Fan, meet s**t. S**t, meet fan.
Well, the conversation I expected with my mom has finally commenced. She forwarded me a bizarre little Paul Harvey screed about “poor, oppressed Christians can’t even say ‘merry Christmas’ anymore without being threatened with legal action”, and I fired back a long email to her telling her in no uncertain terms that religion as a topic is now absolutely verboten between she and I, that I’ve spent the last twenty-plus years not intruding my beliefs on hers (or anyone else’s, for that matter), and that it’s high time I got the same respect.
When my dad and I had the same sort of talk over a different subject–ultimately winding up with me telling him, quote, “Look me in the eye and tell me that I’m the fuckup you keep treating me as”–Dad admitted that I was right and that I did deserve more respect than he was showing me.
We’ll see what happens here.