Sunday, October 17, 2010
Sometimes the Days Are Just Magical, Redux. . .
I hope I'm not boring you all with this. . .
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Another brilliant fall day yesterday, maybe even more brilliant than last week. The color was even more spectacular, and the air was just a bit cooler and crisper (have I mentioned before that the fall is my utter absolute favorite time of the year?). Another amazing bike ride (but only 35 miles this week), and another win for my Spartans (it wasn't quite as much fun as beating Michigan, but this is shaping up as a season the like of which we haven't seen around here in a long time). And I didn't have to sleep alone. . .
And Jen rendered 6 bushels of apples into 90 quarts of home-canned applesauce.
I married an amazing woman. . .
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Sometimes, the Days Are Just Magical. . .
Up here where I live, yesterday was one of those brilliant October days - bright and sunny, maybe even a bit too warm (and today is another one). The fall colors aren't quite peaking around here just yet, but almost - the golden-yellows, bright oranges, and brownish-reds, mixed in with the green that hasn't left yet, make for a spectacular setting.
It was such a glorious day that I extended my bike ride to 45 miles, just to be out in the wonderfulness for as long as I could. Which left me, by the end of my ride, at 1350 miles for the year, and on pace for something above 1500 by the end of the season, if the weather co-operates. Which is more than I've had in at least 15 years or so. . .
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And then, to cap off a simply amazing day, my Spartans won their game against the hated Wolverines. (OK, I don't really 'hate' them - heck, some of my best friends are Wolverines - but there is a special joy, all of its own, just from beating them, even if we beat no-one else; Lord knows they've handed it to us long enough for us Spartans to havea really outstanding inferiority complex an admirable sense of humility about the whole thing.) And this is the third year in a row that we've beaten them, the first time that's happened since I was 11 years old. I hope my Wolverine friends are coping OK. . .
I know it's just a game, and I really don't attach any ultimate significance to it. But you know, sometimes you just gotta enjoy the good stuff as it comes to you. . .
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The only downside to the day, such as it was, was that Jen was gone on a women's retreat all weekend, so I had to sleep alone. But, you know, retreats are very good things, in-and-of-themselves. And besides, she's back home now. . . ;)
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edit, 11 October
Heard from one of the stalls in the men's room at work this afternoon: the unmistakable sound of snoring. . .
It was such a glorious day that I extended my bike ride to 45 miles, just to be out in the wonderfulness for as long as I could. Which left me, by the end of my ride, at 1350 miles for the year, and on pace for something above 1500 by the end of the season, if the weather co-operates. Which is more than I've had in at least 15 years or so. . .
-------------------------
And then, to cap off a simply amazing day, my Spartans won their game against the hated Wolverines. (OK, I don't really 'hate' them - heck, some of my best friends are Wolverines - but there is a special joy, all of its own, just from beating them, even if we beat no-one else; Lord knows they've handed it to us long enough for us Spartans to have
I know it's just a game, and I really don't attach any ultimate significance to it. But you know, sometimes you just gotta enjoy the good stuff as it comes to you. . .
-------------------------
The only downside to the day, such as it was, was that Jen was gone on a women's retreat all weekend, so I had to sleep alone. But, you know, retreats are very good things, in-and-of-themselves. And besides, she's back home now. . . ;)
*************************
edit, 11 October
Heard from one of the stalls in the men's room at work this afternoon: the unmistakable sound of snoring. . .
Monday, October 4, 2010
It's Personal
I'm giving you another re-post today. One of my better ones, if I may say so myself; perhaps even the best I've ever done. Whether or not it was my best, though (by whatever standard such a question might be decided), it got more comments at its original posting than anything I ever wrote. I'd love to know what you all think. . .
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Sometime when I was in college, the realization dawned on me that, as an adoptee, I had been somebody’s ‘unwanted pregnancy’ once upon a time. And in the fullness of time, that became one of my strongest motivations to search for my birth-mother – I wanted to thank the woman who had carried me in her womb for nine months, and seen me through to the beginnings of my life in this world. (And just as an aside, for me as an adoptee, even such a basic concept as that I'd been carried in someone's womb once-upon-a-time could be disconcertingly abstract).
Along with that realization, I came to understand that, all things considered, I was probably fortunate to have been born before 1973 and Roe v. Wade. I had never particularly staked out a firmly-held position on abortion (My younger self was probably mostly ‘pro-choice’, without having given it much thought), but once I understood that, had I been conceived in another time, I would have been a pretty likely candidate for abortion (white college women abort roughly 98% of their ‘unwanted pregnancies’), the question took on an entirely different, and personal, aspect.
