And I Confessed All

I’ve never had an abortion. I’m going to thank my mother for that. I was raised by a handicapped mother until the age of 15-ish, when she was finally carted off to a rehab facility after having a series of massive strokes. Coincidentally, that was the same year I had my first make-out session with a neighborhood boy. Christ, I still remember his lips and how surprised he was when my hand “accidentally” brushed up against his… Sure, I had kissed a few boys, but this was different. He was blonde, which is weird to me now, because even back then that wasn’t normally my jam. We made out in an abandoned car behind a row of duplexes mostly populated by low ranking G.I.’s and teenaged mothers already on welfare. I remember I wanted him to “accidentally” touch me in the place I only ever explored while taking a bath, or that one time after crashing on a borrowed boy’s bicycle - which flew out-of-control down our tiny town’s only steep road. I remember laying in a crippled heap in the middle of lush summer weeds, that were suddenly crushed and throwing off the smell of freshly cut lawn and sour milk. I searched my undies for any sign of a broken bone, stopping in the place that one of my girlfriends taught me was that “fun” bump above your hole for babies and dicks - even higher then the one meant for piss. Although in absolute agony, the irony of the situation wasn’t lost on me. As all the neighborhood teens skidded up to me on their bikes, looking down with confused faces at me crying and laughing, whilst my fingers scrambled around taking an accounting of everything bruised and throbbing - instantly sealing my fate of being Queen of the Freaks. But I digress.

After my make-out session, I remember walking into our rundown fourplex across the street, my panties in a soggy wad - and I confessed all to my mother. She took a long and slow drag off her ciggy-boo, and simply said in her thick German accent, “When you’re father left me and took your brother, he told me that I was incapable of being a good mother and that you would end up pregnant by the time you were 15.“ It wasn’t said maliciously. It was said with the same tone one would use when asking another to politely pass the salt at the dinner table. This is what sealed my fate of never having an abortion. I was never going to give my father that satisfaction - because I was never going to get pregnant. I tend to get all spiteful like that. And because of this, I was the only one of my girlfriends who didn’t become pregnant. The pleasant side-effect of this pact to myself was - I slowly learned how to give exquisite blow-jobs. In fact a few years ago I had a man tell me my blow-jobs were like Jazz. It took me aback, before I settled in on he must mean that my technical skills are off da hook and he appreciates the improvisational approach I employ as a magical player bringing enchantment and delight to all who have the patience and access to it. I shoved away the negative thought that maybe he meant that he had to work too hard at enjoying it, as admittedly I can get a little too serious about it and a tad too experimental, sometimes rendering my efforts into a big ol’ mess of boring as f*ck. But I digress.

Growing up, almost all my girlfriends got pregnant. Some quite a few times. As an older teenage girl, I spent a lot of time in abortion clinics holding scared and shaking hands. As an adult woman, the biggest gift I ever received was my two sons, given to me by a teenaged girl who didn’t believe in abortion. So here I am, a woman who’s never been pregnant, who has completely benefited from a young woman’s strong belief that all life is sacred, and yet, I still believe that every woman should have the right to have a choice. Here’s why - at any given time there are around 425,000 children in the foster care system in our country. Over 100,000 of those children are eligible for adoption immediately. Yearly about 30,000 children leave foster care by aging out. Meaning, they are kicked to the curb without the emotional and financial support necessary to succeed in life. Nearly 40% of those are rendered homeless, nearly 60% of the young men will be convicted of a crime, and 75% of women will receive government benefits to meet basic needs. 50% of all youth who age out will be involved in substance use and 17% of the females will become pregnant. These statistics are all off government sites. FYI - For those racist pigs who think children of color make up the bulk of that number, guess again. Although the children who are actually eligible for adoption is about the same when you break down the numbers according to race, it’s whites who make up the biggest chunk of children actually in foster care by almost two fold, as opposed to blacks. Children in foster care also have to face disproportionately high rates of mental illnesses, as some studies have shown that as much as 48 percent of foster care youth, showed signs of serious emotional or behavioral issues. Up to 40% of American adults have considered adoption. If just one in 500 of these adults actually adopted, every waiting child in foster care would have a permanent family. The one bright spot is that overall nationally the number of children in foster care has decreased by 23%. It is however oddly curious that the state of Texas, which is arguably the number one foe against a woman’s right to choice, has a foster care system that has skyrocketed by almost 47 percent. But I digress.

Sketch of Miles Davis by Andrew Sabori