I knew it was gonna be one of THOSE days when James woke me up (I was in that groggy alarm-thumping stage that precedes waking, but isn’t quite sleep) by bouncing into the room and saying “I’ve just figured something out about creationists!”
“Oh, lord,” I said, sitting up. (I detest creationism as much as the next product of millions of years of hominid evolution, but going from zero to frothing rage is a hard way to enter consciousness.)
“It’s not about being right! It’s just about keeping the argument open and making it look as if there’s a question!”
“Congratulations,” I muttered, staggering into the bathroom.
“And also–it assumes everyone’s a Christian! I mean, I wouldn’t care if it was in the schools if they also taught, oh–you know–”
“Buddhism and Hindu creation myths,” I said automatically, groping for the toilet paper. “Father Raven creating the earth from tortoiseshells…”
“Yeah!”
“Uh-huh.”
There was a pause.
“There isn’t any real argument.”
“Nope.” I staggered to my desk. James followed me.
“They’re just trying to make it look as if there is one.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Because you don’t have to win the argument, you just have to make it look as if there iS an argument.”
“Ooo…coffeee….”
“That’s…that’s…
“Yeah, it sucks.”
In retrospect, I dunno if I should be glad this is obvious, or mildly horrified that I had failed so utterly to communicate this beforehand, but y’know.
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