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A Bellow From Stage Right
“Dad?!” my teenage daughter’s face reflected a queasy mixture of surprise and instinctive revulsion. “Is it true? Are you really a . . . Republican?”
She uttered the word as if it were a deadly disease that she could catch just by naming it. “I’m a conservative,” I corrected her.
A confessed Neocon, I regret to say, but -- seemingly -- more of a mensch than most of that sect, and, who knows, he might become even more daring later.
She uttered the word as if it were a deadly disease that she could catch just by naming it. “I’m a conservative,” I corrected her.
A confessed Neocon, I regret to say, but -- seemingly -- more of a mensch than most of that sect, and, who knows, he might become even more daring later.