Today I feel sad. I have been socializing lately, having drinks with parents who speak proudly of their young adult children who are off to college, or are starting promising careers. Other parents prattle on about adorable grandchildren and big family get-togethers at beach houses. I smile and politely ask for details, but I have nothing to add to these conversations. What would I say? My estranged son is still working a minimum wage job and poisoning his body with cross-sex hormones. I can’t confirm that he still has all his body parts. I will probably never have grandchildren, but maybe that’s better: I’ve read that trans-identified men who have children are often abusive narcissists whose B-cluster personality disorders are impermeable to therapy. We can’t afford a beach house, but who cares since there would be no family to gather there? It might seem like wasted potential that a young man whose IQ used to be in the 97th percentile now scrapes by working the cash register in a store, but after years of taking estrogen, his intelligence might be just average now, freeing him from the burden of high expectations. As I smile and nod at these people, I start to wonder why I bother to socialize at all. I got married to have a family, and I don’t have one. I really don’t have anything positive to add to these conversations. I am a black cloud casting a shadow on happier lives. What am I even sticking around for?
My they/them student: The other day in French class, students were taking turns choosing prompts for speaking practice. Someone chose: “Would you rather be single and wealthy or poor and married?” Everyone else answered “single and wealthy,” but you said, in decent French, “I’d rather be poor and married, because I don’t really have anyone and so I need someone.” I have observed that when the auditorium seats fill up for an assembly, the seats on either side of you are always empty. When all the students mill around outside a closed door, waiting to enter a room, you are the only one with no one to talk to, and you don’t know where to look. The top bun you used to wear has been replaced by a boy’s short haircut, easy to spot among the rows of identical highlights worn by the other girls. What I notice most about you is how mature you are. You’re an old soul surrounded by kids who are doing everything they can to fit in. There is nothing unpleasant about you, and the other kids probably have nothing against you; it’s just that you don't share their experience, and it's awkward. I want to say to you: Don’t worry. It hurts now, but it won’t always be this way. Just keep being yourself, and someone will find you and love you exactly the way you are.
For today, I will stick around for my they/them student. I wasn’t able to help my own son, but maybe I can help her.
Thanks for sharing that. What happened to you is too common. Our children are deluded, being told by YouTube videos that parents are toxic if they do not affirm their delusions. My child also had false memories/lies to make her case for gender transition. I am sure she was a feminine child who preferred soft toys and a dolls house rather than “boys toys”. She would have played with her older brother’s toys sometimes so she was being selective in her memories.
The world has gone crazy, that is certain. We need to hold onto our own mental health, not be persuaded to believe those utter lies.
These students are led by a young male teacher who announces his sexual orientation (a newfangled one) to the entire school. The first time he did it, I was shocked and thought for sure he would be fired. Rather, the student body voted him their favorite teacher, which earned him a speech at graduation. There, he announced his sexual identity to the entire audience of parents and grandparents and received a standing ovation. This, and the fact that the students were always being asked to explore their identities, was my introduction to wokeness. Even though I have been a Democrat my whole life, I was unaware of this cultural shift until I started working at a high school.