We were practical, hard-working Italians, and nothing was going to hinder us from achieving the American Dream for each and every family member.
For most of my childhood and early adulthood, the name “Planned Parenthood” conjured feelings of safety and security. The institution represented for me and my family of origin a bedrock of civilization: a woman’s right to liberation from the oppression of bearing a child. Long before I became a self-conscious feminist supporting the worldview of Planned Parenthood, I believed abortion was more than just some “necessary evil.” I believed abortion was a compelling good.
As I pause today to reflect on the outrage of Planned Parenthood, I think of Frankenstein’s monster. And the monster that I am. And for the life of me, I don’t understand how people like my beloved relative and her unborn child could have been helped apart from God’s people taking her and her kids into their home for long-term, real-life care. She needed more than a word in season. She needed the hands of God.