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On election eve

When I was in college, I made a deal with a very liberal, very good friend of mine.  We agreed that, if either of us ever gets elected to high office, he would hire the other as an adviser so as to always have input from the other side.

I am worried about our country, because I fear that kind of respect for other philosophies is losing steam.

I am worried because I read stories about threats of rioting, should Barack Obama lose the election. And because I've seen and heard how frightened and angry people in western Kansas are, about the prospect of President Obama winning.

I am worried because a friend of mine told me, the other day, that his brother won't speak to him anymore because of their political disagreement.

I hope my point will not be mistaken, here. I stand by every bad word that I have said or written about Obama (and I've said and written a lot of them).

Four years ago, I called candidate Obama a horse's ass, and today I realize that my words were the greatest insult ever levied against the equine posteriors of the earth. "Voting is the best revenge." Really? Revenge? What is wrong with that man?

The point is, I do not desire a Kumbaya moment, where we all hold hands and agree that the truth is "somewhere in between" the two major philosophical visions in America.

Really, I just hope most of us will realize, in the coming week, that there are good people who have sincere — and respectable — differences of philosophy.  That's easy for me.

I think about my pre-law professor in college: A woman who used to smile at me while she told me I was wrong about whatever social policy was on her mind a the time, in polite conversations.  She's the same person who inspired me to go to law school.

I think about my college buddy, the one I made my deal with.

I think about a law school friend of mine, with whom I talked on the day the Obamacare opinion came down from the Supreme Court.  She was happy about the ruling, but she told me, "Sorry."

And I think about my brother and his wife. They joked, earlier this year, that they would put up two signs in their front yard: One for Obama, and one for Mitt Romney.

Tonight, on election eve, I will pray for that same type of respect, the same type of grace, to be widespread tomorrow night. I pray that Americans will not view each other with hatred, or anger, that they will not seek "revenge" after the votes are counted.

America is better than that.

The Best Man's Embarrassing Speech

At my brother's wedding on Saturday, I proposed the following toast:

Jared is my brother and my best friend.

— When we were in high school, Jared shot me in the hip with a .44 magnum.

— When I was about 13, Jared shot me in the eye with a paintball gun.

— When I was 3 years old, Jared hit me in the head with a baseball bat.  I still have a scar.  I immediately dropped to the ground.  And Jared immediately realized that Mom had been watching, and that he was busted.

So Jared looked at Mom.  And then he pointed at me, laying on the ground.  And he said, "That was his fault."

— As you can probably guess, I have a lot to say about Jared.

— Growing up out in the country, there weren't many other kids around to play with, so Jared and I had to invent our own fun.  We had squirt gun wars, and BB gun shooting contests, and full-contact wrestling matches on the trampoline.

— We played a million football games in the yard, Jared and I, and sometimes our cousin Cody.  In fact, we still play football games in the yard.  Every year at Thanksgiving, Jared and I team up against Catelyn and our cousin Kayla.  So far, Jared and I are undefeated.

— We had sword fights with metal fenceposts.  We could never figure out why Mom and Dad didn't want us to play that game.

— Once, we built a catapult together. He did most of it, but I like to take credit.

— Jared and I shared books, movies, video games, music. We played cards, and chess.  We watched obscure TV shows deep into the night.  We spent evenings fishing on the Arkansas River, just him and me, and early mornings hunting geese and pheasants.  We played together on the same high school baseball and football teams.

— We've shared deep conversations about about politics, about God and religion, about history, about the meaning of life.

— We've talked with each other, often over a stiff drink, about the girl problems that both of us have had.  Since Jared started dating Anjali, he has never come to me for advice about women.  He has never called me to vent, or to blow off steam about her.  Not once.  So I could tell long ago that this was going to go well for him.

In fact, over the last few years, many of our relatives have asked me: Is Jared gonna marry that girl?  Every time, I had the same answer: He better, because she is way nicer and way better looking than he is.

I'm a single man, so I can't stand here and tell you in my own words how great and wonderful marriage is.  Because, in my own words, I wouldn't know.  So I'll rely on one of my favorite philosophers, and I know he is one of Jared's favorite philosopher's also: John Wayne.  He said:

"All the gold in the United States treasury, and all the harp music in heaven, can't equal what happens between a man and a woman, with all that growin' together.  I can't explain it any better than that."

I am so happy that Jared found someone as perfect as Anjali is to share that with him.  Anjali, you are a beautiful bride in all three of your costumes, and it is an honor to have you join our family.

And Jared, thank you for all of the things that you have done with me over the last 30 years. And thank you for all of the things that you have done to me.  And thank you for letting me share this special day with you and Anjali our families.

Cheers.

It doesn't get said enough

Maybe it's odd that I have such fond memories of a pickup.

