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Sunday, June 19, 2011


When I told my dad I was going to be an Abortioneer, he did not bounce off the walls. I was nervous to tell him at first, because he is a man of few words when it comes to serious issues. He will talk your ear off about a diesel engine, or about Beethoven's 9th. But when it comes to things that are controversial or painful, he responds generically in a monotone that would lead you to believe he couldn't care less, even when in fact the issue hits very close to home.

Instead, he told me that it was great. His words were along the lines of "I'm glad that you will be working in a capacity to help the less-fortunate." Bland, true to form. But I detected in his voice a quiet pride in his daughter's compassion towards others, the same that she inherited from her parents and grandparents. Still, I can only hope to be as much of a freedom fighter as my dad, who once took two bullets defending a revolutionary political figure during an assassination attempt. The attempt was successful, but my dad survived.

I can't say if I'll ever take a bullet for the next Dr. Tiller, but I'll know that if I ever do it's because I picked up a little of my dad's courage, fearlessness, and sense of urgency in doing what's right. I'm the bad mutha shut-yo-mouth I am today because of him. Stubborn, but only because I know the deal.

Love you daddy, and I thank you for all.

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