kindergarten bolshevism

I’ll never forget that call. My 5 year old grandson, Jimmy, was in tears. “You have to help us, Zayde,” he bawled. “Our teacher is a poopyhead.”

“Now Jimmy,” I replied, “there’s nothing wrong with being a poopyhead; without them, there would be no Fox News.”

“But Zayde,” Jimmy continued, “she puts red star stickers on all the other kids’ foreheads and says they’re good and I never get one.” I knew at that moment that Jimmy’s teacher was a Bolshevik. I had to find out more, so I told him that I would attend his kindergarten class the next day.

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