But I love telling stories about the 1978 F-150 my Dad used to drive. It was brown, with a yellowish roof. Straight cab, one bench seat, four-speed manual transmission. They don't build them like that anymore.

Dad bought that truck used, just a few months before I was born. Then, in mid-March of 1984, a blizzard hit southeast Colorado. A weird blizzard. Thunder cracked, lightning struck, and snow fell and blew everywhere. If not for that truck's ground clearance and four-wheel-drive, I would have been born in the living room.

I don't particularly remember all of those details, since some of them took place before my eyes opened. But I've heard my parents talk about them. Maybe they've taken on a special legend in my mind.

I do, however, remember some other things about that truck.

I remember a dent that my brother Jared and I left, inadvertently, on the outside of the bed. We were little, and had been playing in the back end one evening. We strung Dad's heavy log chain over the side, and forgot about it. We left it there overnight, not knowing what it would do.

The next evening, when Dad got home from work, he took Jared and I out to the driveway. He showed us where the metal had caved in a bit under the weight of the chain. He told us why our mistake had caused the damage. He made certain we knew he was not happy about it. And then he never mentioned it again.

I also remember what that old Ford did to one — the only one — Tonka truck that Jared and I had. Our parents constantly warned us not to leave our toys in the driveway, but one day we did. The next morning when Dad left for work, he didn't see it on the ground and drove over the top of it.

Jared and I were sad. We even cried. We begged them to, but Mom and Dad held firm and refused to replace the toy. For one thing, we didn't have the money for new Tonka trucks. For another, they had warned us not to leave our toys in the driveway. I'll never forget that lesson.

* * *

That old pickup kept running. More than once, it outlasted a radio and Dad had to replace it with one bought from a junkyard. Dad went through seat cover after seat cover. But the truck kept running. There was a hole in the floor, where the clutch ran from the pedal down into the engine. Over time, that hole grew from about the size of a quarter to a few inches wide. We could see the highway speed by underneath. But season after season, and year after year, that truck kept running. So many of my childhood memories involve that pickup. But the strongest happened a few years later, when I was in high school.

One winter, the heater quit.

A lesser man would have taken on unwise debt and purchased a new car. Dad didn't. He didn't even dump a bunch of money into repairing or replacing the heater.

Instead, he started using a tarp. Every evening when he got home from work, he closed one end of the tarp into the driver's side door, stretched the tarp across the windshield, and closed the other end in the passenger's side door. He could handle driving a few miles to work every day in the cold, and that tarp saved him from having to scrape ice in the morning.

* * *

My parents both grew up in tiny houses just outside of small towns, in conditions that can only be described as impoverished.

Dad was the oldest of six siblings. I've heard him tell stories about how cold his bedroom occasionally got in the winter: Some nights, a glass of water would freeze solid on his bed-side stand. They raised chickens so they had something to eat. He helped his dad load and haul hay for 10 cents a bail. If his mom hadn't had credit at the grocery store, I've heard him say, there were times when they would have starved.

Sometimes, Dad still talks about those years when he worked 90 hours a week, manufacturing asphalt and driving a truck. When his dad died in a workplace accident, Dad bought clothes for his siblings, so they had something fit to wear to a funeral.

When I was a baby, Dad started working for the county road department. It didn't pay very well, but that job let him have more time at home with his kids than his job at the asphalt manufacturer did. Every single day of my life, he has held a job that required him to work overtime, all the time. And I learned a long time ago not to "dream of a white Christmas," like a lot of people do, because a white Christmas means snow, and snow means Dad might have to go to work plowing the roads. I'll always take a snow-free Christmas, with Dad getting to stay home with us.

Mom was one of four children, living in a three bedroom, cinderblock house. She moved away from home as a teenager, to flee an abusive mother. She attended community college for one year, until she got married and moved to Colorado, where she could no longer afford the tuition.

When I was very young, she taught me how to read. After my younger sister started school, Mom got a full time job — in addition to the three part-time jobs that she had held forever — at the County Appraiser's office. For most of my life, and until last year, she worked four jobs. She still works three.

For more than a decade, we lived in a single-wide trailer house. As it aged, it fell apart. We used floor mats to mark the spots where we couldn't walk — so as to avoid falling through the floor. Every winter, Dad stacked hay bails around the outside of the house to keep the water and gas lines from freezing.

Instead of purchasing new work boots, Dad repaired his old ones with duct tape. For family vacations, we visited his cousin in Colorado. We had three channels on TV, and almost never ate out. We grew vegetables in the garden and canned them, so we could eat them through the winter. I wore hand-me-down clothing from my much-larger brother. (To this day, I like clothing to fit loosely. Mom says that's because I got used to it when I was young.)

