I sprinted from the bathroom towards the front door.  “Wash your hands,” Mom demanded.  I was far too busy digging foxholes in the Montana gumbo to explain the fallacy behind handwashing, but she demanded action.

 “It is senseless to wash off one layer of contamination when I am about to apply a second, third, or fourth,” I whined.  (For a six-year-old, I had an exceptionally large vocabulary.)  Mom restated her demand, so I repeated my position.  Tensions escalated and although my logic was flawless I was close to crossing the line into disobedience.  It was 1963, and because self-esteem parenting was a decade away, Mom enforced parental rules by punctuating our backsides with a leather billet borrowed from an old saddle. The Strap, as it was known, was in the junk drawer, so when Mom made her move to the drawer, I made my move to the door, hopped on my bicycle and peddled down the road.

 Running away is problematic on the plains of Eastern Montana, as it takes an enormous effort to get out of sight of the house.  Doing so on a hot summer day is absolutely insane.  Peddling to the top of the nearest butte was exhausting and I stopped for a breather to ponder my predicament.  I had no water, it was high noon and my only shade was sagebrush.  Sometime between 30 minutes and eternity, I decided Mom probably had suffered enough, so I headed home.  Mom was watching from the house and later I learned had I disappeared beyond the butte she would have come looking for me, thereby rendering me the winner.  She didn’t.  I lost and accepted my just deserts and this brings me to my point of Thanksgiving.

 After watching thousands of the snowflake generation riot because Secretary Clinton lost the presidential election, I see the danger of a rearing youngsters with participation ribbons and safe zones.  These frustrated millennials are highly indoctrinated, yet uneducated, trapped in debt, but flush with stuff and unemployed because they lack any discernible job skills.  The ruling class has sentenced them to a life of hopelessness and dependency, yet ironically, they love them for it.  After eight years of college, I could have been a snowflake too.  However, God blessed me with great parents who cared more about my character than my feelings, selflessness over selfishness, results over effort and self-respect over self-esteem.  I give thanks for that.  

 This November 24^th, I also thank God for the 60 million American patriots across 31 states who recently resolved to restore our Constitutional republic.  I am thankful President-elect Donald Trump subjected himself and his family to two years of pure hell so as to lead this army of dedicated deplorables.  It truly is morning in America and thanks to God we will once again be the world’s beacon of liberty.