I Am Pro-Life Because I'm Pro-Choice

I've always been someone who preferred quality over quantity. But in the land where bigger and faster are the default ideals, this is a stance guaranteed to put me at odds with the prevailing norm.

More is always better—regardless of the context.

This seems to be the hand guiding Republican's recent abortion legislation, which ranges from outlawing it entirely to severely reducing the window of availability. It seemingly demands that more lives, not necessarily better ones, is the best path forward.

I not-so-respectfully disagree.

The majority of women who seek abortions have legitimate reasons for doing so. They are financially or emotionally unequipped for parenthood. They were the victim of rape or incest. Their doctors have discovered a condition which makes pregnancy a health risk.

If you happen to be a woman of color, the odds are overwhelming that even bringing a baby to term and giving it up for adoption sentences that child to an unending chain of abusive foster homes and inadequate state-run child care facilities.

The ugly, unavoidable truth is that black and brown babies usually go unadopted.

I haven't heard any of the fetus-loving public servants in the Alabama, Missouri or Georgia state legislatures commit to a program of enforced adoption, so I can only assume they are content to leave any and all unwanted children free to languish in these circumstances. 

Not to mention expanding the government infrastructure necessary to clothe, house and feed them. 

And where's the small government in that? (But that's looking ahead and these are, after all, Republicans, so we mustn't expect too much in the way of long-term vision.)

Even moreso than an aborted embryo, it is my belief that the greatest human tragedy is an unwanted child.

For starters, prisons are full of them. Children lacking committed parents or a stable home are the lifetime recipients of mental and physical abuse from parents who resent them. And that's assuming the kids stick around, which is assuming a lot.

And that's a better way forward? How?

And if you've been paying attention, you're aware of the deplorable state of government-run child care agencies. Underfunded, with fast food levels of turnover and exhausted managers who only want to make their numbers, they exist as child-care entities in name only.

Again, tell me how this is a better way forward. Please.

Ah, but now I'm playing God. And we don't ever do that in America. Ugh-uh.

The aforementioned child-care agencies are one example. Access to health care is another. The NRA-enabled flood of firearms threatening our freedoms yet another.

Then there is the issue of a woman's sovereignty over her body. Women have long argued that if men were the ones who got pregnant, abortion wouldn't be an issue. We'd be free to do whatever we wanted. And we would.

But we are reluctant to extend that freedom to women. And frankly, I don't know why.

I have to feel the vast majority of women who receive abortions do so only after protracted periods of thought and rigorous examination. However committed a prospective father may be, a woman has an intrinsically more intimate relationship with a fetus, and in my eyes is unlikely to make a casual decision regarding it.

Which is exactly how it should be.

Yes, there are women who seek abortions as casually as you or I visit the bathroom. But tell me this: is there anything a portion of a given population doesn't abuse?

No.

The holier-than-thou legislatures in Alabama and Missouri and Georgia and the wild-eyed evangelicals who endorse them love to spout about the sanctity of life. But given the paucity of Republican support for social programs, universal health care, gun control, labor unions, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, one can legitimately question whether they only care about that life while it is in the womb.

Upon leaving it, it is free to be murdered at school, church or work. It is free to receive a substandard education and substandard health care while living in substandard housing as it is confined to a toxic neighborhood based on its skin color.

Or perhaps it is free to mortgage its future in exchange for a college degree. Or struggle to survive in a nation increasingly ravaged by global warming.

Yes, no country is perfect. But before we recklessly commit to bringing every life into the world, shouldn't we provide for the ones already here?

Peggy Lipton

What I remember are the freckles. And the big, soulful eyes. Then there was the sandy-blonde hair which, in the fashion of the day, was long and straight and parted in the middle.

I fell. Hard.

Sadly, I was just eleven when Mod Squad debuted. And while I was entertaining thoughts of hanging out and taking her to Baskin-Robbins, she was being courted by the likes of Paul McCartney.

I couldn't have known exactly how far out of her league I was.

Nevertheless, I continued to feed my crush, faithfully tuning in to the adventures of Linc, Pete and Julie each week.

