The View From Scranton

Choosing Choice

It started as a monologue. Some hairy-faced bald guy in an uncharacteristic moment of insight. He was going on about warriors. How at 18 they can fight and kill and die, but they're still too young to drink. About how the law's gotta change. How unfair it all is.

Then the bald man went on to include kids who kill. How most of 'em get prosecuted as adults. Get the same treatment. The same sentence. How the prosecutors say they're old enough to know what they're doing. Still they're not old enough to know alcohol.

Or to have an abortion without a parent's consent. They know what they're doing when they fight or kill or die, but they don't know what they're doing when it comes to abortion. Can't decide for themselves. Utter hypocrisy.

Then a wiry scumbag child offender chimed in.

I think abortion should be illegal anyway, for everyone.

Baldy shot back.

That's you're opinion and you're entitled to it.

No, it's not an opinion. It's a fact. It's a life and that's that.

Till then I'd been silent, keeping my cigarette and my thoughts to myself. I could be silent no longer.

What about the kids you molested? Weren't those lives too?

The table went still. The scumbag turned red. Blue. Purple. Couldn't look me in the eye. Couldn't face me. Damn sure couldn't come up with a response. Rose and stormed off, ridiculously.

Who the fuck is this piece of shit to tell anyone what they can or cannot do?

And who the fuck is he to tell me. I know all too intimately about choice. See I've made the decision. Twice. Rather We made the decision. Twice. And if I know the women as well as I think I know me, the decision will remain one of the most difficult decisions of their lives.

Shannon would be about twenty-one now. I don't know why I call her Shannon, me and her would've-been mother never discussed names. It just kinda came to me. Other names have come to me too -- Tallulah, Eudora -- but none of 'em came to me then. We never considered a name because there was never a name to consider. There was a decision to make and we made it. Our choice was no choice.

And thank Zeus we had it to make. The woman already had three kids of her own, was nearing thirty, and still somehow managed to juggle a career and an aspiration. I was young, dumb and selfish, and in no position to take care of myself, let alone another. There was no question of what our decision would be. Should be. Was.

So we chose. Chose not to bring another life into a place where it couldn't be properly cared for. Where it wouldn't get a fair shake. Was that responsible or irresponsible? I don't know. I still don't know. Surely a child would've been a burden to us; and just as surely we would've been a burden to the child.

Veronica would be about thirteen now. Maybe fourteen. I can't remember the year because I can't remember the year. It's a blur. A blotch. I was a mess. I couldn't wake without a wake-up, and I couldn't get a wake-up 'cause I couldn't get outta bed. I spent the mornings waiting for a pal o' mine who was too high-pro to cop for himself; evenings waiting for my girlfriend to return home with money enough for two. She was a waitress. Then a bartender. Then a waitress again. And she always came home with cash.

When she got pregnant we both cried. What the hell had we done? I was a wreck in a whirlwind; she'd been dragged along for the ride. And the crash. Seems those days we did a lot of crashing. And it was me at the wheel everytime.

Again our choice was no choice. No way in the world would a child benefit from coming into such an ugly world. That's just mean. And cruel. Much more selfish than not. Who's to say what our desperate proclivities would've wrought?

When the scumbag from the House made his righteous crack it was like pouring a pound of salt into a gaping hole in my life. I've got a past; I try to keep it buried. It doesn't always work. But I try. And when I let it rise I try to do so with reverence. With respect. With some kinda semblance of dignity. Zeus knows there's been too many time when I've been without any and all of the above. But don't be wrong and tell me what's right, and never get between me and my hurt. I won't stand for it.

Some say that a child would've changed my life. They're right. It would have. Without question. With a child in tow I might not have pissed off the world, set it aflame, then laughed while it burned. I might not have had to face the fact that the world I burned was my own. I might not have gone away. And I might not now be worming my way back. But what if my change was insufficient? What if I only half rose to the occasion? I'd like to think I wouldn't, but I can't be sure. I certainly have a spotty track record. What if I brought all that ill upon an innocent? That would be inexcusable.

This morning I helped a man try to regain partial custody of a daughter I'm sure he loves dearly. His face cracks when he says her name, his eyes cloud when he tries to picture her face. See this man has never met his daughter. Never. And he's not nearly alone. I just left a place where men had 3, 4, 6, 8, 10, 13 children, and all those kids were out there somewhere without thier fathers. Many didn't even know who their fathers were. Are. Some would never know. I'd like to believe I wouldn't, couldn't be those men; then I'd always believed I'd never be in prison with those men either. Neither is in any way manly. And until I am a man, and I do things manly, I will not subject a child to my world. I just hope I keep enough kid in me for the kid that's sure to be.

posted by John Hood. @ 7:52 PM