I’m a full-grown man, and both my parents are dead, so I can freely say that once, a girlfriend and I had an abortion. After a year of dating, she stopped by work and called me out to the parking lot. I sat in her car as she told me one day she missed her pill, that she was pregnant, and asked how I felt. I filled the next 30 seconds with thoughtful silence; my mind dug deep through scenarios, then I said, “I want to fall in love, get married, and have children, but I want to do it in that order.” She stared out the windshield, then slowly nodded her head in agreement. We made an appt. at a clinic in a converted house. It was a chilly day. She went back alone while I paced the waiting room, engaged in a staring contest with an anti-abortion activist glaring at me like a quietly seething stalker. I worried that he’d make a scene on our way out. We walked by him, my arms around her, her processing, with me ready to fight, and he just gave us a remorseful look. He felt more than he should for two total strangers, but thankfully he didn’t say a word. The next day we continued living our lives and went on dating for a while, but my ambition did us in as a couple. After we broke up, she’d call me every Father’s Day. I stopped taking those calls. I’d tell myself, “It was a cold day in November; that’s it.” Now that I’m a dad with teenagers, I have enough perspective to know that, yeah, we would have had a great child. But we didn’t because, as two caring people, we didn’t feel it was right. I’ve probably had all the abortions that I’m going to have, but I’m single again, with a girlfriend, and if we feel that same way, well, we have the ways and means. But a younger me would have had narrower choices if he had to have a kid out of step. At 48, do I regret not having that child? Yes, 5%. Am I grateful that I got to live the life I wanted and have the two boys that I did? Yes, 200%. Abortion allowed me to “live the life I wanted to live”—and isn’t that the fundamental trait of being American?