But over time, my parents climbed. They scrimped and saved, scratched and clawed, kept going to work, kept raising three children, paid attention to their finances, didn't spend more than they had, repaired things instead of buying new ones. Deliberately, honestly, smoothly, over the years, they climbed. From their impoverished childhoods, they pulled themselves into the lower-middle-class that we lived in during my early childhood, and later, to the middle-middle-class I enjoyed by the time I reached high school. Then I graduated and went to college at Fort Hays State University.

My parents chipped in what they could to help me get by, and they provided a safety net. But I needed scholarships and student loans. I also worked every summer, and during the school years. I lifeguarded. I worked for KDOT, flagging traffic at road work zones and weed-eating around highway signs. I drove a tractor. One summer, I worked for Wal-Mart, pushing shopping carts in from the parking lot.

After five years I earned a history degree. As far as I can tell, I was the second Manly ever to graduate from college. (My brother, I think, was the first. Today he's an engineer. And my sister Catelyn, I think, was the third. Now, she's a high school math teacher.)

I worked as a reporter for the Hays Daily News for a few years. Then I enrolled in law school at KU. More student loans, more scholarships, more part-time work in the summer (and for the past year, also during school), and the GI Bill have helped pay for my legal education. And again, my parents helped where they could.

On Saturday, I will graduate from law school.


* * *

This story is my attempt to pay tribute to my parents, and to America. Tribute to my parents because they have done everything that anybody could reasonably ask of them — actually, much more than that — so that their children could have things a bit better than they did. Tribute to America because it worked.

In America, scrimping and saving and sacrificing can lead to something great. One generation's socioeconomic status and education level holds no bearing on what the next generation can accomplish. If parents work hard and make good decisions, their children can have things better than they did.

In America, anyone can go to school. Almost anyone committed to it can get a college education. By making the right choices, anyone with the brains can go to law school. It doesn't matter if your parents were lawyers or if they were day laborers.

In America, it doesn't matter if a boy grew up poor. It doesn't matter if his dad works overtime every day, and his mom works four jobs, just to make ends meet. It doesn't matter if they lived for years in a single-wide trailer house with holes in the floor, or if they couldn't afford a car that had a heater. In America, if that boy's parents raise him well, and if they make good decisions, when he grows up he can become anything he sets his mind to. In America, if parents work hard, their children can have things a bit better than they did.


* * *

Lately — I think this is because of the crossroads that I am about to reach — I've been contemplating life. I think about where I started, and where I have reached. Today, I sit at the bottom of a heap of debt, and if we weigh what I still have to learn against what I already know, what I still have to learn would clearly be the more massive side of the scale.

But I'm young, I'm healthy, I'm capable, and — because of the things my parents did for me, and because rising is America's greatest virtue — I have a fighting chance.

I think about my physical and mental talents, about my physical and mental health. For that, I'm thankful to God.

I think about the values I've been taught, and the advantages that I've been handed. For that, I'm thankful to my parents.

And I think about where my parents came from, and where I've been over the last 28 years, about where I can go in the rest of my life. I know there is no limit. For that, I'm thankful to the United States of America.


* * *

In those days when I worked as a newspaper reporter, I sometimes reviewed movies. My colleagues told me I was the harshest critic on the staff. Of all of the movies I ever reviewed, I only ever gave two A's. One movie that got one was Charlie Wilson's War, starring Tom Hanks.

He played a congressman who used his unique position on a handful of relevant congressional committees to arrange for the weapons that the Mujahideen used to defeat the Soviet Union in Afghanistan. Other than a small handful of John Wayne's very best works, it is my favorite movie.

I'm particularly fond of one scene, which takes place just after Congressman Wilson has made the dramatic decision that he will champion the cause of the Afghans against the Soviet army. He's on a plane ride with a young aide, and he tells her about his first foray into politics. He describes a day when he was 13, and a neighbor — a member of the city council — viciously killed his dog. To win revenge, the young Mr. Wilson used his learner's permit to drive 96 otherwise disenfranchised voters to the polls on the next election day, where he dutifully told them about his neighbor's brutal behavior before they voted.

Then, with satisfaction, he tells about how the neighbor lost the election by 16 votes. Then he said: "And that's the day I fell in love with America."

It's a beautiful scene, in an excellent movie, based on a beautiful — and true — story. It's one of my favorite movie lines: "And that's the day I fell in love with America."

But my own experience is a little bit different. Every day I think about the place I am in life, the challenges that my parents have faced, and the opportunities now available to me. I think about how poor people can work hard and make good choices, and then their children can grow up to go to college, to go to law school, to accomplish anything imaginable.

I think about what my parents did for me and my siblings. And I think about how remarkable it is that their efforts worked. That doesn't happen everywhere in the world.

I think about how, in America, there is no limit to human accomplishment. I think about my dad driving a pickup — in the 21st century — that had a hole in the floor and no heat. I think about my mom, to this day still working three jobs. I think about every chance that I have had, and everything I can accomplish.

