More Than Words

 When one hears discussions about preferred pronouns or which of the myriad of genders one identifies with, the first and often uncontrollable reaction is to snicker, chortle, laugh, roll your eyes, wave your hands, and shake your head.

It’s absurd, ridiculous, worthy of endless mockery and disdain. It’s what pampered people do when they don’t have to worry about where their next meal is coming from or whether they’ll survive the night. I’ve often said that privation and scarcity will cure stupid for the most part, and though some might shrink away at the thought of bread lines, gas lines, ketchup soup, and mayonnaise sandwiches, the curative effects it will have on society at large makes it almost worth it.

My mind being what it is, as of late, I’ve been exploring a particular rabbit trail and wondering if there is something more sinister behind the push to do away with words like mother and father than just a hissy fit from a middle-aged obese woman with half a shaved head who smells like spoiled bologna. I know, I know, words like mom and dad are ancient, and so they must go. So is the wheel; want to do away with that too?

There has never been a generation in the history of humanity that has strived time and again to fix something that wasn’t broken, to begin with. The ideal of family, you know, mom, dad, daughter, son, grandma, grandpa, and aunt Judie who makes the fruit cake nobody eats on Christmas every year, has worked for millennia, but who cares about all that?

Proof of concept is so yesteryear; am I right? Let’s burn everything to the ground and have simpletons with no practical life skills build it back together again with nothing more than duct tape and rainbow flags.

So why the big push to get rid of mom and dad? The darker side of me tends to think that it has a lot to do with doing away with emotional attachment. It sets up what they envision as their utopia quite nicely if you don’t have to worry about pesky things like God, family, or patriotism.

Just think about it: it’s one thing to say I’m here to kill my mom because she’s becoming a burden. Quite another to say I’m here to schedule a procedure to euthanize my birthing person because she consumes more than she contributes to the collective.

I know, that’s a bridge too far, you’re thinking to yourself. Then again, the thought of being called homophobic because you refuse to let sexual deviants groom your children or let your toddler sit on the lap of a perverted man in a dress seemed like a bridge too far mere months ago too.

With love in Christ,

Michael Boldea, Jr.