This Independence Day, I traveled to Great Falls and celebrated with nine of my twelve grandchildren. With ages ranging ten to one, it is a loud gathering sans the traditional pyrotechnics. God help us when this clan gets old enough to place explosive devices “on level ground, light fuse and get away.”

We arrived around midnight on July 3rd; I rolled out of bed at daybreak on the 4th and went upstairs to start the coffee. I poured my first cup and quietly studied the refrigerator and the kitchen counter which were target rich with information regarding the lives of my seven descendants. Surrounded by fingerprints, the refrigerator door held a summer schedule explaining weekly chore rotations and the daily agenda. I noticed nap time was between 12:30 and 3:00, so I made a mental note not to miss nap time. The violin and piano practice number chart was nearly filled with numbers and initials. In spite of my advanced degree; I could not clearly decipher their meaning. I surmised more than two mini-Kimmels played the violin and apparently all were actually practicing.

On the counter next to the refrigerator was one loose leaf paper containing a message scribbled in pencil. Though it was but 12 words, it told me more about my family than all the other artifacts combined. “Dear Mom,” it began. “Please can I go to the party if I do extra chores? Love Mae.” Evidently, Mae had been fighting the lead rope of adolescence, so her mother suspended Mae’s privileges of attending both the Great Falls Fourth of July Parade and the picnic afterwards. Mae may have been obstinate in the heat of battle, but her resolve waned as she watched her six siblings preparing for the weekend’s festivities.

Mae was granted clemency and allowed to attend the picnic if she performed every new chore on her list—the parade was still a no-go. With everyone headed to the parade, I volunteered to stay back and supervise Mae and I was under orders to not make things fun. I agreed, opened my laptop and tapped out this column occasionally glancing over my reading glasses at Mae flitting from chore to chore. Over the next two hours, she finished, folded and put away the laundry before pulling a chair up to the kitchen counter where she snipped the stems from the fresh spinach her Nana would later use in a salad. We spoke little. The sentence was just, the clemency was just, and a lesson was learned. Raising children is a participatory event requiring a dedicated mother and father. Some lessons will sting, but the best parents are those who will endure the short-term pain for the long term gain—nowhere should government enter the equation and this brings me to my point.

The American people would never willingly trade freedom for collectivism so the left can only advance their ideology through deceit or force. Today’s remarks concern deceit. Claiming tax policy can stabilize the earth’s climate, or forcefully emptying one man’s wallet so as to fill the wallet of another has the benefit of stimulating the economy, are leftist lies I have beaten incessantly, but unfortunately not to death. However, the lie which infuriates me most is the claim children actually belong to the collective and a recent example of government parenting comes from Surprise, Arizona.

A little five-year-old kindergartner named Eric lowered his pants on the playground. Whether Eric hails from redneck ancestry and possibly was watering the grass behind the playground equipment was never stated. Regardless, Eric found himself in the assistant superintendent’s office where he signed a confession he had committed sexual misconduct—this school district has a zero tolerance policy on sexual misconduct. This red-mark is now part of his education record and likely because of common core, it will be a data point he will electronically carry the rest of his life. For brevity, I will set aside the fact for Eric to be charged with sexual misconduct he had to have known whatever he did was sexual in nature—in case you missed it before, Eric was five years old!

Now to the part which makes me spit nails. Eric’s parents were never told of the offense, confession and consequences. The logic being, they were only parents and because the children belong to, and are best reared by the collective, mom and dad need not be included in the loop. Keep this story in the back of your mind when you hear Montana Governor Steve Bullock speak glowingly of his pre-K indoctrination program. The goal of a leftist utopia is a population of minions with great self-esteem, just smart enough to follow orders, but too ignorant to think themselves. Their mission is nearly accomplished.