Some days burst at their seams. Yesterday, so it seems, was one of those days. I’ve a bloody tongue, the result of incessant biting. I’ve sore cheeks, the product of much laughter and smiling. And I’ve weak feet, the consequence of walking great distances.
Early in the morning, I sat shaking in my philosophy class– ‘abortion’ being formally debated. More often then not, I prefer to keep quiet on this topic. My fragile male body is incapable of such productive magic; therefore, by and large, any legislation affecting abortion is likely to not affect me. Nevertheless, today’s debate, the impetus of my bloody tongue, forced me to blather briefly. I’ll get around to my nonsense eventually, but first, the triggers:
Desire tempts one to forget responsibility.
Those who engage in sex should do so with the understanding that a child may result and, in fact, take responsibility for this life.
Life starts at conception.
The subsequent deduction is where I get involved. And we’ll get around to that eventually. For now, I’d rather explain my sore cheeks.
My Drama in Education course, acronym D.I.E., became even more childish yesterday. Until this point, this class has centered itself on peer-to-peer creative exchange. Thus far I’ve been asked to make lesson plans specifically designed to include movement in the classroom. Naturally, there are few tasks more fun than dreaming up unusual activities for twenty-somethings to engage. Of late, our class has grown larger in size, yet much younger in average age; a group of elementary school students has joined our dramatic cohort. Furthermore, I’ve the responsibility of entertaining one of them; her name is Sylvia. She is not only more intelligent than I am, she’s cooler too. And yes, the first game we played is why my cheeks are sore from smiling and laughing so much.
The game is a simple warm-up that is based upon mimicking facial expression. Sylvia and I stood eye to eye, roughly three feet apart. I told her to imagine that there was a mirror between the two if us. Then I told her to make a silly face. She did so wondrously. I copied. She laughed. I laughed. We continued making exaggerated faces at one another for quite some time, all the while giggling to ourselves. Though this activity was seemingly nonsensical, many of the expressions worked themselves into a story we read and preformed later in class, again, with much hilarity.
Full force, I return to the philosophical debate; the topic, in case you forgot, was abortion. Given the premises listed above, those addressing themselves as ‘pro-life’ produced this conclusion:
Abortion ought to be illegal in all instances expect wherein pregnancy threatens the life of the mother.
My tongue biting kept me from spitting the rather overstated extenuating circumstances of rape and incest. Even yet, the prolific side maintained that abortion, even in these cases, results in a double victimization of mother and child. Of this, I am uncertain; perhaps it is merely my grievances with the premise: ‘those who engage in sex…” My understanding of rape is that one sexual partner is present unwillingly. In this case, what responsibility should the unwilling party claim? For me this is nearly a rhetorical question. I digress because this does not pertain to my blather.
My comment was a conflation of the second premise and the conclusion of the pro-life argument. If sex partners understand that their intimacy may result in a child, they should also realize that pregnancy represents a significant health risk. Why is abortion only appropriate when the life of the mother is threatened? Did she not understand that getting pregnant may jeopardize her life? Why is it that we value the life mother more than the potential life of the fetus?
We have a moral dilemma on our hands. But again, I am a man. A man without a womb. With this stance, it should be evident that my opinion on abortion is relevant to personal freedom. Thus, why should a government, historically lead by 43 white penises and a black penis, dictate what a woman does with the room that is her own?