political? But personal?…decision.

But beyond the personal results or repercussions: I also wonder about the systemic side effects. And the quality of life for an unwanted child. That’s what I want to ask @ClosedMindedAsshole69 (not his handle. but like, same same?). Who’s going to take care of those babies? Are you, @ClosedMindedAsshole69? Do you have 5,999 friends ready to take in unwanted babies? Or I guess foster care? Welfare? A family situation with a high likelihood of child abuse and/or poverty? (Startlingly high incidence in Springfield, Mo, in particular.)

Is that the better way?

(Of course there are miracle stories in which it does work out that way. But “6,000 times” a day?)

Back to the PP rally. There was one chant I could get behind, 100%:

Every Child A Wanted Child.
Every Child A Wanted Child.
Every Child A Wanted Child.

I think that speaks most closely to my heart. Babies deserve to be wanted, loved, cared for (and eventually ruined in some way or another by their well-meaning parents, followed by years of therapy…You know, family!).

It’s just not as simple as some people are making it out to be. I shouldn’t assume Pro Life people are all closed-minded assholes. No more than they should assume that Pro Choice people are all slutty baby killers. (Though that’d make an excellent ironic punk band name.)

I don’t know how to end this. Thanks for reading, if you did. Back to cleaning my house. It feels good to let some things go.


Lunatics Keep Giving Us A Bad Name, Say Casual Racists

Another senseless atrocity transpired on American soil this week, and the national conversation has turned once again to the complicated issues of racism, gun policy, and troubled young men. In all the hot takes and punditry surrounding such events, one group is frequently overlooked: Casual Racists. It’s time we as a nation let their voices be heard.

“I don’t consider myself a racist,” notes a C.R. we interviewed. “Sure I might clasp my purse a little tighter as I’m passing a minority on the sidewalk. But that’s just how I was raised. I can’t take responsibility for that. Or won’t? Either way. Not my fault.”

As many social norms and attitudes feel ingrained to these individuals, Casual Racists view the subtlety of such beliefs and actions as harmless, isolated incidents.

“I wouldn’t want to hurt anybody,” said another C.R. “I just want the right to quietly hate people who are different than I am, from the privacy of my own home—a practice my family has upheld for generations.” For many, these racist beliefs are simply a matter of tradition, and not seen as a condemnation of the inherent qualities of another human being.

Recent events have also drawn attention to the state-sanctioned display of the Confederate flag in South Carolina. Says one C.R. supporter, “Confederate flag? Come on. That’s not racist. The stars and bars represent my southern heritage. It’s unfortunate that there are literally no other symbols of the South to be found and celebrated in popular culture, art, literature, music, food, architecture, history, or folklore. This is the card I’ve been dealt. Guess I’m stuck with this one-and-only way to showcase pride and tradition.”

He went on to point out how it’s unfair to discriminate against some Confederate flags, just because other flags are offensive to an entire segment of the population.

Some Casual Racists have attempted to reach out and offer support in the aftermath of this week’s events. One noted, “I think I must know how they’re feeling. This was an attack on religion, and it’s another example of how we as Christians need to take our country back! …Granted, I’ve never been to a black church, or for that matter occupied any space in which I wasn’t the racial majority. But I imagine I can understand what their exact experience is. I go to my church all the time!”

At press time, it remains unclear whether Casual Racists will continue to feel marginalized by media attention shown toward extremists, with whom they do not wish to affiliate. One C.R. had this to say: “It’s just a shame that people judge us by the jokes we tell, or our secret fears and misconceptions, our vulnerabilities when faced with Otherness in all its many forms. That’s just a part of who I am. If you got to know me, I think you’d come to discover that I’m a person just like you, and that I deserve the same basic level of respect “

Enough is Enough with “Enough”

A common “motivational” sentiment for creative people, that shows up in writing books and how-to lists and pinterest boards, is something along the lines of: “If you care enough about doing something, you’ll make time for it.” The converse would imply that if you don’t make time for something, you just don’t care enough.

(Ain’t that some shit?!)

Just what a big-dreams-having, maybe-struggling, still-trying, but-not-quite-enough-though creative person needs: More guilt!

I’ve been feeling it a lot lately: the itchy, persistent anxiety of wanting to write (off-the-clock), but not writing.

Being too busy (or at least feeling like I am), or too tired or too distracted. Putting a lot of my energy into things that fall into the Urgent/Unimportant section of my priorities matrix. So much immediacy; so little substance. It’s no wonder it’s often hard to invest in the Non-urgent/Important.

Here’s some permission I’m giving to myself, today. You can have some too, if you need it: Make time. Even a little time.

Not making time doesn’t mean you don’t care. (That was a triple negative, for those playing along at home.) But you probably do feel shitty about it. Taking even a little time to work toward something you want to do, but never do do, (doo doo), will make you feel less shitty. And feeling less shitty is always better than feeling shitty. (So eloquently put. I better write that in ink somewhere before somebody else thinks of it.)

Here’s to trying to write a little, a little more each day.

Also: Enough is one of those words that, if you look at it enough (ha), quickly loses its meaning. What’s that “gh” doing over there? Making an “f” sound? Sure. SINCE WHEN. You’ve got some nerve, for a phoneme. Some nerve.