Still snuggled abed, I heard footsteps approach. Please no bad news, I thought, curling tighter into the fetal, waiting for a bureau drawer to open, the bathroom faucet, anything to reassure me all was okay and Mr. Miller was not coming to wake me with a bulletin that the dog just puked on the dining room rug. I could go back to sleep.
No drawer slid open. No water gushed forth.
Shit.
I cracked an eye open. It wasn’t Mr. Miller glumly beginning another ten-hour day, but none other than Miss Miller, smiling upon me. She needn’t any words.
“Aw, fuck,” I finally said.
She grinned.
I pulled the duvet over my head. “I knew it was going to be bad news.”
This wouldn’t be blog-worthy normally since it happens all the time. Miss Miller has a pathological aversion to time management, has since she was in preschool, when even her three-year old carpool compatriots would whine for her to hurry up and get her damn shoes on already. “We’re going to be late!” they’d wail.
Not much has changed and it’s a battle I no longer fight. Let her be late to school. Let her skip the whole day for all I care. I hate that fucking place—that Marxist Indoctrination Factory.
Downstairs I took my meds. Asked if she remembered hers. We are dutiful little pharma consumers. (I know that is a can of worms in itself but I am not ready to tackle it. One day…)
I asked her to start the car. She went outside. Then returned. “The key isn’t in your (mumble) pack.”
“My tranny pack?” I laughed, pointing at the Lululemon belt bag hanging from her dainty hand. Was Miss Miller joking? Were we sharing a laugh? At the expense of The Flag? What a beautiful morning!
“Mom! Don’t say that WORD!”
Shattered, my dream. I’d deluded myself again. Believed for a shining moment that she’d escaped the cult. Why do I keep tricking myself like this? Why oh why do I crave the world? It irritated me—both my motherly greed and my daughter’s inability to satisfy it.
So I waded deeper into our scuffle. “What word?” I asked innocently. “Tranny?” At least I could have a little fun.
“MOM!” she shrieked.
I thought of a YouTube account I follow—The Offensive Tranny. Miss Miller wouldn’t like that one. It chronicles the many harms, hypocrisies and hysteria of the trans movement and makes a concrete distinction between transsexuals, a term Miss Miller would probably also denounce, and so-called transgender people.
“It’s a slur!”
If she had pearls to clutch, Reader. If she had pearls. They’d be sweaty and gasping for air.
I cracked up. I couldn’t help myself. She was being such a cliché. And I was so tired. “Oh come on,” I said.
“Why are you laughing?” she spat.
“You’re being ridiculous!”
“Dad! Can you drive me to school?” she called out to the house.
“Would you get over yourself,” I said.
“You’re making it worse by laughing about it!” she screamed.
“You’re the one who missed the bus. You’re the one who needs a ride. Get. Over. Yourself. You are ridiculous.” I added flair with my fingers. I was that mad.
Silence.
Cornered by the truth. Finally she didn’t have a comeback, foot stomp or even an eye roll. I thought, am I chasing yet another dream to glean that she might like being put in her place? Her dad won’t do it. Her school won’t do it. Certainly not her friends. Am I the only one on this crazy planet who will point out Miss Miller’s bullshit? Be it trans, time management or simply having the common decency to consider other people, I realized that I am the CEO of steering this beautiful child out of her own damn way.
We got in the car and rolled off in more thick silence. I thought about playing a little Ben Shapiro on the Bluetooth just to mess with her some more, but reminded myself that I am the adult—the president of Miss Miller LLC.
Before I made it all the way around the carline circle she jumped out and stormed off, pink and teal backpack bobbing at her hip, all those rainbow buttons glinting in the low-slung sun. This was the first time in years that we did not hold our ritual moment of farewell eye contact and exchange goodbyes and I love yous.
Was it because I trampled all over her glitter god? Or because I pointed out the truth of her self-centered melodrama? Was she politically perturbed or just age-appropriately embarrassed?
Once upon a time I would have worried the day away over something like this. Truthfully, I am worried. There’s always a chance I’ll lose her in the trans typhoon. But I’m not debilitated. Maybe I’m hardened after two and half years. I’ll take that as a win, even if it is a hollowed-out win. There’s only so long a mother can remain in acute pain over her child.
I hate that Miss Miller still idolizes the trans movement. I hate that she’s captured. But then I think about how long I was captured by the progressive left and I know she still has time to grow out of it, especially if the country crumbles before her prefrontal cortex is fully developed.
The race is on.
🇺🇸
Keep it the good work, mom. The captured her interest one millimeter at a time. You will win by using the power of parenthood and logic. Stay tough. Being her friend is the worst thing you can do.
Congratulations president of Miss Miller LLC - you just held her accountable - BRAVO! She has plenty of people telling her exactly what she wants to hear but you love her so you deliver truths. One day she will see how you, as a loving and caring mother, picked the difficult path of honesty.