Sick, sick, sick -- but legal:
AUSTIN, Texas (AP) -- A judge has granted a mother's request to have someone harvest sperm from her dead son's body, so she can have the option of carrying out his wish to have children.Nikolas Colton Evans, 21, died Sunday at a Brackenridge hospital after being punched and falling outside an Austin bar March 27.
His mother, Marissa Evans, told the Austin American-Statesman newspaper that he wanted to have three sons someday and had even picked out their names: Hunter, Tod and Van.
"I want him to live on. I want to keep a piece of him," she told the newspaper.
I want to keep a piece of him. So now, human beings that may be created using her son's sperm, without (obviously) his consent, will be grandmother's little souvenirs.
When I woke up this morning, I wouldn't have even imagined such a thing possible. Now it seems we are going to have to pass a law forbidding our parents from harvesting our own eggs and sperm after we die, so they can get the grandkids they want no matter what. What a world.
I don't even know where to begin with this. Think of it: a dead man has no say over whether or not he will have children, because his mother has cannibalized his body with the consent of the state.
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Oh, I understand that you are not permitted to presume your ultimate salvation, Max. But it seems to me that if I can envision you restored to your best self and enjoying ultimate happiness, God can too, and God's vision is supposed to be way more powerful than mine. Anyway, we can always hope, and as a writer, I permit myself to take liberties of the imagination. ; )
Funny, sigliaris. But not in the "ha, ha" way.
Let's try again: "It's just that we think the act is deserving of privacy because people should be left with some public dignity."
Or, to put it another way, nobody wants to hear about your bodily functions, or hear you describe your excrement in exquisite detail. If such reluctance constitutes "freaking out," then color me freaked out.
Chaucer? I liked the Priapic's Tale:
Whan that Aprill with her shoures sote,
Her lover's droughte hath milkèd to his rote,
And he inspired hath in her everie hole and hethe
The swete balme of her coyntes brethe
She bathed his spent veyne in swich licour
That from the bed fell he upon the flour.
Bearded Professor Guy, it is interesting to me that you are now equating sex with sh*tting. It's a sacred act of co-creation with God, a metaphor for the union of Christ and his Church, and yet hearing it described would be the equivalent of describing your excrement to the world? Hmm. Well, yes, I'd call that a freak-out. And I must say, that's not how sex appears to me. But different strokes for different folks, I guess.
I think you're tripping yourself up inadvertently with your own arguments. Try not to "fall upon the flour," as Roland puts it with such ardent elegance. First, you laughed scornfully at the notion that Christians don't like to talk about sex, and cited Chaucer in your counter-claim. Now, you appear to be saying that no decent person would ever talk about sex! Which, you know, was basically what I hypothesized some Christians would say, so you're kind of making my point for me, aren't you? Please get back to me when you've decided which of your two mutually exclusive assertions you want to go with. As Doc Holliday put it, "I've got two guns, one for each of ya!"
Also: normally I wouldn't mention this, but since you are a professor, I wonder that you did not notice your own misspelling of my name. Twice, in two different ways. I realize not all professors can spell or proofread, but if accuracy is impossible, could we try for consistency at least? Thank you.
Jeez, Erin, I'm trying to agree with you (sort of.)
Whenever a child is conceived, in whatever circumstance, effed-up family, society, continent or time period, 'they might turn out fine' is really all one can say, right?
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