The most tragic forty-five minutes in history has just been aired on Canada’s main broadcasting network. It’s called Drag Kids, and it claims to be “a daring and touching portrait of four kids chasing freedom and friendship through the art of drag.”
Though couched in terms which suggest an epic quest, the aforementioned “portrait” essentially amounts to witnessing several emotionally volatile 11 year old’s getting together to cross-dress and lip sync (poorly) to Lady Gaga anthems. Spontaneous meltdowns, cringe-worthy hair-flips, and jargon-spouting talking heads thrown in free of charge.
How did we end up at a point in history where young boys prancing around with fishnet stockings becomes something to celebrate? And why is our government giving millions of dollars to a broadcasting corporation that allocates said money to a production designed to appropriate deviant sexuality for children? And why does a bow legged Gwen Stefani who can’t hit B flat without his voice splintering into a million pieces get to call himself an artist?
To answer those questions, we have to go back to the petri dish of all present calamity – the 1960’s. It was here that longstanding assumptions about authority, human identity, and reality itself were being paved over in favor of a new individuality which saw the experience of the individual lifted to prima facie importance.
While originally drag performers had to hide out in – uh, we’ll say less gentrified areas of San Francisco – the stonewall riots, combined with media portrayals of cross-dressing protagonists, a la The Rocky Horror Show, saw a society increasingly comfortable with the notion of gender fluidity, if not fully comprehending its final form.
Fast forward fifty years of sexual revolution.
No longer do drag queens need to shuffle off to some seedy bar down tenderloin lane or the recesses of deep space web. We’re talking story-time at the local library. We’re talking sing-a-longs at the village folk festival. In all this we’re meant to believe that drag is no longer dark, but plush, sparkly, and only a little inappropriate – the kind that qualifies you as a progressive. And so by degrees, a pastime once relegated to late-night specials now gets a fruit roll-up and a seat at the knee-height lunch table.
Now most parents, if you asked them what they really thought of drag queen story hour, would probably be a little uncomfortable with the whole thing. The problem is that most parents are also increasingly okay with a little discomfort if it means evading the wrath of the eagerly oppressed.
Which brings me to the subject of the drag kids parents. Where do they figure into all of this? Oh there they are beside the man with the metal studded SDM mask, cheering as their lil’ dragster cuts the ribbon for a new show. There’s another one, condemning all the haters who have concerns about the long term effects on children in regular proximity to adult men wearing tinfoil g-strings.
Here’s a telling comment from “Dave” on the main site page:
“I have to say I find this deplorable – child abuse is nothing to be proud about. It needs to be named for what it is. I am a gay man and have spent hours in gay bars watching drag queens – believe me this truly is not a world for kids to mimic. There’s a multitude of very good reason why people under 18 can’t go into gay bars. Are we going to start dressing kids up in leather gear next and have them enter mister fetish contests?”
And the answer Dave, is not yet, but probably soon.
You know what kept coming to mind as I watched the debacle? Millstones. Specifically, the rate at which Jesus doles them out on the necks of those who cause little ones to stumble. “Cause?” you say indignantly? We’re not “causing” anything. We’re allowing children to be carried along on those selected currents most likely to result in their self-empowerment.
My question to you is this. Would you give a child a power saw and be permitted to absolve yourself from responsibility after they shear off their forearm? No. You would get a visit from Children’s Aid Services whether you choose to absolve yourself or not. That’s because allowing children to experiment with something they don’t understand and could possibly hurt themselves with is called child endangerment; which is a fancy word for felony; which is a fancy word for six years in jail.
Maybe this would be a good time to go over the definition of “primary guardian.” A primary guardian’s task, believe it or not, is to actually guard those under your care. In assuming the role of guardian, you automatically sign your name to the small print at the bottom of the contract which states that in the case of a bullet, or a pit-bull, or a breach in the wall, you’re the one going down first.
A guardian then, can no longer call themselves a guardian if they push their charge out the door first to see if whatever is prowling around out there has teeth or not. And make no mistake, behind the smiles of these poor kids and the glossy lies of the activists, lies a lifestyle with teeth – a lifestyle that is anything but empowering .
Jesus blessed the little children made in His image. The ideologues withhold their blessings until the little children conform to theirs.
You decide who gets the millstone.