Father of Boys (at the twilight of a woman’s right to choose)

I wrote this in June and published it in November. I think I have always been afraid of entering the discourse, particularly as it seems to be devolving and may be held against us in the uncertain future. No, I’m going to resist. I want to lean the fuck into humanizing and listening and — expressing: expressing feelings, not judging. There’s so much to divide us, but if we choose common ground, humans are wired for connection.

I am a father of boys.

I don’t have to worry.

I have lived and worked in the tech economy, made some money.

I don’t have to worry.

Once, a girlfriend had to take the morning after pill — plan B.

I worried for a moment. For her. For us. —For me. That was years ago. A faded memory.

My mother is post menopausal.

I don’t have to worry.

My female friends have access to care. Access to lawyers. Access to airports. Access to … money.

I don’t have to worry.

If I was father of a daughter,

I would worry.

If I lived in a place where something about me was unaccepted,

I would worry.

If I didn’t have the money to run,

I would worry.

If elections were decided by the people with the power to ignore the votes,

I would worry.

If I loved a woman—oh, god…

To love women is to—oh, god…

Plan B is never the best option. Is there even a Plan B here?

I will worry, for a moment.

Then, resolve — to make my mind as father of a daughter.

Then, resolve — to resist.

Then, resolve — to reach out. To humanize. To be human.

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