But time passes, and things like crushes seemingly subside. I say seemingly because while employed at a used record store, I was dutifully unpacking a new batch of vinyl when I stumbled upon her 1968 LP Peggy Lipton.

I stopped. I stared. All those years later, she seduced me a second time.

Given the unstructured nature of such establishments, I was able to position the LP in such a way that I could occasionally glance over and silently say “Hey.” In the slightly forlorn manner in which these kind of crushes play out, if I couldn't ever hope to meet Ms. Lipton I could at least have a one-dimensional facsimile close by.

It was something my then-girlfriend (fortunately) found quite amusing.

Of course the real Peggy Lipton had many dimensions, and contrary to the way we imagine them, lived a life with many bumps and bruises. But as they do, these things toughen us and enable us to survive.

I hope that in the end, hers was a life rich in contentment.

Rest in peace Peggy Lipton.

Nikola Jokic

Denver Nuggets' center Nikola Jokic looks like the guy who shows up at your house to load your stuff on to a moving van. This impression is cemented by his no-nonsense gaze, squared-off jaw and a haircut which says freshly discharged. Or paroled.

You pity the bartender forced to cut him off.

He's big (7' 0” 250 pounds), but his musculature isn't cut the way so many player's are these days. However, any inferences you draw from his lack of definition are at your own risk. Just ask Enes Kanter.

In contrast, his hands are as soft as a used baseball mitt. They are quick and supple and move with a speed completely at odds with the physique attached to them. When they're not depositing the ball into the basket, they're deftly firing a no-look pass to a forward standing on the wing or sending a letter-perfect bounce pass to a guard streaking towards the hoop.

For someone predisposed to a style of basketball reliant on ball movement and motion, it is a thing of beauty.

Without a post-season appearance, I have been mostly unfamiliar with Mr. Jokic. But minutes into a Nuggets game, it becomes clear how their offense works. He is not only is one of the best-passing big men I've ever seen, but one of the best passers, period.

His passes are sharp and focused. They rarely find their way into opponent's hands. The Golden State Warriors, practitioners of soft, lazy, frequently ill-advised cross-court lobs, could learn from this guy.

Also running counter to type is Jokic's free-throw shooting.

For reasons unknown, many big men struggle at the line. Wilt Chamberlain and Shaquille O'Neal are just two of the literal and figurative giants who could seemingly score with a dozen power forwards hanging from their necks.

But a straight on, uncontested shot fifteen feet from the basket? Nope. Both struggled to make half their free-throws, frequently making far less.

Fortunately, Jokic is better. His career mark stands at eighty-two percent, which removes the temptation of the Nuggets' opposition to employ the hack-a-Shaq routine as tight games draw to a close.

Lastly, would it surprise you to learn that Jokic also has a nice touch from the three-point arc? Although he retrenched from his career-high of .396 a year ago, Jokic demands attention when loitering on the three-point line.

So. Jokic can score. Jokic can pass. Jokic hits his free-throws and is a threat from the three-point line. What can't Jokic do?

We may be decades-removed from the nineteen-nineties, but rumor has it that defense is still played in the NBA. And like so many of his eastern European brethren, every day is business casual Friday when it comes to playing D.

Yes, the rebounding is solid. But no one will ever accuse him of suffocating opposing bigs. Perhaps it's the long shadow cast by Yugoslavia's oppressive Tito regime that keeps Jokic from offending (or defending as it were).

But Jokic is young. And abundantly gifted with what is called basketball IQ, the future is bright. Denver has a talented and cohesive core. They play well together. Can you imagine the league-wide nightmare the Nuggets would be if Kawhi Leonard headed west? Or Anthony Davis?

(Playing in front of Denver's combustible fans would require OSHA-approved hearing protection.)

Perhaps the addition of a bona-fide superstar would spur Jokic to take that final step to unassailable, incontestable greatness. That the scent of a championship would drive him to fulfill this last, empty corner of his potential.

Alas, I am an old man writing about a young one. And I know only too well the cocky arrogance of the youthful male ego. Surrounded by adoring fans, sycophants and ass-kissing agents, Jokic may feel things are fine just the way they are.

That he has come a long way from Serbia and attained the American dream of wealth and fame. What else is there?

It will be interesting to see this story play out.