**Note: This piece is a satirical look at modern progressive movements through the eyes of a fictional Texas Republican. I hate to spell it out, but you'd be surprised at some of the flack I got from folks. The piece originally ran at
Sammiches & Psych Meds
By: Guy G. Walker
“Who is that weird looking lady, Dad?” my 9 year old son Ronnie asked me. Of course, I had to sigh before I answered. He was watching the damn TV again instead of playing sports outside like I told him. Like a boy is supposed to. The damn cleaning lady had left it on the E! Network and there was by boyhood hero, Bruce Jenner...in drag.
“That’s...,” I started, not sure how to answer. Not sure if I wanted to answer. How do I tell my son that before him was the 1976 Olympic Decathlon Gold Medal Winner. The man who dominated Montreal, Canada and won the hearts of millions of American boys. The man who was now sporting a pretty impressive set of tits. Hell, Bruce was the man who overcame his dyslexia and was on the cover of Wheaties boxes (of which I ate so many Wheaties I thought I could be Bruce Jenner...and I nearly shit myself from the incredibly high volume of fiber I was taking in).
“That’s nobody son,” I said. “No turn off the TV, go outside and play,” I said and my son did as instructed.
“Quit being so, like, mean to Ronnie,” My daughter said coming down stairs.
12 years old and she was already busting my chops. Puberty was going to kill me. But, her sass-mouth wasn’t what bothered me. The whole bottle of self-tanner and dashiki she was wearing did.
“Nancy, what on God’s green Earth are you wearing?! What’s that all over your skin?”
Nancy rolled her eyes. “Duh, it’s traditional African dress.”
“But, you’re white...ish,” I said as I looked at the tanner all over her.
Again, she rolled her eyes. If God and the great state of Texas said I wasn’t allowed to knock some sense in her, I swear...instead, I took a breath like my drill sergeant taught me and tackled the problem with a clear head.
“Why are you wearing all that?”
“I’m expressing my inner-self. I’ve always felt like I was black. Like that lady in Washington, Rachel Dolezal. Did you know she was the president of the NAACP in Spokane?”
“ENOUGH!” I yelled, losing it. “Ronnie get in here!”
My son came back in from outside, bringing in one of his mother’s bras from the clothesline. “Would this look good on me?”
Sweet Jesus. Damn you liberal America.
“Sit down, both of you!” I commanded and my children, who surprisingly, listened to me.
They parked their butts on the couch and I paced in front of them, gathering my thoughts. “You cannot just change what you are on the outside and expect people to accept it. How you’re born is how you’re born. Changing it doesn’t do you any good except to make people uncomfortable. If some guy wanted to be a woman, which bathroom do they use? What kind of job do they apply for?”
“The woman’s room,” Nancy said.
“Any job they want?” Ronnie said.
“Yes...but...you can’t just decide to be another race,” I countered.
“Why not?” Nancy asked.
“Why not?! Because...co-opting another races tradition and history is wrong.”
“We celebrate Cinco de Mayo with uncle Ramon and his family,” Ronnie said.
“And, like, isn’t Christmas just Yule? The Church co-opting pagan traditions? Like Easter and Halloween?” Nancy snarkily asked.
“That’s different,” I said.
“How?” My kids asked in unison.
“It just is!” I yelled, my temper getting the best of me. “You can’t have a world where anyone can be any race or any sex they choose.”
“Damn it! Because what would that mean? Women in the NFL? Men in nursing? The world needs rules and groups. If you were any sex you want then there wouldn’t be a need for any form of gender discrimination. If you could be any race then American statistics and census would mean nothing! All of society would break down. What you would be left with is a world where the only thing that mattered, truly, is the person and how good they were. Jobs would be merit based only. Schools would only accept the best students. The world would be...”
“A better place?” My daughter said smugly while my son grinned and said,
"Isn't that what you say you always wanted? Best people for the job regardless?"
“Just...just go outside for a while. Daddy needs to think,” I said plopping down in my recliner. My son obeyed, thankfully leaving his mother’s bra behind. My daughter went to the fridge first and brought me a Lone Star. She popped the top and handed it to me before kissing the top of my head and then followed her brother outside.
I sipped my beer and pulled out the remote and turned the TV back on. Caitlin Jenner stared back at me as the TV recapped her winning some award for bravery or some crap like that.
Well...she does have nice tits.