I Just Walked Away

. . . from an argument over at Dean Esmay's site with two guys named Kevin and Michael that started with a discussion of Alan Keyes' family life and mutated into debates on:

• Parents' obligations to their adult children.
• Whether the term "colored" is offensive.
• Whether homosexuals can really "love" each other as much as heterosexuals do. (I really got drawn into that?—can you imagine? Next, I'll be debating my stuffed Stoney the Bear doll about Marxist dialectic.)
• Whether adoptive parents can love their children as much as biological parents do. Naturally, at this point—being on the verge of adopting—I felt myself about to blow a gasket and withdrew from the discussion.

Anyone who wants to take on the Christian Taliban over there, be my guest.

In the meantime I'm left to reflect on my passion as a potential mother. So far, I've experienced the echoes of this in terms of being an aunt. As I mentioned over at Dean's site, I'm very protective of my nieces and nephews, and if anyone messed with them they would be very likely to look like Swiss Cheese afterward (depending on the ordnance used). But there's a kind of defensive anger there. What scares me is what I turn into when the anger, the defensive emotion, is removed and only the ruthlessness remains. There's a whole new level once I attain parenthood.

My husband had oral surgery once and I had to convey him home afterward. We stopped at the drugstore on the way for his medications, and there was a line at the pharmacy. I became charming, and engaging, and spoke with the clerk, and the pharmacist, explaining that my husband was post-op and dozing in the car and it would be terrific if they could get me his medications as soon as possible. I was not cranky, which is what normally happens when I experience delays. I worked sweetly with the employees at the drugstore, and I went out to check on my husband in the passenger seat of my Saturn a couple of times. And if it would have helped I would have taken a hatchet to the back of the counter girl's head. With a smile on my face. I was going to get the drugs for my husband, and get him home to bed in the shortest period of time possible. By whatever means necessary, and with no rancor at all.

"Swell," I thought. "I can teach my child how to be a cheerful sociopath." I'm hoping, of course, that my morals will come back, but later that day I thought of those fierce-yet-calm feelings of protectiveness and my blood ran cold. "That's what I'll be like as a full-time mom. Holy shit."

They say black bears are only dangerous if you stray close to the spot where one has hidden its food, or if you unwittingly get too close to a momma bear's cubs. And when the momma bear sees that and puts you down for good, she does it without getting mad at you.

It's just business.