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Ideological Stranger Danger

Updated: Jul 25

Behind my back but within my peripheral, I caught an adult human female stranger ambush my fourteen year old, scattering her predatory 'love bombs' at my daughter's uneasy feet.

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In a society that continues to both participate in and witness the breakdown of family fusions under the guise of youth autonomy, we have come to expect the unbelievable overreach of those most motivated by the radical trans agenda.

It is no longer shocking to watch or hear of ‘Glitter Moms’ soliciting angsty teens to leave their homes, offering up an all-affirming safe haven as a delusory refuge. Gone are the days of naturally trusting school officials, doctors or therapists without a pointed probe into their prevailing political position. Many among us have watched close friends and extended family members utilize the saviour complex bestowed upon them by this malevolent movement to wedge themselves between a kid or a teen and their ‘bigoted’, ‘transphobic’ parents.

This blatantly intrusive trend among otherwise reasonable adults, as per the nature of this ideological beast, seems to know no bounds. Walking among us is a new breed of ‘ally’- the stranger on the street or the friend or a friend of a friend all too eager to break boundaries and bust barriers, deploying their socially implanted radar to target and ‘save’ poor trans kids wherever they go.

This is how the blood of a mainstream movement so deeply rooted in predation bleeds. All the way down to the ‘normal, everyday people’.

Six months into my daughter’s trans indoctrination, I suggested that she gather her lizards and tortoise, think about who else she’d like to add to her critter collection, and start her own little traveling business bringing joy, along with her animal expertise, to local kids and their families. The light in her eyes accepted the challenge before her enthusiastic ‘yes’ was uttered. My hope that this exhilarating endeavor might help her trans-fixation begin to blur was equally illuminated. She would become a fourteen year old small business owner and I would take on a new and much less angry looking parenting albatross as her overworked assistant.

A few weeks ago as my daughter kicked off her pet presentation at a backyard birthday party in our wider rural neighborhood an attending child piped up and asked, “is it a boy or a girl?”. If not for the relatively recent onslaught of trans-nation and its widespread notions I would have assumed that the child was asking about the animal on display, having little reason to think that my daughter was the object of the question. But with the saturation of Gender Ideology in my North American country, even in its quiet pockets of countryside, questions and comments with the slightest hint of Doublethink no longer pass me by unscrutinized. Listening to the tiny alarm bell ringing in my head, I also piped up and answered with, ‘a girl’, which happened to apply to both the animal and my kid.

Comanding the crowd of kids using a performative name chosen just for her rodent recitals, one that offers short-term suspension of the vogue male name she’s been performing under in her daily life, my daughter carried on hiccup-lessly.

Upon wrapping up and wrangling her brood, my daughter and I proceeded to fastidiously file fauna into my vehicle, one of us on either side with the doors widely winged. In the time it took me to turn over the engine, crank the A/C and slip a few of my staples into their safekeeping spots, a young party goer’s mother had approached and cornered my daughter in a triangle of open door-space at the back of the SUV.

I could tell by her side-eyeing in my direction and by the release of her secret-suggesting forward lean upon noticing me noticing her, that she had purposely swooped in on my child while I was preoccupied in the front of the vehicle, just out of earshot.

Feeling my Mama Bear blood begin to gently boil, as it tends to when one discovers a stranger of unknown intent leading such an intense looking conversation with one’s minor child, I made my way to the private powwow to investigate.

This woman, this stranger to both of us, took a step out of my visibly uncomfortable daughter’s personal space as I approached. I had a funny feeling that I already knew what this woman’s agenda was, as disheartening as it is that a walled off trans indoctrination session at a little kid’s birthday party made it to my shortlist.

As I moved myself casually but strategically between the woman and my child, I saw my daughter begin to relax while the woman turned her attention to me and began to ramble. She explained that her child had asked if my androgynous looking daughter was a boy or a girl during the show and that the child likely felt impelled to do so following the news of a friend’s recently branded seven year old trans child, a concept that my face may have displayed my non-compliance with.

