Every day around noon, a white pickup truck comes barreling down my street. It’s one of those big-boy toys: jacked-up suspension, aftermarket muffler, turbo…the works. It’s the kind of truck only a single man could love (or afford). You can hear it for a good ten seconds before it passes the house, and another ten seconds after. Without fail, it comes by when my daughter is napping. And without fail, it wakes her up.
As a bonus, our friend also has a “F—k Biden” flag flying from the bed. My daughter is too young to read, but I doubt if the local moms are too thrilled with their kids’ surprise vocab lesson.
I hate to sound like an old fogey but back in my day Republicans were the pro-family party. The praxis of conservatism didn’t include waking up and/or swearing at children. I mean, in the greater scheme of things, progressive Democrats (or “libtards,” if you prefer) might pose a bigger threat to our storied Republic. But when they drive by in their Priuses, drinking their kale-and-beetroot smoothies on their way to teach Woke Studies to kindergarteners, they do it quietly.
This is part of the strange, ongoing shift underway on the right. As church attendance and fertility rates continue to decline, so do the foundations of social conservatism. It’s not just that Republicans are now basically okay with socially liberal programs like gay marriage. The whole culture of the GOP is also changing.
The party, like the nation, is increasingly made up of childless, propertyless singles. They have fewer responsibilities, fewer attachments. Gone are the folks Patrick J. Buchanan once called conservatives of the heart. “They don’t read Adam Smith or Edmund Burke,” Pat said, “but they come from the same schoolyards and the same playgrounds and towns as we come from. They share our beliefs and convictions, our hopes and our dreams.”
Does that mean the right’s future belongs to star-spangled manbabies? Will the Republican Party seek a new fusionism, joining fratty “Barstool conservatives” with dorky NEETs (while, male welfare queens)?
Read the rest at The Spectator World.