Debra Pickett

I went to see the X-Men movie this weekend.

It's not my usual fare. (In fact, I also caught the excellent documentary Street Fight on Friday night at Facets.) But it was really freakin' hot outside and a couple hours of mindless entertainment in a very cool, dark room had an irresistable appeal.

Funny thing was, it wasn't completely mindless. It was actually kind of cool. And I've been thinking about the questions it raises ever since: When does being "different" become a disease? Who gets to decide?

In the movie, a big (and presumably evil, since, in movies, they always are) pharmaceutical company comes up with a cure for the mutant X gene that gives the X-Men their weird powers (psychic abilities, being able to control the weather, giant wings, retractable blades for fingers, whatever, the usual). But they have to ask themselves if they really want to be "cured."

Of course, there's also the usual action movie stuff, with girl-on-girl fights featuring Halle Berry and lots of explosions. But there's also some interesting stuff to think about.

R. and I have just gotten the blood test results back that tell us, as close to conclusively as almost anything can, that we're going to have a healthy baby. The technology is amazing. And it's easy to see it developing, in just a few years, into something scarier, something that could tell us if our kid was going to be short, or uncoordinated, or bad at math. (All characteristics that happen to come from me, incidentally.) And then what would we have to decide? Would there be "cures" for those traits? Would we want them?