Confrontational

There is a distant relation who emails me – albeit infrequently – terrible dirrrty jokes, warnings about the lead that might be in my lipstick, instructions for women on how to get to our cars safely, “pass this on and you will be blessed by an angel in 2 days and save the lives of 42 puppies,” you know the drill. Everybody knows somebody like this. Well, everyone knew somebody like this 10 years ago; maybe everyone else’s somebody like this has long since wised up. Dunno.

This morning the man is on FIRE! I have had 5 emails from him; one about the beauty of women over 30, courtesy of Andy Rooney, god help us all, one consisting of badly altered photos where a lot of “eh” had been added and the subject line was “If Canada Ruled the World.” Two that I have already mostly forgotten (something about eye colour and sex drive?). And one snotty little piece imploring Canadians to – and I’m paraphrasing – “go to a foreign country to live and then demand they change to suit you” implying that “immigrants sure got it good in our country and it’s at our expense!” and stating outright that Canada is – this is a direct quotation – “Canada, Land of the naive and stupid, idiotic politically correct politicians.”

Usually I just delete. Delete, go wash my hands, think about this particular distant relative for a few minutes, be glad I don’t live in the same province as him and that our relationship is so distant and get on with my day. But today I want to write back. I want to tell him he is an ass. I want to tell him he is a racist and a hypocrite because I know his lineage and he ain’t part of no First Nation. I want to take it too far and tell him he’s one of the smarmiest short men (oh, you know it’s true) I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting let alone being related to and I’ve seen him looking at my boobs and those aviator sunglasses don’t make him cool and he has a drinking problem that he should probably address sooner rather than later, considering his family history and he’s not as fun at parties as he thinks he is.

But instead I think I will delete the email. Because none of the above will engage him in a productive debate – hell, even pointing out the racism inherent in the email he sent won’t do that – or change his mind. (And if you can’t change somebody’s mind, what’s the point? See below for more on this.)

Is that crapping out? Would it be more significant to write back and say, “I don’t share your views; please stop emailing me; hope you and your wife are well; take care” and then I don’t have to worry about reading his emails anymore and feeling uncomfortable?

On the other hand, when I receive emails like this, or have conversations with people outside my usual sphere, people who think different things than me, it keeps me aware of the differences between people; that not everyone thinks like me. Like when I used to get petitions to sign to ban the homosexual agenda from my other relatives, I never responded, just was aware that the anti-homosexual agenda is still real and as close as a bloodline away.

But who will tell him that not everyone thinks like him? I find it valuable to know that I’m one person who thinks one way and he is one who thinks another. But by not responding, am I perpetuating his idea that I’m just like him? I think I will write back and say I disagree. Leave it at that.

It’s good to feel uncomfortable because it means I’m still aware. I’d rather be uncomfortable and aware than comfortable in my belief that everyone in the world is just like me. For example, I do know that not everyone loves midis – or Journey – like I do. I’m just testing your comfort zones.

In other news, I no longer have a cold, but I still must wrestle 17 lbs of snot from my nose every 30 minutes or so and am manufacturing it with a speed that would be more appropriate were the country’s factories run on snot instead of electricity and were the END TIMES fast approaching.

Why is the human body not smart enough to differentiate between the mucous membranes in different parts of the body? Am I going to birth this babby out my nose? No, I am not. Someone hone the gene or whatever that grows the mucous where it’s needed and stops it growing in my face. Or – let’s evolve more. Or something.