And every single day, I fall in love with America again.

Not bad, Newt

Newton Leroy Gingrich was the last national leader to cut government. If we nominate him, he will guarantee us an entertaining (tho that is not necessarily for the best) race through November. He made a fine speech tonight, after he won the South Carolina primary.

T-Paw, 2012

Today, I'm rooting for this guy. I think he stands out in the field.

Say 'Yes' to Mitch Daniels

I saw a Tweet from Mark Levin, whom I respect greatly. He said: "just say no to Mitch Daniels," because he didn't like some things said about Indiana's governor. I think he's wrong. I hope this guy runs for president.

Worth a watch

Say what you will about Newt Gingrich. We know, at a minimum, he passes this test.

A guy who gets it

Governor Chris Christie of New Jersey is the kind of guy who will save the country.

I'm not talking about a presidential election. He's said repeatedly that he won't run for that office next year, and he's too young and inexperienced to be ready for it anyway. But there are several good governors — including Bobby Jindal, Haley Barbour, Mitch Daniels — who are doing the work that we need in every state.

We need more like him in state capitals, and in congress, and in the White House.

Happy Reagan Centennial

One hundred years ago today, Ronald Reagan was born in Tampico, Illinois. He was one of a rare few (even among men who have been elected president of the United States) who dramatically altered the course of human history, and for the better.

What occurs in this video is sometimes referred to as "The Speech." If you haven't seen it, or just haven't seen it for awhile, it's worth a half hour of your time.

Shortly after it aired, a group of California businessmen embarked on a long and (eventually) successful mission to convince Mr. Reagan to run for governor. Once he did, Americans began electing him to office as enthusiastically as they could. Over the following 25 years, Ronald Reagan saved the world.

Cheers to Shannon Sharpe

It's a rare occasion when I feel compelled to pour the good whiskey. Shannon Sharpe's election to the Pro Football Hall of Fame qualifies. He re-defined the game, and he was one of the funniest players I've ever watched.

Free at last

Free at last. Free at last. Thank God Almighty, we're free at last.

Video from The Denver Post:

They've proven their manhood; he never will

We have seen the face of cowardice, and it is Michael Wolfensohn. Worse, Mr. Wolfensohn is everything that's wrong in America.

A member of the town board in New Castle, New York, Mr. Wolfensohn (mbwolf@town.new-castle.ny.us) saw a great threat to his community last month. So, as Faulkner would say, he vanquished it, horse and foot.

The city councilman's victory, the great threat he defeated, the cancer from which he saved his poor, helpless, unsuspecting subjects, is astonishing. He beat down two 13-year-olds who were selling cookies.

More comical, and instructive of the character that we're dealing with, is the way Mr. Wolfensohn did it: He called the cops.

Kevin Graff, Andrew DeMarchis, Zachary Brass, and Daniel Katz, all young teenagers, demonstrated remarkable foresight and initiative, according to a local newspaper: The four boys started selling cupcakes, cookies, and other baked sweets in the park. They planned to use their earnings to grow the business, and eventually open their own restaurant.

It is unclear whether four 13-year-olds would have followed through to the degree necessary to run a restaurant. But we know these young men had already expanded their business to include beverages, and they'd made a capital investment, in the form of a cart for carrying product. The only thing that stopped them was a low-life politician and an (apologetic) police officer. Mr. Wolfensohn's words: "The police are trained to deal with these sorts of issues." Really? In 2009, more than 2,500 rapes were committed in New York state, and Mr. Wolfensohn would have us believe his state's police academies are teaching recruits to deal instead with black-market Rice Krispies treats.

The boys didn't have a license, said Mr. Wolfensohn. Neither did George Washington. It could have been dangerous, said Mr. Wolfensohn. Business, and life, are rarely not dangerous. A park use permit requires $1 million in insurance, said Mr. Wolfensohn. I wish I was exaggerating that number.

If this standard applied to all entrepreneurs, today we would not have Macintosh computers, television sets, McDonald's cheeseburgers (or, cheeseburgers), iPods, Napa valley wine, the forward pass in football (or, football), flight, or any of the other fine things that Americans have invented and sold for profit and fun.

These days in America, liberals go ballistic when conservatives want to put a 99-week cap on unemployment checks. They throw a hissy-fit when anyone suggests that a man's health insurance is his own responsibility. They whine and cry and jump up and down, stamping their feet like a misbehaving 2-year-old, at any suggestion that human beings are capable of living life.

In contrast, these kids wanted to work hard, to provide for themselves, to plan ahead, to build something they could be proud of by providing valuable products to consumers in their community. Better yet, they were doing it! And this blithering idiot reported them to the police.

Though just 13, these four teenagers have proven that their manhood; I doubt Mr. Wolfensohn ever will.

