The Runaway

I lost a kid. My sweetest, baseball playing, hockey playing kid. The one that wanted to go places with me all the time. Sunsets, errands, whatever. She got great grades. Excelled at sports. Graduated from a very rigorous, all girls, college prep highschool. She very much wanted to go to college.

Technically, she is not a runaway. She is 18 and in my state you can't be considered a runaway after age 16. 

The morning before she left she insisted on making pancakes for the whole family. She made them very often for herself and, if there were leftovers, she would give them to me. This time she made a big deal about wanting to make enough for everyone. And she did. She kept them coming until everyone was full and there was still some left over. Her sister’s pancakes had some hair in them. Her sister is especially sensitive to hair in her food. Maybe my runaway did this on purpose to make some kind of point? I’ll never know.

That evening she wanted to see the sunset—a common family activity for us, but one we’d been doing less and less recently. She made sure we went that night. She usually wanted to get ice cream on the beach but this time she said that she would rather not miss any of the sunset, so we did not. She usually wanted to go home as soon as the sun set, and I usually argued for us to stay until it completely faded. That night she didn’t say anything about leaving. 

We got home late because it was near mid-summer. We chatted in the kitchen and somehow got onto the subject of games we used to play, like chess. We realized we had not played chess since she was nine years old. She said, "Let's play now." I said "It is late, let's do it tomorrow or soon." She said, "People always say that and then never get around to doing it. Let's play now or we might never do it." So we did. 

She only needed a brief refresher on the game. We played and—she won! I wasn’t being very careful and she took my Queen early on and then, very skillfully, finished me off. She was so excited. She took a picture of the board with the pieces in the finishing spots. 

The next day was a Sunday. I woke up early but she didn't. Since she always slept in, I chose not to bother her. Finally, about noon, I asked loudly, "Are you up?" from outside her door. When she did not reply, I opened the door and found a note on her bed. It said that she was leaving and would not be coming back. Don't try to find her. She hates us both - her mother and me.  She said she was an asexual non-binary person. I had to look up "non-binary." I'd heard of it of course but wasn't sure what it meant.  

After investigating a bit, I found out that there were at least three and maybe a dozen other girls in her class that were all trans or non-binary or something of that ilk. All born female and now shedding that label while declaring they hate men. Oh, and ACAB. Google that.

Also after the fact, we learned that a number of these girls were following a TikTok/Instagram/Youtube, trans influencer. We found out that this influencer person actually came to our town and visited with a number of girls from the school. We believed s/he set things up for our child to have a place to go. Other girls, when they heard about our child leaving home, confessed that they were encouraged to run away too. Only ours did though.

There was no previous indication of any gender confusion. That note on the bed was the first indication that she now wants to be called "he" or "them." S/he changed her name to "Grey."

Since she started dressing herself, she only wore dresses—never even shorts much less pants. She paints her nails all sorts of silly colors. When she ran away she took all of her stuffed animals.   

She wanted and got a $600 prom dress and had her long, thick beautiful hair done special at the salon for the prom. She took almost no clothes or anything except her ice skates, the stuffed animals and the prom dress! While she is 18, this seems like something a 12 year old would do.

Remember that old chestnut, "Better to have a live trans-son than a dead daughter?" Well in my case my daughter has a life threatening condition. She needs her medication. Which is expensive if you don't have insurance. 

The cult that lured my daughter away apparently isn't funding this need of hers. We have gotten two calls from two pharmacies in two different states where she tried to fill a prescription but never picked it up. Probably because she can't afford it. 

So yes, I'll take my chances on a dead daughter over a trans-boy. I would never have stopped supporting her financially even if she did transition as an adult. She is 18. I would not cheer her on, but I would never abandon her.  

Even if she left home, I would support her. I didn't get the chance. The trans cult got her. It told her to cut off all contact with us. They are letting her die. Probably while transitioning. They think, better to have a dead trans-boy in their clutches rather than have her be with a less than fully supportive but still loving home with two parents. 

By the way, she was never suicidal. I know now though that is what they tell girls like her. That she would be suicidal if she stayed with us. Not taking her meds is tantamount to suicide—but do they care? In their estimation, she is better off with whoever these people are—because… why again? Because we might use the wrong pronouns? Wrong pronouns, a fate worse than death! Hypocrites. 

- Sad Dad