Sexism, Abortion, and the erasure of the male role

The abortion debate has been irritating me lately. I am often reminded of how abortion is the Christian equivalent of murder. And all these arguments are tacitly about females. Females getting abortions, females murdering children, females taking the morning after pill etc. But what of the role of the male? Do we just deny the immature rebuttle to wear a condom? Are we forgetting the often male induced lust for sex? Are we forgetting the high school pressure and coercion of males? Because all of a sudden, when the women is faced with pregnancy often in part caused by caving from male pressure, all of a sudden she is a virgin mary, and she is the murderer, she is the guilty one, she is the one who must bear the child and the consequences too. And we forget the boyfriend that left when she was in her second trimester and told her he would always be there. We forget the false promises. We have trained women so well to be submissive. To give in to men's desires. To deny sex tacitly, and if that doesn't work to cave, for it is still taboo to explicitly say no in a relationship. It is the women's duties. When it comes to abortion, we like to believe we have raised our women to be assertive and confident, able to defy men if need be to be moral and righteous. But the reality is, we have trained women to heed the wishes of men, and often the wishes of men get women in the situations in which they have to choose to be a murderer, or go through with a pregnancy they weren't intending, perhaps without a family. It's fine to have opinions on abortion, but it's not okay to forget the male role in it all. My sister's father refused to acknowledge my sister until she was nearly 5 years old. HE was the one that didn't want to wear a condom, that promised to pull out. He was the one that got my mother pregnant. I remember my sister waiting tirelessly by the phone, waiting for her "daddy" to call her. He never did. I remember when he first started seeing her, he would leave her waiting for hours without a phone call. Her bags would be packed on her bed. She started her waiting with such joy, a face of acceptance, with little lines creased at her eyes and mouth, unable to contain the joy that her father wanted her and loved her. I would watch as her little face saddened. As the little lines and wrinkles in her cheeks turned downward. As her eyes grew heavy with abandonment. I had to watch after 3 hours being late, my sister solemnly putting her things away, ignored, abandoned. No call. No dad. Nothing. To this day I see the toll her father's absence has taken on her. She is fiercely independent, not by choice, but by necessity. Having to be dependent makes her terrified. She started having seizures and couldn't drive, and I tell you, it scared her to death. And I know why. It scared her to death because she has learned all her life, that when she needs someone, they won't be there for her, because she didn't matter. She didn't matter to her father. You know how much that hurts? And now, her father has the nerve to tell a family member of his that she must keep her baby, and that the baby must stay in the family. He has the nerve to think he is righteous enough to tell a woman what to do with her life, her body and her baby. I tell you I've never wanted to slap someone in the face so badly.