Yes, sir! Yes, sir! 3 bags full!

Yes, yes, I know. Three bags full, but full of what? Here’s the nursery rhyme:

Baa Baa black sheep have you any wool?
Yes merry have I,
Three bags full.
One for my Master,
One for my Dame,
One for, the little Boy
That lives down the lane.

Sometimes it seems we could replace today’s educational system with the nursery rhymes from our childhood, and once again impart a real education to our children. Not only would the EQ (educational quantum – I just made that up) go through the roof, but the tax savings would be profound!

Think of it: No more educational bureaucrats to club the life, imagination and desire to learn out of our children. No more teacher retirements to fund. No more wackos teaching children their failed politics and favorite perversions as classroom lessons. No more police arresting parents at school board meetings because the parents object to the educrat agenda, which is based on the claim that the state owns your children.

An end to bureaucrats making deep dives down to the bottom of the educational achievement barrel, where education is tailored to those students and families least concerned with becoming educated. No more secret abortions or forced vaccinations for children. Tax relief for homeowners, struggling small businesses and fixed-income seniors (property taxes). When the “educrats” no longer educate, but only propagandize, why should they be paid? Who wants to pay educrats to lie to their children?

I opened with a nursery rhyme from the late 12th century. “Aiech! Ancient history. Stop it!”

Really? Explain to me please how humanity has changed over the last few centuries. England had been involved in rebellions, wars and even the Crusades, which left the government broke and the king in a bad mood.

The king did what governments always do when they want to “build back better” after a series of defeats: They squander our money on projects to pay off their supporters for supporting them. The king raised existing taxes and invented new ones, in this case a tax on wool. Oh, the king also taxed the church 50% of its income: One for you, one for me. (And just like today, God seems to have been left out of the equation.)

Yup, wars are expensive all the way around. That is, unless you are a politician or an industrialist. Somehow the people’s money seems to end up lining the pockets of those running the wars. (Afghanistan took this to a whole new level, donating our new military equipment to our enemies.) But shut up, peasant. Uncle Joe doesn’t want to hear about it.

In our opening rhyme, the master was the king, the dame represented the landed nobility, who had already leased their land to the peasant farmers, and the little boy down the lane was the peasant farmer’s family. So out of three bags of wool production the king got one, the landowner got one, and the farmer got to keep one for his family. The sheep got to grow a new coat all over again.

Thinking about this children’s story makes me wonder if nursery rhymes might not be an antidote to the toxic offspring of political correctness. Many of us laughed at that cute little PC puppy when it arrived in our schools. “Oh, up is down now, black is white …” We told our kids, “Just give them the answer they want, Sweetheart. Then you will graduate and can think, say and do whatever you please.”

How’d that work out once the puppy of political correctness grew up, America? Have you ever seen a 300-pound Rottweiler or pit bull before? Now you’re masked up, patted down and timed out when you go to a school board meeting that you are paying for.

Here’s something to ponder, for an evolved nation. Evil never stops growing, even when it has consumed the last bit of good in the nation. It just keeps consuming, turning on its own, until there is nothing left. That’s something Churchill understood, but Chamberlain didn’t. Peace in our time has never resulted from collaboration with the enemy. Useful idiots are always dispensed with early on in the conflict. See if a similar pattern is taking shape in America today.

Will our personal Armageddon and our shared national Armageddon be the same?

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