The Lockdown Diaries (7)
Groundhog Day

Zero Chill

My son needed masks that wouldn’t make him lose his shit when his favourite isn’t clean, 

Yes, we’re once again visiting the pages of Scary Mommy, home of progressive parenting and assorted “empowerment.” But don’t worry, the stroppy son in question, the one losing his shit, is a juvenile, a tween, not a grown adult. Unlike his mother, Amber Leventry, who shares with us an account of a shopping expedition. It is, needless to say, a tale of sorrow and trauma

We loaded ourselves into the van, and while getting out at our first stop, we heard horns honking and engines revving. We looked around to see if there was an old-fashioned car rally that happens in our town once in a while.

Brace yourselves, dear readers.

This was a different car rally but with people with very old-fashioned ideas about what makes America great.

You may wish to grip your chair arms as the world spirals out of control.

My queer family was witnessing a Trump parade, and would end up being stuck in the middle of it while running our errands.

Woke hell is real, people.

“Idiots,” I muttered, and became instantly angry at the pride and self-righteousness with which Trump supporters carry themselves—so much so that they organise themselves to drive through towns to wave their giant Trump flags, honk their horns, and hang out of windows to cheer for a man who breeds and encourages bigotry and violence. 

Quite why supporting the current President of the United States necessarily entails being “old-fashioned” is not deemed worthy of elaboration. Nor is it clear how said incumbent “breeds and encourages bigotry and violence.” No clues are volunteered. These things simply are, apparently.

It was shocking how similar all of the people looked: white, middle-aged and older, and seemingly male. 

No bigotry there, thank goodness. What with them all looking so similar and being so terribly male. Well, not quite all:

There were some women riding shotgun and a few kids were shouting out of backseat windows, but there was no sign of diversity or compassion in the people who occupied the SUVs and trucks.

How Ms Leventry fathomed this lack of compassion, among people who basically all look the same, is, again, unclear. I suspect this is one of those articles in which much must be taken on trust.

My kids heard me and looked around to see why I was so disgusted. They quickly interpreted the scene and were enraged too. 

It occurs to me that for children to be quickly “enraged” by the mere proximity of Trump supporters, by the fact that they exist within one’s field of vision, is not generally a default phenomenon. It seems more like the kind of reaction that would require some cultivation - some, shall we say, prompting. Say, by parents who disdain other people for being too white and male, a condition that apparently denotes a lack of compassion, if not innate wickedness.

All three of my kids started talking at once. What the heck? Ugh! I hate Trump. Why do people like him? Trump’s an idiot! He makes me want to punch someone. That last one came from my nine-year-old,

It turns out that the world of woke parenting is one in which nine-year-olds are not only naturally fascinated by politics but are also animated by the thought of doing violence to people who may dare to differ in their voting preferences. Utopia must surely follow.

and while I told her I agree, I made a point to say that violence shouldn’t be our first and only reaction to people and subjects we don’t like. We are better than that, I told her.

Do keep that one in mind.

We, the reader, are told things too:

I know my kids don’t support Trump,

We are, you’ll recall, talking about children aged seven, nine and twelve.

but their primal instinct to feel threatened and angry surprised me.

I have to say, I’m not entirely convinced. It seems to me that Mommy’s fingerprints are all over this one.

Their lack of respect runs deeper than taking on my open opinions about this current administration.

As I was saying.

Suddenly I fully understood the impact of Trump on their young lives when my oldest said, “It makes me sad that so many people think like him.”

At which point, cynical readers may wonder whether any “impact… on their young lives,” any political sadness, has more to do with Mommy and her fixations.

My kids are very aware they are part of a LGBTQIA+ family, and they have zero chill for anyone who would vote against queer rights. I am transgender and so is one of my kids.

Ooh, curve ball.

My kids pointed out that we have yet to see a Trump flag next to a rainbow or trans flag. We have never seen a Black Lives Matter sign in the yard of a Trump supporter either.

As seven-year-olds do, of course. And note the assumption that during the run-up to an election, candidate yard signs must now be accompanied by equally conspicuous signs for every other conceivable cause. On grounds that failure to comply will promptly be taken as hostility to said causes, whatever they may be, and regardless of particulars. This, despite a passing admission that the few Trump supporters known personally by Ms Leventry have, and I quote, “always been kind to us.”

As we ran errands, the parade of Trumpers… even stopped at one of the stores where we were. “That’s one of the Trump people,” my daughter hissed. “I’m glad we don’t have any of them in our neighborhood.” 

Again, readers may wonder whether Mommy Dearest’s influence has been entirely benign. Such that seven-year-olds and nine-year-olds are encouraged to feel “angry and sad” that people may have differing priorities and may even vote accordingly.

As we made our way to our final stop, there were a few Trump cars to our right and two directly behind us. My kids asked if they could put down the windows to yell at them. 

That’s angry, sad, and hostile.

I had a moment of fear and told them no. Then we heard a woman screaming from our left. “FUCK DONALD TRUMP! FUCK TRUMP!” The Trumpers honked and waved at her and I felt guilty for not supporting her somehow.

Note the rather complicated tangle of ideas. Having admitted that actual neighbours who happen to be Trump supporters have invariably been kind and not particularly phased by an “LGBTQIA+ family,” Ms Leventry regrets not allowing her children to shout insults at other Trump supporters, who may also be just as neighbourly, and who, we’re told, responded to insults with waves and honking. And none of whom, it seems, saw fit to scream profanities in front of small children.

Our minivan was filled with passion and a very clear sense of what is right. 

Because articles of this kind must always be punctuated with self-flattery.

I don’t want to brainwash my kids into believing anything and will always encourage them to make decisions on their own.

And bare-faced lies.

In that moment, I knew I am raising activists

For instance.

We turned into the store parking lot and the Trump parade carried on in another direction. With the flags out of sight, my kids asked if they could call Trump the F word. I didn’t say no.

One more time:

We are better than that, I told her.

But not, it seems, by much.


Via Lady Cutekitten.


Heavens, a button. I wonder what it does.