I used to live in a neighborhood where we had lots of door to door Mormons. I pride myself on being open minded and being willing to listen to your side of the story. So, I let them talk. I know they're doing what they're supposed to be doing and because I have family members who are Mormons, I understand that this phase of their religion is the hardest. In the end, I tell them I'm atheist, I have no desire to learn about Jesus as it's already been shoved down my throat as a child (raised Christian, not Mormon). I take their handouts, wish them luck in their mission and tell them that they'll have better luck somewhere else. I'm always kind and courteous to them, as they were to me. I'm not one to condone vicious pranks and slamming doors in their faces just for doing what they're raised to do.

When I was growing up, I observed my mother inviting the proselytizer door knockers in. There were many of them during the 50s and 60s. She would talk with them, very politely, very intelligently, asking them questions, leading them where she wanted...deftly, artfully, amazingly. They would leave, every one of them, disgruntled, irritated, angry. When they were gone, she would softly chuckle and shake her head.

I would like to think that she helped some of them shuffle off the coils of religious doctrination.

I liked her a great deal. She was a horrible mother but a pretty amazing individual.

Pin 'em down to details, ask for testable falsifiable evidence also point out that a bronze age book of myths does not count as evidence.