Just yesterday, my three-and-a-half-year-old son told me he was a “dinosaur astronaut. Not a dinosaur. Not an astronaut. A dinosaur astronaut.
As a mom who tries to encourage imaginative play, I was pretty impressed - after all, who wouldn’t want to be a T-Rex who flies around in a space ship? Sounds awesome.
But as a mom who also has a brain and knows her son is a preschooler who also thinks Santa’s busy at work getting ready for next Christmas, I didn’t start throwing him chunks of raw meat and signing him up for a ride on the Vomit Comet.
Because he’s not a dinosaur. Or an astronaut.
He’s a three-year-old.
But apparently, the fact that I didn’t immediately slather him in reptile scales or catapult him into the stratosphere makes me The Absolute Worst, according to Minnesota Lt. Gov. Peggy Flanagan, who told an audience of clapping seals that when very young children tell us they’re actually something other than what they were born, it’s our “job as grown-ups” to believe them. Because, as we all know, toddlers usually know what’s best for them, and it’s our role as dimwitted parents to facilitate their demands.
“Let’s be clear: this is life-affirming and life-saving healthcare,” she said, referring to puberty blockers and permanent, body-mutilating surgeries for “transgender” minors not yet old enough to vote.
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“When our children tell us who they are, it is our job as grown-ups to listen and to believe them. That's what it means to be a good parent,” Flanagan said.
MN Lt. Gov. Peggy Flanagan on sex changes for minors: "When our children tell us who they are, it is our job as grown-ups to listen and to believe them. That's what it means to be a good parent." pic.twitter.com/WNXjGRgjsm— Alpha News (@AlphaNewsMN) March 15, 2023
Being a good parent means recognizing youthful ignorance and correctly identifying childish nonsense - however understandable - and making solid decisions your kid’s underdeveloped, inexperienced brain isn’t yet capable of making. Because he’s a kid.
If my son tells me he’s a firetruck and goes running off into traffic, it’s my job to stop him so he doesn’t get creamed on the highway. Because as much as he may want to be, he’s not a firetruck.
If my son tells me he’s a bird and tries to jump off the roof, it’s my job to grab ahold of his shirt and yank him back so he doesn’t brain himself from a two-story fall onto the concrete. Because as much as he may want to be, he’s not a bird.
And if my son tells me he’s a girl, it’s my job to gently explain that he’s actually a boy, designed specially that way by God for a purpose, and that he should feel confident in the body he’s in. And if he continues to struggle with wanting to be something he’s clearly not, it’s my job to get him the psychological help he needs instead of pandering to a harmful delusion that won’t ever become truth.