I took a trip to Chicago for two days through the journalism school at my university, and I just returned today. Overall I’m pleased to say I had a great time, but one event sticks out in my mind now that I’m back at school and have had some time to reflect on the trip.
This occurrence was actually a two-part event, but I didn’t notice the connection until I sat down to write this. The first part is brief; my group was traveling by bus to see a comedy show, and we drove past a Planned Parenthood clinic. I stared at it for a while, since we were conveniently stopped at an intersection and I had never actually seen a Planned Parenthood clinic before. It looked so . . . innocent. But knowing what went on behind those doors, I made the Sign of the Cross and said a short prayer.
Later, as my group waited to get into the show, I was looking at T-shirts when I heard the girls in front of me start talking about abortion. I started listening, trying to gauge whether or not I could safely join the conversation.
My inquiry was quickly answered as each girl fervently pledged herself as pro-choice. They quoted a poster from a small rally on campus, saying, “If you can’t trust me with a choice, how can you trust me with a child?”
Doesn’t the child get a choice? I thought angrily. I desperately wanted to pose the question to the girls, but I didn’t know what good it would do, plus I was outnumbered. So I held my tongue and continued to listen.
They brought up adoption, and I had a small sliver of hope until they described it as “barely an option.” Most of those kids end up in foster care because their parents didn’t make the choice, they said, and most foster parents just do it for the money and don’t even care about the kids.
It took everything in me not to shout at those girls. My family’s a foster family! I wanted to yell. My little brothers are adopted! We even adopted one of them after he was our foster son! How dare you try to say that we don’t care about those kids?
I held my tongue. Something in me said I wouldn’t do any good by getting angry at the girls. If I had already been involved in the conversation, I would have certainly defended what I believe. However, since it wasn’t my conversation to start with, I don’t think I would have accomplished anything by angrily butting in.
Still . . . to think that some people really and truly feel that way is rather haunting. To think that behind the doors of that clinic, babies are killed because it’s more convenient for the parents.
Should I have said something to those girls?
