Montpelier, Vermont, with a population of about 8,000, is the smallest state capital in the U.S. If you’ve ever seen a postcard featuring downtown Vermont, it’s likely of Montpelier.
When I first drove into the city twenty-three years ago in a U-Haul, it felt surreal—almost like a film set. I couldn’t help but think Disney had created this perfect depiction of Victorian Americana.
But upon closer inspection, it’s evident that there are underlying issues. Much like other towns in Vermont, there’s a certain “wokeness” that seems to permeate the community mindset. Montpelier is adorned with LGBTQ+ flags, Black Lives Matter signs, and graffiti calling for people to “fight the men.”
Local officials have been active on online forums, discussing how “undocumented neighbors” face oppression and emphasizing the importance of allowing them to vote in city elections. Recently, there was a trendy café called “Delicious Dissent,” featuring Marxist themes and artwork promoting labor rights.
Meeting “Johnny”
Then, there’s “Johnny,” who represents a more somber note in this narrative. I encountered this teenage girl at a local market. Though “Johnny” isn’t her actual name, it’s similar enough. Her name tag included her preferred pronouns—“he/him”—and proclaimed her “non-binary identity” was valid.
Honestly, I had to leave right after my transaction because I felt emotional. I just wished that this girl had more positive influences in her life.
You hear stories about young activists often being loud and aggressive, but not Johnny. At first, I didn’t even register her name tag. She stood out because of her extraordinary kindness, which isn’t something I encounter often at my local stores these days. Usually, I’m lucky if I can get a clerk to make eye contact. More often, they’re absorbed in their phones, barely acknowledging customers.
But Johnny was different. “Hello, how are you tonight?” she asked. It was refreshing. It felt like a real interaction when we chatted about the upcoming snowstorm. Yet, as I observed her, a wave of sadness washed over me.
Like many in that town, she was significantly overweight, not just a little chubby but dangerously so. Her body was clearly struggling, and her clothes seemed to do little to hide that. She was trying to navigate her identity in this complex social environment.
Reflections on Identity
There’s no way to confuse her with a boy; her voice and demeanor were distinctly feminine. She was genuinely sweet and polite, a girl on the brink of womanhood who, I fear, might never fully experience it. I found myself wondering how soon she’d undergo “top surgery” or start taking testosterone.
I don’t know much about Johnny’s home life, but I can guess it hasn’t been easy. Even in a best-case scenario, it feels unlikely that her parents are providing solid guidance. I worry that no decent parent would encourage their daughter to undergo such drastic measures, which seems fundamentally unhealthy.
Too many in Vermont seem to be living in denial, genuinely believing that biological females can simply choose to be male. And they think the rest of us harbor racist tendencies, ready to target the very few Black residents in town.
The Role of Education
Once kids are in public school, they often encounter teachers who seemingly promote harmful ideas. In 2021, the Burlington School District asked high school students about their sexual orientation and gender identity. This, quite frankly, crosses a line into child abuse, and yet it’s accepted and normalized.
The survey results were eye-opening: around 30% identified as “LGBTQ+.” Is it really possible that nearly a third of students are non-heteronormative? It’s hard not to feel alarmed by this.
With influences from parents, teachers, and others who should know better, kids like “Johnny” are at a serious disadvantage.
Personal Reflection
If I had been born thirty years later, I might have faced similar struggles as Johnny. My childhood was chaotic—growing up without a father and a stepfather who was abusive. It led to a lot of emotional scars, which I still carry. By thirteen, I was diagnosed with PTSD.
I recall one day in sixth grade feeling completely detached while walking to school. It’s difficult to put into words, but I felt numb. I even colored my lips with a crayon, as if to feel something—anything. A thoughtful teacher noticed and reached out, asking about my state, which was a rare moment of care.
Challenges in Today’s Society
I fear today’s young people don’t have the kind of adults who would notice them in that way. In a world where norms have been turned upside down, love can be mistaken for violence, and men are often conflated with women.
It’s troubling to think about how someone might have cared deeply for Johnny at some point, wanting to understand what she was going through. But these days, speaking out about such concerns often results in being labeled as a bigot or a predator. Caring teachers who want to intervene risk losing their jobs and facing public backlash.
This is an unsettling reality, and even now, as I share this, I feel the weight of scrutiny. We are in a dangerous place, driven by a culture of self-absorption and deceit.
As Johnny left the store with her purchases, I had to swallow my emotions and remind myself to breathe. I wished desperately that I could step in, be a parental figure, and help her. I find myself praying for her well-being, not knowing if anyone else will. Will you join me in this prayer?
