Are You a Hypocrite?

It's Friday night. Your daughter has turned twenty-one. She's done all of the obligatory celebrations with family, and now it's time for her to head out with friends to do what twenty-one year-olds do.

"You remember to never leave your drink unattended, right?" Yes, Mom.

"And never go anywhere alone?" Yes, Mom. "Even the bathroom?" Yes, Mom.

"And your cell phone is fully charged?" Yes, Mom.

"Who's your designated driver?" Not sure yet.

"WHAT?! Young lady! You are NOT leaving this house until you have a designated driver and I know who that is! We have talked about this so many times: the time to plan is--" --before you take your first drink. Yes, Mom, I know. "Well, in this house, it's before you even leave! Call, text, do whatever you have to do to get this settled, NOW! Do you need some extra cash for an Uber?"

It is now Saturday morning. You and your friends are gathering for the Pro-Choice rally at a nearby park. Your sign says in big bold letters: MY BODY, MY CHOICE!

Are you a hypocrite? Maybe you don't follow. It's like this, your daughter has to take precautions to keep herself and others safe. You require her to have those precautions in place prior to engaging in the activity, which as far as you are concerned is before she even leaves the house. You, however, are fighting for a woman's right to decide a course of action after the cause has taken place, you are fighting to remove consequences rather than prevent them --prevention being the thing you are requiring your daughter to adopt. Wouldn't following your own advice be better? Wouldn't it be better to encourage women to take precautions, to be firm in their practices, be they abstinence or birth control? Wouldn't it be more empowering for women to treat their bodies kindly, with more respect, to hold onto their virtue and protect it like the treasure it is? Wouldn't it give a woman autonomy over her body, over her relationships, over her worth to be able to prevent uncomfortable or inconvenient consequences prior to them occurring, rather than to champion a woman being herded through a clinic like a nameless, faceless cash cow, feet in stirrups, naked from the waist down, examined by a total stranger, probed and gutted by a total stranger, sent to a "recovery room" with a lot of other nameless, faceless cash cows, and sent home to... Excess cramping or bleeding? Suspicious family members? Guilt? Regret? Infertility or scarring? Maybe life goes on without a hitch. Maybe you think it was the best decision you ever made. Maybe you go on to have just the right number of children at just the right time each one more beautiful and perfect than the last. And then one Saturday morning, you look at your sign and you realize you are a hypocrite.