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Here is how holiday gatherings with my family inevitably go.

(serving ourselves, sitting down to eat)

Aunt/uncle/cousin: You didn’t want any ham/turkey/other meat?
Me: Nope, I’m a vegequarian.  I’ll eat fish, but no other meat.
Them: You’re still doing that, huh?
Me: Yep.
Them: So, do you think it’s wrong that I eat meat?
Me: …can we talk about this after dinner?
Them: I didn’t claw my way to the top of the food chain to just not eat meat!
Me: …
Them: Well, it’s your loss.  More meat for me!
Me: …

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My brother and I used to play a game.  It was never explicitly identified as such.  One of us would spontaneously decide to not talk to the other.  (This included antagonizing one another, which was really the primary form of communication between us.)

Neither of us were particularly good at the game.  We were the best of friends.  We lived in a pretty remote corner of the Estancia Valley.  There weren’t many people our age around.  At least, not within a mile or two.  I would like to think that even if there were a hundred alternatives nearby, we still would have picked each other.

So we would start the game by not responding to the other for half an hour, long enough for the other to notice.  It rarely lasted for more than an hour.  The longest episode was on a roadtrip.  I think it lasted the entire day.  Or at least from the time of our departure one morning until lunch.  It seemed like forever.

We’re getting older now and we have gone down different paths.  He does contracting work, mostly home construction, and can build something with a few tools and his bare hands from the ground up.  He could probably build an entire house if he wanted to.  I am very proud of him, although he tends to goof off too much.  Blows his paycheck on booze.  Sleeps with women that try to pierce his nipples while he’s passed out drunk.  Smokes copious amounts of cigarettes.  I mess up in similar ways, although I think I’m better about covering it up.  Or I’m just less authentic about it.

He called me on Monday to tell me happy birthday.  I haven’t called him back yet.

We’re getting better at the game.

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While I’m not familiar with the exact theological axioms that pro-lifers employ to defend their anti-abortion stance, one of the most frequently-cited reasons that I hear in the political babble is anchored in the possibility of life.  That is, the fetus, while not a viable entity capable of biological autonomy, nonetheless deserves consideration for what it may one day be: a moral agent with all of the legal protections offered to a person.  While I don’t find this line of argumentation convincing in the least, it does introduce a litany of obligations to those who subscribe to it.

The potential for human life.  If this is taken as a moral end worth pursuing, shouldn’t future generations—those who have yet to be conceived—demand moral consideration equivalent to that which we “should” give fetuses?  There seems to be virtually the same amount of certitude-of-existence present within fetuses and those yet-to-be-conceived, after all.

Given such considerations, it seems like pro-lifers wishing to remain consistent and steadfast in their values, should be advocating sensible, sustainable environmental policies that will ensure the well-being of those yet to be born.  Critics might reply that the more immediate cases—those actual fetuses that are in dire need of advocacy—should receive more focused efforts than their hypothetical counterparts.  I would submit that this is a false dichotomy.  Potential life is potential life—while one remains more tangible than the other, both have a guaranteed presence.

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