One headline about the story: "Michael Wolfensohn Hates American Dream, Cupcakes." That wasn't harsh enough. Mr. Wolfensohn, and his attitude, are killing the human spirit. According to the New Castle town government's web site, Mr. Wolfensohn is up for re-election in 2011. There have been few politicians in world history who more deserve to be thrown out of office (and that is saying something). If someone (anyone, actually) runs against him, I intend to contribute to their campaign.

Politics is getting poisonous

(Editorial note: I wanted to share an important idea before this year's election. I considered writing something new, but decided instead to renew this piece, which I originally published in April. If I could pick one thing in my archives that I'd like everyone to see, it's this.)

Prologue

I recently had a discussion with a friend about health care reform. I behaved impolitely, but my point stands. It went like this:

Me: Congress is going to blow $2 trillion on this drivel.

Friend: Good. They should spend $3 trillion! The more money we spend, the more people will have health insurance.

Me: Fine. Spend $3 trillion of your own [expletive] money. But when you think you have some moral right to spend my money on yourself, well there’s a special corner in Hell for people like you.

Friend: We have a policy disagreement, and you’re telling me to go to Hell!? Jesus, politics is getting poisonous.

Part 1

Over the last year my favorite columnist, Peggy Noonan, has chronicled the above phenomenon in her Wall Street Journal space. Her latest such piece read like a wise observer’s plea for someone in Washington to “lower the temperature” before it’s too late.

Last summer, when she listed three great threats America is likely to face over the next decade, she was more blunt:

First, economic depression. Second, a WMD attack against an American city. And third, “faint glimmers of actual secessionist movements as Americans for various reasons and in various areas decide the burdens and assumptions of the federal government are no longer attractive or legitimate.”

Part 2

A few days ago, another friend marched up to me, beaming, asking if I’d “heard the good news?” He then bragged about some daily tracking poll that, at that moment, indicated Obamacare was more popular after it passed than it was before, and that Congressional Democrats were surging after their victory.

I’m praying that all three of Ms. Noonan’s predictions prove incorrect. But for as long as there are people in America who hope Congress will blow $3 trillion instead of $2 trillion, and for as long as there are people who think it’s “good news” that theft and tyranny are more popular today than they were yesterday, I suspect the “faint glimmers of actual secessionist movements” will smolder and gain strength.

If you meet someone who says this is a good thing, you will know you have met a fool.

Part 3

One of my undergraduate history classes examined pre-Civil War-era America. Once, a classmate asked our professor exactly when the North-South divide began. I’ll never forget his answer. He said: Some settled Jamestown in 1607; then some settled Massachusetts in 1620. They grew apart from there.

In other words, America has been divided from the beginning, in some ways that are minor and some that are irreconcilable.

And, yet, Americans have built the freest, strongest, wealthiest, most generous, most upwardly mobile nation the world has ever seen.

The difference in values between Americans is striking, though it is not surprising. A lot of things are perfectly natural in San Francisco, but make no sense in Kansas. (The Golden Gate Bridge, for example. And Nancy Pelosi.)

This concept isn’t new. The Constitution’s framers were keenly aware that their document wouldn’t become law and couldn’t work unless it guaranteed dramatic autonomy for Americans in different parts of the country. Even in 1787, what worked for Boston wasn’t the same as what worked for Savannah. (Perhaps one is superior, but that point is irrelevant, and the one war that’s been fought to settle the question is one too many.)

Part 4

Americans are proud of their country, and rightfully so. (Texans often don’t see eye to eye with New Yorkers, but the average Texas Ranger and the average New York City firefighter probably share common feelings for al-Qaeda.) But America is a vast country, both in geography and in ideals. And we are an intellectually active country: Most of us have a vision of what works, and a vision of right and wrong, and they generally aren’t arbitrary.

America is too big and too diverse for central planning to work. Just as the colonies couldn’t be run from London, America cannot be run from Washington. That’s why we have dual sovereignty (a novelty among nations) between the federal government and the states. That radical, seemingly impossible notion was probably the greatest gift the Framers left the world. It enables America to flourish.

The Constitution lists a small, distinct, all-inclusive set of powers held by the U.S. government: International and interstate relations, coining money, granting patents, and protecting fundamental rights. And that’s about it. When the Constitution was amended for the first time with the Bill of Rights, the Tenth Amendment insisted that all other powers — those not specifically granted to the federal government — are affairs for the states.

This is not an accident.

Cowboys in Arizona don’t have much in common with attorneys in Boston. The average Floridian who fled Cuba probably doesn’t worship the same god as the average Californian who emigrated from Vietnam. Alaskan crab fishermen surely don’t understand the lifestyle of Pennsylvania mill workers. Yet all are countrymen. And they can get along because each is left to their own devices.

If the Bostonian followed the Arizonan from pasture to pasture, critiquing, we’d have a different story.

