Two houses (being the first part)

 In one sense, all history is revisionist history in the sense that every new piece of historiography seeks to revise our understanding of that which we previously knew. There would be no point in writing a new biography of Abraham Lincoln, for instance, if one had absolutely no original insights to offer (other than as a cynical ploy to gain tenure at a university, but we will not speak of such things).

In that manner, and as one long exhausted by my homeland's willful ignorance of the felt experience of racism on our shores, I was intrigued by The 1619 Project's stated goal of reframing American history through the lens of the black experience. I found much of its contribution to the American historical project rewarding, but sadly, some of its least helpful arguments seem to have gained the most traction. The one which most irks me is the contention that the creation of a Senate alongside a House of Representatives was primarily a scheme to permanently  invest political power in slave-holding interests.

Really? A bicameral legislature because racism? Not because every European nation, including and especially Great Britain, which just happens to have been the nation of which the original 13 States were a part, has a bicameral legislature? (Not to mention Virginia, whose form of government was basically copied wholesale by the 1787 Constitution, which I am obliged to mention because I graduated from a Virginian public high school and university.) At this point, The 1619 Project goes from completely reasonable lower-case-r revisionism to 1984 memory hole upper-case-R Revisionism which is plausible only to those operating with utter ignorance of the foundations of our form of government. Which is to say, Americans who have attended elite private universities.

I am particularly irked because this narrative seems to have gained a great deal of traction with a class of Americans (i.e., Americans who live in overpopulated cities on the Atlantic and Pacific coasts) who are dismayed that states with remarkably few residents (looking at you, Wyoming) get just as many Senators as do California and New York. While my listening habits may be unusual, I'm hearing an increasing number of complaints that this arrangement is not only suspect (because racism), it is anti-democratic.

To which I can only say: That's the point.

The peculiar genius of the American experiment in self-government is not a bicameral legislature: everybody has one of those (except for Nebraska, about which the less said the better). Instead, it is in composing its upper legislative house not from a political/social class (as in Great Britain, about which the less said the better), but from a conscious recognition that political decisions are driven as much by lived experience as by ideology. Westerners understand the value of water in a way that easterners never can. (Having recently relocated from Colorado to Ohio, I am constantly appalled by how much water the locals here waste. It's as though they think it falls from the sky.) The House of Representatives gives full weight to our nation's massed populations, but the Senate exists to ensure that the majority cannot unilaterally impose its will on States in which they do not live.

That might frustrate those with majoritarian instincts, but as a citizen who remains sympathetic to my friends in the West, I think it a good thing. Along with the separation of powers, it not only makes us a republic, but the greatest Republic which this sad world has yet seen. 

And that is a very good thing.

Research on Religion is over

The Research on Religion podcast is shutting down so host Anthony Gill can focus on academic research. That's more than too bad as its quality varied from interesting to super-interesting. The podcast's online archives will remain up for another nine months or so: I highly recommend you visit and download anything which at all piques your curiosity before it's too late!

;

I've been listening to The Hilarious World of Depression podcast since its inception, and for a long time it was my sole source of therapy. (All by itself, that one sentence tells you I've got a whole raft-load of issues.) Now, however, I'm talking to actual therapists and seem to have a handle on my symptoms, and host John Moe's frequent admonitions talk about depression in order to normalize  it have finally sunk in.

There are a lot of reasons for an OPC minister of Word and sacrament to not want to talk about his depression, not least of which is the fact that my depression comes with a chaser of paranoia. Pastors are under constant scrutiny by their congregations, and most of the members under their care have unresolved father issues which make them extremely reluctant to embrace the painfully obvious fact their preacher has problems of his own. In my case, I also have a presbytery which is not known as a safe place to express weakness, and I believe I have good reason to think that my acknowledgment of mental health issues could be used by some as a pretext to lower the boom on me. Now that I'm not as fervidly paranoid, though, I realize that even my enemies may have some sense of human decency; and if not, we have colleagues to thwart their more vindictive efforts.

So here goes.

I've had a few episodes of situational depression in response to traumatic events (such as Church conflict and when we lost our daughter). The "clinical depression" (if that's the correct term) began about six years ago when a problem with recurring sinusitis became a sinus infection that simply would not go away. I've been in physical pain for much of my adult life, but this pain was of an entirely different species: it wasn't the intensity, but the quality. I was perfectly capable of living my life, but I was so miserable that I simply did not want to. Although the sinusitis was finally resolved through surgery, it turned out to be masking Meniere's disease (fluid in the inner ear) complicated by a form of migraine. Since then, it's been a long journey of figuring out a regimen of vitamins, supplements, medication and sleep to deliver me from a constant sense of disorientation and unease. I think things are under control now, but I also know that I'm one sleepless night away from being plunged back into despair.

