Love and Protest

So let me put it this way. Imagine a brave hero dies saving your mom in the line of duty. Maybe a police officer. Maybe a fire fighter. Whatever. A hero. Saves your mom.

Now image a few years later, your mom picks you up from the airport for Thanksgiving dinner. And she’s drunk. And she’s driving and you smell the alcohol and you’re like, “Mom! Are you drunk?” and she just gives you a dirty look and changes the subject.

And then you find out that she doesn’t even have a licence anymore. And you’re like, “Mom – Holy Shit! You gotta stop this!” But she won’t listen.

And finally, the family’s all there and dinner is served and you’re not supposed to start unpleasant conversations at the Thanksgiving table – family rules – but you just can’t help yourself. So with everyone sitting at the table you say, “Mom, I love you, but you’ve got to get help and you have stop driving until you do!”

Gasps. Silence. Your mom’s face turns red.

Suddenly, your mom pounds her fists on the table. Glasses spill. She rises from her seat. She points a shaky finger at you and yells, “Have you no respect? How dare you dishonor that hero who died so we could have this dinner!”

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