America has many beautiful aspects, and one of the most important is this: If a man doesn’t like state income taxes, he can move to Florida. If he’s morally opposed to the death penalty, he can move out of Texas and into Massachusetts. If he seeks a homosexual marriage, he can leave Kansas for Iowa. If that happens, we Kansas will stay out of his business. Even if we want to interfere, we’ll have no legal power to stop him because Iowa gets to make its own rules.

These are facts: In America, many of us think income taxes are repugnant, and many think they are necessary. In America, many of us are morally opposed to the death penalty in all cases, and many are morally opposed to the thought of it being unavailable. In America, many of us think marriage ought to be limited to one man and one woman, and many think a dude should be allowed to marry another dude.

That can work, but only in America.

Part 5

My friend was right about one thing: Politics is getting poisonous.

The anger is bubbling beneath the surface now, at a more dangerous rate than at any time in recent memory. As long as it stays beneath the surface, it’ll be just a passing story reported in contemporary news. But if it boils over, we’ll have ugly chapters to write in our history books.

This is because Kansans who oppose gay marriage do so with moral convictions matched only by those held by Iowans who embrace it.

So long as each state is allowed to decide for itself, neither has much reason to get upset. But in America today, that kind of decision is increasingly made at the national level. Obamacare is the newest example. When Massachusetts enacted its version of an individual mandate, it was within its rights to do so: The people of that state are empowered to oppose it politically, and if they fail (and if they decide it’s a deal-breaker) they’re free to move to New Hampshire.

I think Massachusetts’s program is too expensive, is unworkable, and is less noble than its supporters claim. But I don’t pay taxes in Massachusetts, and I don’t have to live there, so it’s none of my damn business.

Until Obamacare passed. Now it is my business. So are the elementary schools in Minnesota, after No Child Left Behind. Marijuana farms in California, too, because of the national War on Drugs. And the list goes on.

Part 6

America is not homogeneous. It is not uni-religious. It lacks a single, bland view of the world.

America is spicy, and some of the ingredients are incompatible. But so long as state sovereignty is enforced, the explosive combinations don’t mix. Unfortunately, those factions are being forced into each other and stripped of individuality by a federal government with an appetite “to help people” but not enough sense to see that many of us would rather fend for ourselves.

Politics is getting poisonous because ideas that are deeply revered by some of us, and equally repulsive to the rest, are enacted into national law, moments after one side wins an election. Politics is getting poisonous because there is more and more influence available; and most of us either resent the fact that it exists at all, or insist we can use that influence to save the world. Politics is getting poisonous because we are being forced to mind everyone else’s business (and they are being forced to mind ours).

Epilogue

Over the next generation, America might further nationalize. That would pit Americans against one another in ways that will, probably, lead to our destruction. Or, America might relax. It might breathe deeply, and take stock of how it has grown so rich and powerful, so fast, with so much diversity, so peacefully.

Politics is getting poisonous because, as the federal government does more and more, it exercises inappropriate influence at an unprecedented rate. There was a time when politics in Washington didn’t matter as much, when it had only limited influence over us.

That influence doesn’t seem limited anymore. If congressmen vote for a bill today (even if most of us told them not to), they harm us tomorrow, in ways that are clearer and more perceivable than ever before. I hope they learn as much, and soon.

A Message From Marco Rubio

It works as well for Ken Buck and Ryan Frazier in Colorado, Joe Miller in Alaska, Rand Paul in Kentucky, Ron Johnson in Wisconsin, Dino Rossi in Washington, and all of the other candidates who understand what America is.

He probably wished it was a Gatling gun

They told George Grier: "you're dead."

They said: "I'm gonna kill your family and your babies. You're dead."

He asked them to leave. Even said please.

And this exchange occurred after he'd alerted the authorities. He'd seen five men standing outside his house and he feared (reasonably so, it turns out) that they were members of the famously dangerous MS-13 international thug gang. (In that community, MS-13 has about 2,000 members — and it's just the "most" dangerous of the county's street gangs.) Mr. Grier had become so alarmed at the sight that he went back into his house and told his wife to call the police. Just in case, he also grabbed his AK-47. He probably wished it was a Gatling gun.

They didn't "please" leave. They called in reinforcements: 20 more thugs, hellbent on committing a random act of stupid brutality, appeared on his lawn, behaving as if they were going to rush him and invade his house.

So, after they threatened to murder his wife, after they said they'd kill his children, after they promised to kill him, after they refused to "please" leave his tiny lawn, after the trespassers defiantly dared him to open fire, Mr. Grier did. He fired warning shots.

As far as we can tell, the criminals went unscratched. Not a single complaint of damage to any property has been reported in the news. (Nor have any arrests of the would-be home invaders.)

But Mr. Grier, who has no criminal record and was extremely cooperative with police, was arrested and initially charged with felony reckless endangerment for firing his gun in self defense. (If he's convicted, federal law will prohibit him from owning a gun.)

