When told to write on a subject that I strongly believe in, my mind becomes activated. Quite a few topics jump to mind. The advertisement of acholol is one and the banning of abortions is another. Having written, but not sent, a letter to to the editor on the latter when I got a scare this summer when the debate was heavest, I decided it would be the easier topic to fulfill the assignment. My paper was on all the reasons why abortions should not be banned. At a later point in the paper, I stated that although I do not believe abortions are right, I feel my personal views shouldn't be forced on the entire society. Choices, or the freedom of choice, made this country strong and banning a choice only undermindes our society, as in prohibition.
I went home and searched my files, found the letter, did a little work on it, and handed it in. Much to my surprize, my professor did not like it. "The scoundral" He felt that since I did not have personal dealings with abortions, I could not suffecently write on the subject. He thought I should write on goldfish.
This being my first experience with a college professor, I took this blow to my ego instride. Yet as I left the office I began to think. The more I thought, the more destressed I became. In college, I was told to write on goldfish, something I am sure he never would have suggested to a man. I have no strong feelings about goldfish except that I do not wish to write a paper on them. What was I to do?
After talking with many people, I came to the conclusion that my paper on abortion was a good one and deserved to be written. Yet as I sat in front of my computer looking for new words, only nothingness came out. Every attempt to sound professional only ended up sounding stupid. I tried a different approach to the subject, and, in a last ditch attempt, I even tried a new topic... all to no avail. With less then twelve hours left until my paper was to be handed in, I was paperless.
Suddenly I realized, I no longer felt compelled on abortion. Its pull to state how I felt no longer pulled. A new force had entered my life and started pushing. It had taken me all this time to figure it out.
I could no longer ignore the firy insperation burning within my soul. The only thing I had felt strongly about for past seventy two hours and twelve minutes was how I felt about writing on goldfish. I felt it had to be the stupidest, most off-handed and lamest idea heard since Bush wanted flag desercration, made a crime by constitutional amendment.
I would like it to be known that one does not have to experience something to have an opinion on it. I have never done drugs, but I know to be scared stiff of them. I have never known anyone with AIDS, but I know that it is a horrible disease that needs attending to. I, or any one I know, have never needed an abortion, but I pray they are still around if I do need one. I have never had a problem with acholol, but I am just as scared of it as if I had. I have never been raped, but I have an opinion on that too. Opinions are something most people tresure as making them special. Being told experience is the key to the validity of one's opinions leads me to believe I do not have a paper to write