My Baby, My Baby
I ran across this note on the National Review Online website from Jay Nordlinger. I here reprint it in toto. No comment by me is needed:
In my Impromptus of Thursday, I had a note on Fort Hood, saying that the killer there had managed to gun down 13. Several readers have written me to say that the number should really be 14. One of the soldiers, Francheska Velez, was pregnant. Her dying words were, “My baby, my baby.” For an Associated Press report on the matter, go here.
When I was coming of age, the phrase “meaningless blob of protoplasm” was in the air. At some point, President Clinton’s surgeon general said we needed to “get over this love affair with the fetus.” It seems very clear to me that pregnant mothers, when dying, don’t cry, “My meaningless blob of protoplasm, my meaningless blob of protoplasm.”
Is that too rough for you? So’s the subject.
About John C Wright
John C. Wright is a practicing philosopher, a retired attorney, newspaperman, and newspaper editor, and a published author of science fiction. Once a Houyhnhnm, he was expelled from the august ranks of purely rational beings when he fell in love; but retains an honorary title.
