That’s because the “millions” you’d win were never contingent on you winning the game. You just made an oddly-specific bet with some really fucked up sports gamblers.

Unimplied fact: all babies in this scenario are likely to hurl, regardless of their (parents’) denomination.

The important thing is, you’re compelling people to examine their pre-existing beliefs. They won’t change their beliefs during your conversation, because deprogramming takes time. But the more seeds of doubt you plant, the better the chances are that some will germinate.

I find that the most effective way to encourage people to question themselves is to discuss things calmly and in good faith, through in-person conversations. Challenging people to “convert me” has been surprisingly fruitful - after all, I honestly would love to believe that a benevolent deity is looking out for us all. (As well, tons of believers would equally love to be the one who “shows [you or me] the light.”) I want them to provide compelling evidence that can change my mind.

Approaching the conversation in this fashion not only challenges the “missionary” types to think harder, but it also shifts the onus onto them to convince you. If they’ve never thought critically about their message, this kind of conversation may introduce questions that stick with them long after it’s over.

This idea the parents take most of the responsibility for the achievements of their children is absurd.

There’s also the flip-side of that attitude. It sure must feel nice for parents to be able to congratulate themselves when their kid excels, but what about when their kid has a disability or a developmental impairment? Who is responsible then?

It’s easy to be a parent when your kid acts and responds the way you want them to. Parents of neurodivergent kids can go above and beyond for their children, yet despite that they’ll still be given dirty looks and treated like pariahs when their overstimulated child has a public meltdown.

Kids aren’t raw lumps of clay that parents can mold to perfect shape. The best any parent can do is guide them toward success.

I haven’t seen the movies, but I feel like the majority of kids who play with Barbies inevitably make them marry and/or screw each other. I had like 20 female dolls and only two male dolls, so I wasn’t sure how else I was supposed to “pair” them off.

I remember this progress as a kid. Nothing was taught until after I did something wrong. It ended up discouraging me from trying, because every time I did something that I thought was “right,” my mom complained about it.

At first the rule was “put dirty dishes in the sink.”

Then when I put dishes in the sink, the complaint became, “Why did you put dishes in the sink without washing them?”

So then I learned to wash dishes, and set them in the drying rack. To which my mom would complain, “Why are there dishes in the drying rack? You should put them away.”

Okay, so I washed and put dishes in the cabinets. “Why are the dishes all wet?”

…

How about teaching kids each step beforehand, instead of complaining that they don’t magically know/do everything?

While we’re at it, is it too much to ask for leniency in some instances of tone? It’s not my fault my autistic brain can’t hear the way my words come out. I overcompensate in work and in public by going “into character” as someone very cheery and positive - because any less than that inevitably leads to my “tone” overshadowing the content of my speech. My line of work requires my bosses to be knowledgable about autism, and I’ve even told my manager that my tone does not reflect my emotions.

Yet if ever I get tired, overwhelmed, or simply have several new instructions thrown at me in a short amount of time, I’m left not only grappling with whatever I’m told to do, but my facade slips and I also get a talking to about “my tone.” I’m sorry, I do my best to control how I speak, but despite living over 30 years on this planet I still struggle with this “basic” aspect of communication. Holding it against me won’t solve anything, but it will contribute to my social anxiety and the sense that I simply don’t belong in society.