“I see” were the only two syllables I released in response to this woman’s explanation as to why she felt the need to pontificate about the importance of social and medical transition to a fourteen year old while the mother’s back was turned just a few feet away. Inappropriate in the presence of children, the words I would have liked to unleash were also not needed for this intrusive ally to understand my position on strangers speaking privately with my minor child, my protective pose and expressive eye contact making it crystal clear.

Backing off as cowards do once a responsible adult disrupts a shady situation, I proceeded to help my daughter finish loading lizards and cataloguing cages. The woman remained nearby, although she had sufficiently retreated, and the mother of the birthday child approached to thank and pay my daughter for her time. During the awkward but cordial close of the discourse, I used perfectly pronounced she’s and her’s several times in reference to my daughter, making it very clear that I might be one of those non-affirming parents. My body language left nothing behind, I was angry and very willing to protect my child from an inappropriate conversation that she clearly did not want to be having with a random stranger.

The second we crossed over from driveway to road, my daughter expressed to me that she didn’t start the conversation and that it made her very uncomfortable. “I didn’t even see her walk up” and “She just kept talking at me, Mom” were among the phrases she used to convey her innocence in the exchange. I assured her that she did nothing wrong, that this woman violated a boundary and that she did so on purpose when I wasn’t watching, not hot news to my shaken child.

My kid correctly concluded that this woman had no business accosting an unsuspecting teenager with her politically charged chatter. My discerning daughter understood the nature of the exploitive exchange from its onset.

For six months I have been giving my daughter factual information, telling her about the nature of this radical agenda, divulging the audacity of devout trans activists and allies, and showing her how the links of this checkered chain clink together and change our society as a whole. That day she witnessed this woke malfeasance for herself.

What may seem like a minor matter to many was a big deal, weilding a huge red flag that both my daughter and I could not miss. In fact, I assume it is a moment in time that she might remember for years to come.

My daughter’s growing knowledge of the radical trans agenda and its syphoning of symptoms into society at large painted for her a pristine picture of what really happened that day. She was being politically groomed by a stranger, a presumably otherwise harmless and humble human, whose zealous endorsement of trans kids must be acted upon at every opportunity.

The reality is that this woman’s friend decided to trans her seven year old child and this initiative of inclusivity and child autonomy excited the teen-blitzing woman so much that she became an instant ally to the ‘Party’. She then indoctrinated her own young child into a juvenile alliship that prompted the equally excited child to ‘spot the trans kid’ at a friend’s birthday party. From her lawn chair on the outskirts of the reptile rodeo, the mother heard her child potentially peg my own as a mystical trans kid. Beaming with a skewed brand of piggybacked pride, she pocketed the perception and waited for an opportunity to accost my kid, purposely void of my protective presence.

Without exhaustive effort on my part, I explained this dot-to-dot dynamic to my daughter as we rode the quiet country roads home. A ‘how dare she’ tone took over any remaining uncertainty for my child that this woman was indeed brandishing her own breed of stranger danger.

Still captured by her trendy trans identity but beginning to apply her congenital cerebral capabilities to a situation here and an observation there, my daughter is slowly splicing together the seedy psychology that both drives and distinguishes this deceptive dogma.

I often tell my daughter that she ‘deserves to know what she’s a part of’. This particular woman, on this particular day, showed my child first hand the lengths to which ordinary people will go to to further spread and amplify this social sickness. She was made to feel uncomfortable. She was asked to share intimate details about her body. She was made to listen to an adult ramble on about her alliship to a malevolent movement that her fourteen year old mind is just beginning to understand. My daughter was publicly groomed by a stranger that day- a stranger whose saviour complex compelled her to slip her a slice of inappropriate solidarity behind her potentially bigoted mother’s back.

As my daughter and I tread through the labyrinth of gender identity, ideological practices and protocols, and the boundary bulldozing belligerency that has wormed its way into the most benign of settings, she is entitled to know exactly what she has signed up for. My daughter deserves the truth and random adults who have become predatory by proxy deserve to be called out for what they do.

To the hoodwinked woman who salaciously sequestered my daughter, behind my back in front of my face, parents deserve this warning of your eagerness to intrude and your willingness to trash your status as a trustworthy adult so that you can feel like a good ally.

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