Picture this: one beautiful Saturday morning, you’re making breakfast with your kids when the doorbell rings. Opening it, you meet two rather—um, striking characters sporting heavy eyeliner and shiny clothes. Well, one of them is wearing clothes. You’re averting your eyes from the other’s wardrobe.

“Hello,” the second visitor croons, “we’re here to teach your children!”

“Pardon?”

“Your kids. We’re here to spend time with them and teach them.”

“Teach them about what?”

“You know—how to express their individuality, rebel against authority, explore their sexuality, follow their own truth…”

At these words, you sense a nameless weight constricting your chest. Something feels dreadfully wrong.

“I’m sorry,” you gently respond, “but our children already have wonderful people discipling them. Have a lovely day though—”

“What do you *expletive deleted* mean?” the other newcomer asks,…