Leftists swear up one side and down the other that they won't take away our guns. They just support "common sense" restrictions. To protect the children. Things like "assault weapons bans" and "child safety lock" requirements.

I wish I had the power to force every single gun control advocate in the world to read the story about Mr. Grier, the peaceful, polite homeowner who owned an AK-47, which saved his family when 25 crooks threatened to attack.

Actually, I wish I had the power to force them all into Mr. Grier's shoes, for just a few minutes.

A conversation with Haley Barbour

As chairman of the Republican Governor's Association, Haley Barbour is leading the fight to take this country back from the leftists. He's been doing that for years; he was chairman of the Republican National Committee in 1994 when Republicans won majorities in Congress for the first time in generations.

After Hurricane Katrina (which actually hit Mississippi harder than it hit Louisiana), he was one of the few elected officials in the country whose approval ratings did not plummet. In June of 2009 — when Mr. Barbour became chair of the RGA — I predicted the leftist establishment would begin a systematic effort to destroy him because he represents best hope for electing a conservative president. At the time, I really didn't think he had any interest in running. But today I do — and I'm not alone. (Today I make only this prediction: If he decides to run, I think he will win.) Here, one of the best governors in the country talks with Peter Robinson of The Hoover Institution.

Part 1
'The long-term view'



Part 2
'Governor's races count'



Part 3
The Lunatic Fringe



Part 4
'When I say cut spending, I mean cut spending'



Part 5
'I was a lobbyist and a pretty damn good one'

Jerry Moran: One of the good guys

My freshman year at Fort Hays State University, I was assigned to write a paper about a controversial topic. I picked "compulsory military service."

During my research, I decided to e-mail my representatives in Congress to ask if there was much chance of the idea being implemented into national law, and how they'd vote on it if the debate came to the floor.

The first response was from Sen. Sam Brownback: It was a short form letter thanking me for corresponding, and (in a way that was understandably bland) briefly explaining his opposition.

Sen. Pat Roberts trumped that vanilla response a few days later, with a more personalized e-mail. Mr. Roberts included the following inside information: "I have spoken with the chairman of the relevant committee. He has not scheduled any hearings on the matter."

Then, about a week later, in my mailbox I found a big document-stuffed manilla envelope. Inside was a form letter like those from the Senate. But this package also included a thick, detailed report, recently commissioned by Congress to help members decide if "compulsory military service" was worthy of discussion. As it turned out, that report was the best source for the paper.

The manilla envelope came from Congressman Jerry Moran.

I'll share one more anecdote, and I hope it illustrates that Mr. Moran is — in addition to being an excellent congressman — a genuinely good man.

One night a few weeks before the 2006 election, a group of FHSU students organized a voter registration rally at a bar in Hays. Knowing the kind of intense effort it takes to orchestrate such an event, Mr. Moran decided to attend.

It was when I was a reporter for The Hays Daily News. I covered that rally and — political nerd that I am — I was disappointed in the turnout. That stereotype about young people being apathetic is true; only about 20 people attended the registration drive, and most of them were political science majors who participated all the time anyway. It was an election year, but with such a paltry crowd it was obvious that no lucrative vote haul was available that night.

Based on the size of the group, Mr. Moran clearly was not just politicking; that night, he was not just trying to win votes. But he visited with the political science nerds about electioneering. He visited with other students about national policy. He even visited with me about the type of coverage he'd seen from other newspapers in the state.

Mr. Moran stayed at that small rally for hours.

Any western Kansan who pays even a moderate amount of attention to current events can see that Mr. Moran has been a top-notch congressman for the last decade. He took Kansas common sense to Washington and, applying it at different times, knew enough to vote for enormous tax cuts, and against No Child Left Behind, the over-expensive Medicare Part D, umpteen stupid "stimulus" bills, every immoral taxpayer-funded bailout, and Obamacare. Mr. Moran's conservative common sense is exactly what we need in the U.S. Senate right now.

And he's one of the good guys. That'll make it fun to vote for him.

Why I donated to Marco Rubio

Though I'm relatively politically active, I've never donated money to a candidate for office.

Until now. His name is Marco Rubio, and he understands what America is.

* * *

My abbreviated story: I was born to lower-middle class parents, neither of whom graduated college. Through their hard work, they climbed deliberately from near-empoverished upbringings. When I was a child, my mom held four jobs; occasionally, my dad still talks about those years when he worked 90 hours a week.

But, by my senior year in high school, they'd risen to middle-middle class. Dad could finally buy a new pickup. They built their own house. And they could afford to offer moderate help with my college education (and that of my brother and sister).

Today my brother is an engineer, my sister is a high school teacher, and I'm in law school.

