Leftist chai latte sippers from Douglas, Johnson and Shawnee counties who have their pants in a wad about legislators protecting women’s sports from men are trying to convince Kansans the fallout from the recently passed law – which in a sane world wouldn’t even be needed anyway – is going to land squarely on children’s genitals.
Because, they wail in their creepy All Ages Drag Show kind of tone, the only way to tell a kid’s sex is to molest him.
How. Positively. Revealing.
Genitals. School athletics. The moldering late summer aroma of sweat and football pads. Reminds me of a story…
Seventh grade football was the first time back when I went to school that we had to get an athletics physical to play school sports. There was no Google back then, youngsters, so there was no way to look up what actually was going to happen during a hernia check. It was the 1970s, and our fathers were too busy smoking cigarettes and watching Walter Cronkite to ask them, so we simply existed in a summer-long state of terror and had to take what the sadistic 8th graders and high school kids who themselves had survived this crucible told us as gospel.
Stories of giant needles, plastic tubes, glow fuel-burning Cox 049 engine-powered extraction devices – our tormentors laid it on thick, the same way it was laid on to them in prior years. It was a legacy to which they were entitled, having survived it themselves; a testosterone-defined right of passage that would prepare us all for the future challenges of manhood, war and fraternity initiations.
We listened wide-eyed and swallowed it all – hook, line and sphincter. Of course it turned out to be no big deal – if you could turn your head and cough, that pretty much wrapped it up.
So when the time came in 1981 for my physical at the old Military Entrance Processing Station building in downtown Kansas City, I was prepared. Military precision took center stage, and the doctor lined us up eight across with a change of gloves at the end of the row, and then back the other direction behind us for the rear hatch inspection. When you process dozens of recruits a day, you get pretty good at it.
Doctors are still pretty astute 40 years later, and they still can pretty much tell if you’re male or female without having you drop your britches. There’s also a document called a birth certificate. It’s used in lots of authentication exercises to prove who you are and, among other things, whether you’re a pointer or a sitter. It’s required in virtually every list of enrollment documents for kids in public or private schools. And somewhere on that birth certificate is a definitive line that lists “sex” as either/or.
There’s also DNA – definable via blood or saliva or some of your other more gross body fluids if you’ve ever watched a full episode of “CSI: Miami.” DNA doesn’t lie. A boy has one kind, a girl another.
The base assumption from the shrieking sore losers in the Kansas women’s sports debate is that someone, somewhere, will want to try to pull one over on a sports team or doctor, lie about his sex, and force authorities to violate both the individual’s privacy and general decency by taking the most diabolical road imaginable. They want you to believe someone will force a child to strip naked and be sexed like baby chicks being sorted from a brooder
It’s understandable that eyeballing sex organs would be the default manifestation of the manipulative trans culture – this is, after all, the group which puts such passionate zeal behind its “family friendly” drag shows where men dress as women in sexified performances to which they’d love to expose as many children as possible in order to “expand their horizons” and make them okay with it. The Soviets called this “indoctrination.”
Such inspections will never be a part of the justice of protecting women’s sports in Kansas, but that reality won’t stop these woman-hating teeth gnashers from fantasizing about them.
Dane Hicks is a graduate of the University of Missouri School of Journalism and the United States Marine Corps Officer Candidate School at Quantico, VA. He is the author of novels "The Skinning Tree" and "A Whisper For Help." As publisher of the Anderson County Review in Garnett, KS., he is a recipient of the Kansas Press Association's Boyd Community Service Award as well as more than 60 awards for excellence in news, editorial and photography.