Writing from a purely secular perspective, Reed does a pretty good job articulating the dynamics that abortion has had on the sexual marketplace and, consequentially, the nuclear family.
If I trigger anyone, then fine. I can’t find a single shit to give this morning. Here is one of the reasons why.
If you had an abortion, and you were not under force at the time, then you are a murderer. Don’t like that? Fine. Calling me names won’t change that fact, because I didn’t create the reality.
You made it yours when you chose to kill your baby.
After reading this, we probably should have let the Germans keep France.
Religious leaders “blessing” the opening of a Planned Parenthood clinic.
Nothing to see here. If Packer is indeed responsible for this atrocity, then all she has done is the same thing that abortionists in America–paid to kill children in utero–do more than 3,000 times every day.
Of course, I would submit that there are few things on earth more hideous and evil than parents who kill their own children. They are the vilest of the vile.
While 20-year-old Theophilus Washington ought to be charged with something for attempting to induce an involuntary abortion with his pregnant girlfriend, I find it ironic that he is being charged with attempted murder, given that our Supreme Court hath decreed that his girlfriend can legally have the baby killed in an abortion mill.
If she wants the baby and the baby dies through wanton or negligent acts of others, then it’s a degree of murder.
If she doesn’t want the baby, she can legally kill the baby and it’s totally ok.
This is not the first such example of inconsistency regarding the value of life in utero.
LifeSiteNews chronicles the story of Sara Fernanda Giromin.
Many years ago, after pro tennis player Chris Evert married Andy Mills and had settled into motherhood, she said something to the effect that her prior life had been all about her. The way she said it led me to think she had at least one prior abortion. While she’d had an otherwise solid reputation, I also figured that no one is pristine.
In 1974, when Jimmy Connors and Chris Evert had their romance, I was in first grade. I knew little to nothing about tennis–although I would become an avid player and fan in my teen years–but I remember Chris Evert becoming a household name. Jimmy Connors, who won three of the four majors that year, wasn’t bad in his own right.
They had been engaged, but broke off that engagement quite abruptly. Most had chalked that up to some combination of Connors’ playboy lifestyle–he would eventually marry a Playboy playmate–and their youth, as well as the logistics of two top-ranked tennis players being under the same roof.
Well, last year, Connors, in his autobiography, provided more insight into the breakup. During their youthful bliss, Chris Evert became pregnant, and, well, that couldn’t get in the way of her career. In Connors’ own words, he didn’t really consent, but didn’t really fight it either. At any rate, after that, the relationship ended.
Connors and Evert would go their separate ways: Evert would become one of the greatest women tennis players of all time. Her winning percentage–over 90%–is the best ever, and Martina Navratilova probably accounts for most of that 10% of her defeats. Connors would enjoy his share of success: he would win five U.S. Opens and two Wimbledons, and a mother lode of other tournaments. Their personal lives were not without issues: Connors would marry, have children, and persevere despite his own infidelities; Evert would marry, have an affair, reconcile, divorce, remarry, have kids, have a midlife crisis, divorce, remarry, divorce, then really lose it.
Evert, by her own admission, described her attitude as one of entitlement.
The media raked Connors over the coals for talking about the abortion, with at least one outlet saying, “That isn’t his story to tell.” On that front, I disagree; the child was no less his than hers. While I understand Evert’s outrage at Connors’ outing her–no one likes having a skeleton in their closet put on full display–it is fair game.
Yes, Connors is a douchebag–and to a certain extent would probably wear the label–but it’s not like he doesn’t have the prerogative to discuss the impact of her decision on his life.
And yet we must all take in the warning here. Make no mistake: your character will eventually catch up with you. It may not always become a public matter, but–at some point–you are going to come face-to-face with the reality of your decisions.
Julius “Dr. J” Erving was an outspoken Christian in addition to being one of the most celebrated athletes in his day; with a reputation as a charitable gentleman, he often received cheers from opposing fans. Trouble is, he–for lack of better words–got around. An affair with a reporter would produce a child.
Doc would take responsibility: he provided for her financially, including her education. But he tried to keep everything hush-hush.
In 1999, an up-and-coming tennis player–Alexandra Stevenson–would make a splash of her own: she reached the semifinals at the 1999 Wimbledon. Some reporters did some digging into her background, and noticed that the father listed on her birth certificate was none other than Julius Winfield Erving. This would begin the public unraveling of Doc’s otherwise sterling reputation, as his infidelities would lead to the breakup of his marriage.
I say none of this to pile onto Doc or Chrissy. Truth be told, they are probably far from the worst offenders in their respective sports.
Still, the lesson here is poignant.
This dumb broad has quite the future.
I’ve been out of pocket due to my work schedule. But this was too good to pass up. Home run for Vox.
In the comments section, I found this, which was gold.
If you let yourself become distracted by what is coming from her mouth, you miss all that is revealed in her face, which tells the whole, and very different story. A month after the abortion — with the dramatic change in hairstyle that so many women effect when emotions are high and they need to feel in control of something — watch Emily, then. The light is gone from her eyes. The seeming disconnect between pc-fed head and instinctive heart is laid out in breathtaking and stark incongruity, even down to the shadows, the blue note, the lack of energy. Devastating. Cognizant of it or not, she is a mother in grief.
Yes, the picture is priceless.