For 40 years, my parents have put forth efforts that can be described only as epic, working jobs that are often thankless, unflattering, and miserable. They did it because they wanted their children to have careers. They did it so we could be a bit better off than they were.

The beautiful thing: It worked.

That's America.

* * *

Mr. Rubio understands this. His biography describes the phenomenon discussed above. Of course, he has an advantage in this. His parents were immigrants, who fled from their native Cuba to America's opportunity. Because of their hard work, and this country's freedom, their dreams for their children have been fulfilled. Mr. Rubio's life is a testament to America.

Since the discovery of this continent, and especially since the founding of this country, America has been the one place where people go because they could not fulfill their destiny in the lands of their origin.

* * *

I don't like cultish mobs marrying their hopes to a politician — any politician — for two reasons. First, Americans have done that with Mark Sanford, Sarah Palin, and Barack Obama in recent years — and all three have dramatically disappointed their followers. Second, I find cults of personality quite offensive. If you need someone else's political success to make you happy, then your own sense of self worth is unhealthily low.

But Mr. Rubio has captured my imagination. A few times, I've even told friends: "I think someday, he's going to be president." I don't know if that's true, and at the moment I don't really care. But I am certain of this: Mr. Rubio is an excellent advocate of America. (Here I'm referring to America the idea, not just the landmass.)

Over the next decade, one thing tops the list of America's needs: Political leadership in the landmass that understands the idea.

That's Marco Rubio. He's not the only person who meets that qualification. He's not even the only candidate for Congress this year who does. But his ability to convey that understanding is the most impressive that I've seen.

This country needs a Senate full of people like Mr. Rubio.

* * *

I'm a graduate student working an unpaid internship, I drive a 12-year-old truck that's pushing 180,000 miles, and I buy almost all of my clothes from the $5 rack at Wal-Mart. I can't afford this, but I did it anyway.

Via marcorubio.com, I donated $50 to Mr. Rubio's candidacy.

I will make up for it through a series of Ramen noodle meals, skipping cigars I'd like to smoke, drinking PBR instead of Guiness, and watching borrowed DVDs when I'd rather go to the movies. In other words, I intend to sacrifice certain items that would contribute to a higher quality of my life.

But, in Marco Rubio, I think I'm making that sacrifice for a good cause.

Whining children

Every day at high school, someone gets his feelings hurt. He whines. He thinks he's entitled to stamp his feet and pitch a fit until someone will agree with him, or decide it's not worth the fight.

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And then, the crybaby gets his own way, regardless of how stupid that way is, and how immaturely he has behaved in order to get it.

Sadly, in this whiner's world of the 21st century, the crybaby is — all too frequently — a teacher or administrator, and not a 14-year-old.

Yesterday, the principal at Live Oak High School in Morgan Hill, California, sent Daniel Galli, Dominic Maciel, and three other students home for incendiary conduct. Presumably to protest Cinco de Mayo (or maybe to celebrate free expression, or ... what is it called ... America?), the boys wore T-shirts bearing American flags. To the feeble-minded infants running the school, that's as good as inciting violence.

They were told they could wear their patriotic clothes on any day other than May 5. They had to refrain that day out of respect for Hispanic students.

According to Maciel: "They said if we went back to class with our shirts not taken off, they said it was defiance and we would get suspended." So the boys went home instead. They returned the next day and will not be otherwise punished.

Principal Nick Boden would rather the students skip a day of school than see them in the classroom wearing red, white, and blue. Do his teachers have nothing important to teach that day?

Or, perhaps, Boden feared the patriotic clothing would cause disruption. If so, is he so deeply racist that he thinks Hispanic teenagers are incapable of behaving when they see an Old Navy t-shirt?

Probably, it's neither of these. Probably, he's just a bully. A whiny, wimpy punk so lacking in manhood that he hardly qualifies as a human being. The kind of weakling who is so dissatisfied with who he is, that he must dominate others by force to justify his own existence to himself.

I'm a little disappointed in these teenagers (although, at that age, I probably would have done the same). But if I were in their shoes yesterday, and I could muster the wit and fortitude for it, I would have done things a little differently. I would have left the principal's office and returned to class. Then, when they suspended me, I would have declined to leave the classroom, unless they physically removed me by force. Then, I would have filed suit for assault, battery, intentional affliction of emotional distress, and a violation of my First Amendment rights.

However, it's hard to hold much against these teenagers. When I was their age, I was occasionally bullied by teachers (though, not to this extent), and I let them get away with it. I wish I hadn't, but it's hard for adolescents to stand up for themselves at school. They're just kids.

The principal, however, is another matter. He is as grown as he'll ever be (although, after reading about how he treats people, it's hard to call him an adult) and he has an advanced college degree. He has absolutely no excuse. The school district has already released a statement denouncing the principal's actions, or at least stating disagreement.

It ought to go further, and fire him.