Listen, how about we stop policing other people’s bodies and worry about our own goddamn selves, ok? And don’t claim to be a feminist then turn around and try to take away anyone’s rights.
The GOP would love that shit. All for the horrific crime of being of color, you can have your children taken away and not only have a forced surgery performed on you, but have control of your body taken away! Pro life forever!
This isn’t going to win me any liberal points, but as someone who’s been heavily involved in foster care and adoption, I actually do agree. The ‘mother’ of two of our adopted children has had five kids, all of whom she’s put into the system and made no effort to be a part of their lives other than harassing the people goodhearted enough to care for her children and provide them with an opportunity to succeed.
I think that if a person establishes a pattern of neglect or apathy towards their children, the state should have a right to surgically sterilize them. Ideally, after putting three kids into the system. However, I don’t think this should be applied solely to women, but to men as well.
I see nothing wrong with permanently revoking reproductive rights to someone who’s willing to dump their kids like garbage.
Every year, Mothers Day comes and goes and I feel like I should have said more about how much I appreciate my mom and everything she’s meant to me in my life, but there are few ways to truly describe such an incredible woman.
Hence, the post title.
So, in lieu of more coherent writing, here are my freeform thoughts about my mama.
My mother is the lady who made me feel special that first day I, as a little boy, was allowed to carry in the groceries all by myself for the first time.
I remember her holding my hand and telling me how grown up and strong I was the day I had a surgeon repair my eyes. (I was born legally blind and wore coke-bottle glasses until I was four.) I still remember being scared shitless, and my mother gave me strength as any mother should.
A few years later, I remember my mother cheering for me as I scored my first goal in my soccer career, which was rare as I was primarily a defensive player. (I went on to score four goals in that game, and my team won 19-0… this was before the days of no-score soccer.) She would be equally kind a few years later when I made a miraculous half-court shot in a basketball game… into the wrong goal.
I got older as kids do, becoming my own person, and I’m thankful that my mother allowed me the space to develop my own peculiar eccentricities, even as I drifted away from the ideologies that she herself supports. (ie, became the bleeding-heart liberal I am today.) put up with my obsession with folklore and mythical beasts, and was kind enough not to laugh when I did a fifth grade science project on the Loch Ness Monster.
I remember that proud glint in her eye when I walked down the steps in my tuxedo, dressed and ready to go pick up my date for the prom. She took a couple of rolls of photos, kissed me on the cheek, gave me some last minute advice for the lady I was taking, and reiterated how proud she was of me.
Most of all, I’m proud of my mother for her generous heart. My mom and dad have adopted seven beautiful children who, if not for my parents, may easily have ended up living on the dangerous streets of Kansas City. Some of the children they’ve fostered have ended up back in the terrible homes they came from, and it makes me even more thankful that my mom and dad live as they do. Our babies are growing up in a good home and experiencing everything a young child should be able to experience, and that is something I know that I do not have the strength to do for this world.
Mom, I will be forever be in your debt for the wonderful life you gave me, and in your shadow for the amazing gift you gave to the world.