-------------------------
I recall a conversation I had with my birth-mother some time after our reunion (of which, coincidentally enough, the 21st anniversary was just last week). She was talking about her life as a pregnant-and-unmarried woman in the 1950s, and how difficult it had been for her, and she said something like, “I just wish I’d had the choices that women have today.”
Ummmmm. . . you understand, right, that we're talking about ME here? I mean, we’ve had a really, REALLY happy reunion, and both of us are glad for the opportunity to know each other, and our respective families. If you had exercised the ‘choice’ you’re alluding to, none of that would be even a remote possibility. You might still wonder who I’d been, but without any possibility of ever knowing. . .
She understood. Not that she was wishing that she’d aborted me; only that she’d felt so trapped when she was pregnant, and wished that she’d had anything at all she could have done about that. Now, I could understand how trapped she felt. Frederica Mathewes-Green has written and spoken insightfully about women who “want an abortion the way an animal caught in a trap wants to gnaw off its own leg”.
And I get that. I have the utmost compassion for women who are pregnant when it is nigh unto catastrophic for them to be so. My daughter was one of those women, not so very long ago. And I wished there was something, anything, that I could do to make it easier for her. . .
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But, back in 1955-56, that was ME in my birth-mother’s belly. Not a clump of cells, not a faceless ‘fetus’ – it was me, with my own genetic code, distinct from my birth-mother's. And if my birth-mother had had an abortion, it was me who would’ve died.
And the ripples go out from there. My adoptive parents might’ve adopted someone else; who can say? But they wouldn’t have adopted me. My classmates and friends and Little-League teammates could scarcely be said to have missed me – how do you miss someone who, as far as you know, never even existed? – but something of the life we shared together would never have happened. Jen would most likely have married someone else (I mean, she’s an amazing woman; she'd have had guys standing in line for her); but she wouldn’t have married me (and who can say how that might have gone for her?). And our children would never have come to be – her children, if she had any, would be someone else entirely. . .
And so it goes. In fact, those of you who were born after 1973, have you ever wondered how many children who might have been your friends or classmates or Little-League teammates, or heck, husbands or wives, were never allowed to be born? Cold statistics tell us that, in the US alone, the number would be on the order of 50 million by now - a sixth again of the population of our country (worldwide, the number would be many times that).
But just to cite a number misses the point. What music was never made, what literature was never written, what cures for which diseases never came about, for want of the men and women who might have done those things, but were never born?
And even still - to talk in terms of 'who might have done what' misses the point, too. It's not so much that, eg, Steve Jobs (an adoptee like me) is so worthwhile for what he's done, but that every human life is intrinsically valuable in-and-of-itself. And 'humanity-at-large' benefits from every one of its members, whether they 'accomplish anything' or not. Certainly, we've all benefitted from the fact that Steve Jobs, or Beethoven, or anyone else, were born and not aborted. But we'll never know, in terms other than colorless statistics, what 'humanity-at-large' has lost for those millions who were never born. . .
My point here is not to guilt-trip any woman who has ever had an abortion; my heart absolutely goes out to those women, for they, too, have had violence done to them; they've been sold a bill of goods, given a false promise. I only hope to put a more ‘human’ face on the question, and challenge anyone to think of ‘unwanted pregnancy’ not as a ‘problem’ with an easy technological solution, but as something real, and human, and flesh-and-blood. And life-and-death.
-------------------------
I don’t think my birth-mother is terrible for wishing she’d had more choices available to her (honestly, on one level, it’s easy for her to say; she’ll never bear the cost of having chosen otherwise) (but, to be utterly clear - the very last thing I mean is to trivialize what it cost her for me to be here).
No, I actually think she’s pretty cool; as birth-mothers go, she’s definitely one of the best, and I am as happy as I can be that we’ve known each other for all these years. I understand how trapped she felt 50-odd years ago, and I absolutely appreciate, and am utterly grateful for, the sacrifice it was for her, for me to be here today. It’s personal for her in an entirely different, but analogous, way to how it’s personal for me. And I understand that.
But it is personal - it involves persons, created in God's image and likeness, with inherent worth and dignity not conferred on them by any other human being. Mothers and fathers and children - persons, one-and-all. And my birth-mother is one of them. And so am I. . .
-------------------------
Sometime when I was in college, the realization dawned on me that, as an adoptee, I had been somebody’s ‘unwanted pregnancy’ once upon a time. And in the fullness of time, that became one of my strongest motivations to search for my birth-mother – I wanted to thank the woman who had carried me in her womb for nine months, and seen me through to the beginnings of my life in this world. (And just as an aside, for me as an adoptee, even such a basic concept as that I'd been carried in someone's womb once-upon-a-time could be disconcertingly abstract).
