Isn't it odd how a memory can sit on a shelf in the back of the closet for the longest time and then it reappears and surrounds you? I just read Smitty's post Happy Birthday, Trig! and suddenly a long buried memory surfaced.
One day, during my junior year in high school, my sociology teacher asked the class to vote by a show of hands whether the baby of a single mother would be better off aborted or adopted. I sat there as my friends all raised their hands in agreement that it was better for the child to be aborted. I excused myself from class and cried myself sick in a stall in the girl's restroom.
Had the teacher asked whether a baby with downs syndrome would be better off aborted I am sure the vote would have been the same. I am equally sure that my life, like Trig's, means something.
Society has long decided whose life is worthy based on the arbitrary notions of the day. Society has often been wrong.
For a bit of inspiration, please read Heroine.