I recently had a conversation with my Slavic mother that shows just how many hoops a hateful mindset will jump through to fit its narrative.

Mother: “You really can’t trust [slur for Romani people]! They’re all shifty scammers! You’d see a lot of them growing up in Serbia. They’d go door-to-door asking if you had anything broken, like an umbrella, and offer to fix it.”

Me: “And then not fix it? Or steal it?”

Mother: “No, they’d fix the umbrella and bring it back to you afterwards.”

Me: “Okay… so… They genuinely fixed broken things? No shoddy work or anything?”

Mother: “Exactly!”

Me: “And… how is that shifty or a scam? They’re just being helpful…”

Mother: “No, you don’t understand! They’d come back and expect you to pay them!”

Me: “Well, yeah. They offered a service, and you’re supposed to pay for services. That’s how they make their money.”

Mother: “No, it was a bad thing! Them fixing broken things was bad!”

Me: “…How?!”

Mother: “If you can’t understand, there’s no point in trying to explain it to you!”

My mother huffed away angrily. This is the same woman who once said:

Mother: “[Slur for the Romani] people don’t want to work! They’re lazy!”

Me: “If one of them came and asked to work for you, would you employ them?”

Mother: “No, they can’t be trusted!”

Me: “How are they lazy if they’re willing to work, but no one will employ them? That sounds like the problem is the system, not the people.”

Mother: “NO! The problem is with the [slur] people! They can’t be employed because they can’t be trusted, then walk around with their hands out expecting handouts!”

I look around at how People of Color are treated in the USA, and realize that the only thing that changes in the conversation is which slur the racists use. Everything else is identical. 

Sadly, there was no point in pointing out the double standards in her logic, and of course, she would never see or acknowledge them herself.

My older brother is what you would consider an adrenaline junkie. He’s jumped off of planes, bridges, etc. He’s jumped out of a helicopter to start a ski descent. He’s crazy in my opinion, but he’s happiest in those kinds of environments, so each to their own. 

My mom and brother are in the kitchen, talking about something boring.

Older Brother: “…so that’s why I think it’s a good investment. All my friends agree.”

Mom: “Hmph! So you do whatever your friends do, huh? If they all jumped off a cliff, would you jump after them?”

Older Brother: “Uh, already have, Mom.”

Related:
Taking The High Ground

When my husband, two small children, and I moved into our new house and had finished unpacking all of our stuff, we had a bunch of cardboard boxes to get rid of. My dad, who was staying with us at the time, said:

Dad: “[Charity] could use those.”

I called them, and they said they’d pick them up by the end of the day.

Charity: “All you have to do is leave them outside.”

That sounded good to us, so we flattened all the boxes, placed them at the end of our driveway, and weighted them down with a big rock to prevent them from blowing away.

The following morning, they were still there. Same with the morning after that. Dad called the charity again, and they promised that they’d definitely come pick up the boxes the following day. They didn’t, and my husband and I had had enough by this point. Between moving, two small kids, and full-time jobs, we had a million things to do and didn’t need this runaround. I told Dad that I’d just recycle the boxes.

Well, that didn’t please him one iota.

Dad: “I promised the charity they could have them! I can’t go back on my word! I’ve got the perfect solution. You and I can load them into your car and drive them to the charity’s offices downtown. It’ll only take an hour or two.”

He was shocked when I bluntly refused.

Me: “I’m far too busy to do that, Dad. If you want to deliver them, you do it.”

Dad: “I’m not comfortable driving your car.”

Me: “Then call the charity again! I’m trying to do them a favour by giving them free boxes. The least they can do is keep their word about coming to pick them up.”

He called the charity again. They assured him they’d pick up the boxes by the end of the day. They didn’t, and it rained overnight, making the boxes soggy and useless, so, they ended up in the recycling bin anyway. Dad was extremely peeved with me.

Dad: “If only you’d been reasonable and delivered them as I suggested, they wouldn’t have been wasted!”

I get a call from my mother-in-law:

Mother-In-Law: “My Outlook is no longer downloading my emails!”

Me: “What is it doing?”

Mother-In-Law: “Nothing! Come and fix it!”

Me: “No messages or anything popping up?”

Mother-In-Law: “Nothing! Come and fix it!”

I sigh and once again curse the fact that my family sees me as free tech support because I helped install someone’s printer once.

I go to my in-law’s house and ask my mother-in-law to show me what she’s doing. There was an error message as Outlook started, but she dismissed it before I could read it.

Me: “Okay, restart Outlook and this time don’t click the ‘OK’ button so I can read the message.”

The message said that her version of Outlook was no longer compatible with Gmail and would not be able to connect, as well as what steps to take to continue to use Gmail with Outlook.

I just gave her a disappointed look and walked away, with the error message still on the screen.

Mother-In-Law: “Don’t you give me that look!”

Me: “Why? That’s the look you always give me.”

Mother-In-Law: “I asked you for your help!”

Me: “I already did, by making you read the message on screen, the one you said wasn’t popping up. It literally told you it wasn’t going to work and told you how to fix it, and you ignored it.”

I went home after that to fix dinner for my kids. Apparently, she called my husband after I left because he came home laughing, saying, “So you made my mom mad by forcing her to read?”

I’m doing some food shopping with my son. Note that I have been single since I divorced his mom five years ago, because I’ve been focused on raising him.

While pushing the cart around, I spot a woman I used to work with and say hello to her. We chat briefly, and she gives my son a smile and says hello to him too, explaining that when he asks, we used to work together. After we part ways, my son waits until she’s out of earshot.

Son: “She seems nice.”

Me: “Yes, she’s very sweet.”

Son: “She’s pretty, too.”

Me: *Seeing where this is going.* “She’s married. And a lesbian.”

Son: “Are you sure?”

Me: “Yes. I’ve met her wife.”

Son: “Some people like both, you know.”

Me: “[Son], I know you’re just looking out for me, but I don’t think I’ll ever be so lonely that I need a ten-year-old wingman to help me flirt with my gay, married ex-coworker at a [Warehouse Store], okay?”