HuffPost Personal — which ostensibly features personal, highly relatable narratives relayed by everyday people — is, arguably, the most cancerous corporate media publication in the world.
As a public service, I read it so you don’t have to, the purpose being to identify and expose the most insidious thinkpieces the libbed-out freaks publish. I’m no Mother Theresa, but I might be the next closest thing.
Anyway, one lady wrote a harrowing account of her six-year-old’s “transgender” journey, which she clearly directed and in which her dismayed husband initially played no part.
Why is it always the mothers who champion their kids’ gender transitions?
Related: Is Your Baby Non-binary? Now Pennsylvania Social Workers Must Report On This
The scene is set with the mother filling out a registration form that requests the parent list their child’s gender identity — a normal, healthy practice that schools obviously do for the benefit of children, not out of weird fidelity to the radical gender ideology that has infested every facet of public life.
Via HuffPost Personal:
“Rachel ― what about you?” I ask my then 6-year-old daughter. “He/him, she/her, or they/them?”
She runs into the room, and looks at the form, her brow furrowed as she reads the words.
“They/them,” she says.
I look up at her. “No, I mean seriously,” I say. “She/her, right?”
She shakes her head. “No. They/them.” Then, she runs out of the room to continue listening to one of the Harry Potter audiobooks that have been on repeat since the pandemic shutdown.
Right away, based on her own account of the event, it’s evident that the child has put minimal thought into the selection of her gender identity. What likely happened, to speculate for a moment, is that she was exposed to Drag Queen Story Hour or something like that, accompanied by a lesson from a trusted authority figure that encouraged the children to adopt gender-neutral pronouns.
The mother then runs with the they/them thing and starts dressing the child in boys’ clothes.
Flash forward a few months, and the husband is finally brought into the fold. But rather than allowing him to assume the role of an active participant in his child’s rearing, the mother simply informs him that the child is now a boy.
August comes, and Rachel asks me to call her “they/them” in public. They say that they don’t feel like a boy or a girl. My husband is not on board.
“Who put this idea into her head?” he asks. “Did you start the conversation? She hasn’t talked to me about it.”
I examine the timeline and feel guilty. I did start the conversation when I was filling out the school forms. I tell him that I think Rachel felt like this before, but didn’t have the language to express it. They’re only 6.
“Fine,” he says. He seems unconvinced…
My husband is cisgender. And in October 2021, he’s still not convinced that this change is Rachel’s doing.
“But who is starting all these conversations?” he still wants to know.
A totally legitimate and valid question, the answer to which is clearly authority figures in the school and his own wife.
The husband then finds a book called The Transgender Child. He reads it and submits to the agenda, just like that.
He starts looking for information on transgender children. He searches online and finds a book that is literally called “The Transgender Child.” As it is only available in e-book form, he buys a Kindle and reads it. The first chapter explains that you cannot make your child transgender or nonbinary (or cisgender, for that matter). If your child wants to be called a pronoun different from the one that aligns with their gender assigned at birth, you should honor that. It’s not a phase. There is no “fault.”
I get a formal apology from my spouse, and we are suddenly, at that moment, reunited, on the same page.
Now the parents plot together how to block their daughter’s puberty. The propaganda literature is distributed to the entire extended family, and, in the end, everybody agrees that chemical castration is probably best for Rachel.
My husband and I ask our families to read “The Transgender Child.” It comes out in paperback, and we send copies to some of our family members and friends: It’s almost like we’re proselytizing. I now know how to answer questions such as, “Is this a phase?” “What happens when he hits puberty?” “What are you going to do?”
“No, it’s not a phase.”
“We will go to a gender clinic if he wants, and talk to a doctor about options.”
“We’re going to follow his lead.”
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