A couple days ago, I chortled and tried to land a now old chestnut as far as Enby jokes are concerned. While I don't see myself as such, the linguistics behind the jokes are still funny, so I was happy to innocently lob it over supper.
"Hey Mom, how does someone tell a waiter that their non-binary friend is going to foot the bill for the meal?"
Confusion immediately washed over my parents' faces, and I immediately wished I hadn't had that bright idea. Still, she was enough of a good sport, and settled with sighing and asking me how. I'd forgotten I not only was dealing with people who have a solid generational gap between their Progressive policies and mine, but also a language barrier. I'd started the joke in French, figuring that their functional command of English would catch on. It obviously didn't.
"They'll pay," I said in English, trying to channel a bit of churning supervillain-worthy rage.
That's when Dad blew his gasket. I won't give you the full rundown, you all know someone in their early sixties who's just ever so slightly behind modern identitarian politics, and who just doesn't see the essentiality of choosing one's own pronouns, let along the potential for jokes this opens up. He clearly wanted to open that can of worms while simultaneously not wanting to hear about the specifics, so I just waved that aside and let him have his two minutes of Overton Window-shifting. He can rant about the local non-conformist artist clique and how "kids don't know what they are anymore" all he wants, I've learned to disengage when he reaches that state.
It's funny how's yesteryear's hippies who sacrificed everything so a disadvantaged kid could end up writing ad copy for fifty-six dealerships and six manufacturers can just lock up as soon as Society takes a few steps beyond their originally-set goalposts. Mom stood by a lesbian friend of hers back when she was in her twenties and participated in Pride rallies, and now she's just - blinking dazedly at the notion that we might have progressed enough to realize there's more to certain cases of dysphoria than simply being gay.
I wish I remembered my sources, but I do have some recall of a Science communicator on YouTube explaining to their viewers that forming new pathways in the brain becomes increasingly demanding, as you get older. New concepts, new ideas, even those that might seem obvious to youngsters or relative youngsters like myself, get harder to grasp. It also goes with the notion that your interests get locked in with time, and that finding a new passion or hobby demands an increasing upfront cost in energy.
I'm not annoyed, so much as I'm sad for them. Imagine having to become so defensive in regards to what began as a casual topic...