When Jadon was one week old,
He went to church for the first time.
In the nursery, a little five-year-old said,
“You wouldn’t want to let a five-year-old hold him,
I bet.”
But of course I did.
And I hold the memory of that sweet boy,
Sitting on the small school chair,
Holding a tiny baby,
So gently.
That sweet boy loved dolls.
He loved pink.
He walked on his toes,
Which some thought
Effeminate.
In the years since,
Every time I’d hear about
Transgenderism,
I’d think of that boy.
Was that his chosen definition?
Today I saw the college graduation photo
Of a broadly smiling girl,
Lipstick, earrings, dress, rainbow stole,
Juxtaposed against the photo
Of that very precious five-year-old.
And I think of surgery and lifelong drugs,
Sterility, increased risk of suicide,
Anger at the world, anger at God,
The failed marriage of his parents.
And I am so terribly, terribly sad.
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