Along with that realization, I came to understand that, all things considered, I was probably fortunate to have been born before 1973 and Roe v. Wade. I had never particularly staked out a firmly-held position on abortion (My younger self was probably mostly ‘pro-choice’, without having given it much thought), but once I understood that, had I been conceived in another time, I would have been a pretty likely candidate for abortion (white college women abort roughly 98% of their ‘unwanted pregnancies’), the question took on an entirely different, and personal, aspect.
-------------------------
I recall a conversation I had with my birth-mother some time after our reunion (of which, coincidentally enough, the 21st anniversary was just last week). She was talking about her life as a pregnant-and-unmarried woman in the 1950s, and how difficult it had been for her, and she said something like, “I just wish I’d had the choices that women have today.”
Ummmmm. . . you understand, right, that we're talking about ME here? I mean, we’ve had a really, REALLY happy reunion, and both of us are glad for the opportunity to know each other, and our respective families. If you had exercised the ‘choice’ you’re alluding to, none of that would be even a remote possibility. You might still wonder who I’d been, but without any possibility of ever knowing. . .
She understood. Not that she was wishing that she’d aborted me; only that she’d felt so trapped when she was pregnant, and wished that she’d had anything at all she could have done about that. Now, I could understand how trapped she felt. Frederica Mathewes-Green has written and spoken insightfully about women who “want an abortion the way an animal caught in a trap wants to gnaw off its own leg”.
And I get that. I have the utmost compassion for women who are pregnant when it is nigh unto catastrophic for them to be so. My daughter was one of those women, not so very long ago. And I wished there was something, anything, that I could do to make it easier for her. . .
-------------------------
But, back in 1955-56, that was ME in my birth-mother’s belly. Not a clump of cells, not a faceless ‘fetus’ – it was me, with my own genetic code, distinct from my birth-mother's. And if my birth-mother had had an abortion, it was me who would’ve died.
And the ripples go out from there. My adoptive parents might’ve adopted someone else; who can say? But they wouldn’t have adopted me. My classmates and friends and Little-League teammates could scarcely be said to have missed me – how do you miss someone who, as far as you know, never even existed? – but something of the life we shared together would never have happened. Jen would most likely have married someone else (I mean, she’s an amazing woman; she'd have had guys standing in line for her); but she wouldn’t have married me (and who can say how that might have gone for her?). And our children would never have come to be – her children, if she had any, would be someone else entirely. . .
And so it goes. In fact, those of you who were born after 1973, have you ever wondered how many children who might have been your friends or classmates or Little-League teammates, or heck, husbands or wives, were never allowed to be born? Cold statistics tell us that, in the US alone, the number would be on the order of 50 million by now - a sixth again of the population of our country (worldwide, the number would be many times that).
But just to cite a number misses the point. What music was never made, what literature was never written, what cures for which diseases never came about, for want of the men and women who might have done those things, but were never born?
And even still - to talk in terms of 'who might have done what' misses the point, too. It's not so much that, eg, Steve Jobs (an adoptee like me) is so worthwhile for what he's done, but that every human life is intrinsically valuable in-and-of-itself. And 'humanity-at-large' benefits from every one of its members, whether they 'accomplish anything' or not. Certainly, we've all benefitted from the fact that Steve Jobs, or Beethoven, or anyone else, were born and not aborted. But we'll never know, in terms other than colorless statistics, what 'humanity-at-large' has lost for those millions who were never born. . .
My point here is not to guilt-trip any woman who has ever had an abortion; my heart absolutely goes out to those women, for they, too, have had violence done to them; they've been sold a bill of goods, given a false promise. I only hope to put a more ‘human’ face on the question, and challenge anyone to think of ‘unwanted pregnancy’ not as a ‘problem’ with an easy technological solution, but as something real, and human, and flesh-and-blood. And life-and-death.
-------------------------
I don’t think my birth-mother is terrible for wishing she’d had more choices available to her (honestly, on one level, it’s easy for her to say; she’ll never bear the cost of having chosen otherwise) (but, to be utterly clear - the very last thing I mean is to trivialize what it cost her for me to be here).
No, I actually think she’s pretty cool; as birth-mothers go, she’s definitely one of the best, and I am as happy as I can be that we’ve known each other for all these years. I understand how trapped she felt 50-odd years ago, and I absolutely appreciate, and am utterly grateful for, the sacrifice it was for her, for me to be here today. It’s personal for her in an entirely different, but analogous, way to how it’s personal for me. And I understand that.
But it is personal - it involves persons, created in God's image and likeness, with inherent worth and dignity not conferred on them by any other human being. Mothers and fathers and children - persons, one-and-all. And my birth-mother is one of them. And so am I. . .
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