I know it because, before I was a mote in the eye of the universe, my mother had gotten herself a diaphragm at the Margaret Sanger Clinic in New York.
That was the notorious founding spot, I heard, for Planned Parenthood – for putting women in charge of our own bodies.
Sanger, legend had it, was a fiery redheaded feminist who’d smuggled a diaphragm from Europe, where it was legal, into the United States, where it was not – by hiding it in her bra.
My future mom, daughter of fierce Jewish immigrants who wanted to make the world a better place, didn’t produce me until we could both be cherished and educated, well-fed and loved.
We went to my first protest for children’s rights when I was 5 – and my first for abortion rights when I was 26.
I didn’t think I’d be at it for more than half a century. But my mom, who’d now be over a century old, taught me that we’d always have to yell. She gave me the courage. The Supreme Court won’t let me quit.
More on abortion
A condescending, gloating taunt
Brava, Em.
Well said, Emily!