There's a clarity to depression. Most people seem reluctant to admit that, but it's true. Depression strips away the comforting reassurances we tell ourselves and allows you to see things as they are. Life is hard and full of suffering, and no one ever survives it. There's a hollowness to most relationships, and God, without a physical presence, seems absent.

On the other hand, one should acknowledge that depression makes it more difficult to recognize that God's lack of physical presence is not the same thing as absence.

People talk about suicidal ideation as though it were a shocking, well-nigh unthinkable thing, but for me it's a simple reality. I am a very slow thinker, but once I solve a problem it tends to stay solved. Now that I have a plan, I can't get rid of it: it's in my head and can't be dislodged. Obviously, I haven't done it, but there are times when I have to come up with reasons not to. Mostly, it's because I know how much it would mess up my kids.

I remember one of my ministerial colleagues being surprised that I wasn't afraid of God's wrath for violating the Sixth Commandment, but I'm not. That's one of the side-effects of believing the Gospel. While taking one's own life is a more heinous sin than others, the Shorter Catechism reminds us that [e]very sin deserveth God's wrath and curse, both in this life, and that which is to come." (Westminster Shorter Catechism #83-84) If the Cross has delivered me from God's wrath and curse, due to me for all my sins, then even a violation of the Sixth Commandment cannot separate me from the love of Christ (Romans 8:33-39).

Depression is bad enough. I'm grateful it couldn't rob me of my assurance of salvation.

At last! A white man comments on race & gender relations

I've been listening to Pass the Mic (I believe on the recommendation of Mrs. Curmudgeon), the podcast of the Reformed African-American Network for a couple years now. It was thus that I heard the now-infamous "Gender Apartheid" episode, a crossover with the Truth's Table podcast. I won't bother recounting the sturm und drang which ensued; if you're blissfully unaware, the Google will tell you more than you need to know.

The kerfuffle gave me another occasion to reflect (as it seems I have had many occasions of late) on white people and what is wrong with them, especially the male ones who hold positions of influence and power in confessionally reformed circles. Anyone who knows me will freely tell you I have no idea what it would be like to hold a position of influence or power (despite the fact that every once in a while dozens [literally, dozens] of people read one of my blog posts), but I imagine that were I in one I would feel secure and self-confident. Instead, many of these men act like snowflakes (to coin a term) when they hear someone using terms which make them uncomfortable and describing reality in a manner to which they are unaccustomed.

Take, for example, R. Scott Clark, a professor at Westminster Seminary California, who recently commented on the original podcast at his Heidelblog in a two-part analysis. For the sakes of space and propriety, I will put aside the utter offensiveness and insanity of a late-middle-aged white Nebraskan taking umbrage at black women a decade or so younger than he using the term "apartheid" and presuming to lecture them on its historical context. (I am not making this up.) Instead, I will note that the first segment of his analysis focuses entirely on the terms "gender apartheid" and "toxic masculinity" without any engagement whatsoever with how the hostesses of Truth's Table defined those terms in their discussion. Notable also is a failure to interact with the problems they describe as occurring in confessionally reformed circles. Here's the closest Clark gets:

The question remains: Is there systematic oppression of females in NAPARC churches? Again, definitions are essential. In our late-modern subjectivist culture, recognition of sexual differences and of a creational pattern is regarded as “systematic oppression” but Christians may not simply adopt cultural categories and use them to leverage Scripture and nature. Christians recognize that there is such a category as nature, that there are such things as “givens.” There are laws of nature and there is a God who made nature. Properly defined, we should conclude that no, there is not a systematic oppression of females. Are there quarters within the NAPARC world in which females are told, in effect, to “sit down and shut up”? Yes. This is part of the problem. In reaction to the various iterations of feminism, some congregations do not allow females to vote in congregational meetings on the grounds that voting is an exercise of authority and therefore a violation of 1 Timothy 2:12. This strikes me as an unlikely inference and application of this passage.

I read this paragraph (and its broader context) several times, and am still confused. On the one hand there is no systematic oppression of females, apparently because on Clark's definitions there cannot be. On the other hand, there are "quarters within the NAPARC world in which females" are oppressed. Eh?

In the second section of his analysis, Clark presents an unobjectionable view of sexual relationships within the Creation order, but doesn't actually touch on anything in the podcast except in one paragraph. There, he states "When the podcasters spoke about qualifications for special office (e.g., elder) in the church they mocked the idea that only men are permitted to hold special office by reducing the qualifications to male anatomy." Actually, they said no such thing. Instead, they noted that opportunities for non-ordained persons to participate in a Church's ministries are often restricted to non-ordained persons who are "ordainable," which in practice often means nothing more than "male." (I will note that this is a complex issue worthy of much discussion by itself, and so I will not comment here.) At least in this regard, it appears Clark failed to listen carefully to that which he presumed to critique before presuming to critique it.

Sadly, Clark's response exemplifies most of the reformed white male responses to the "Gender Apartheid" podcast which I've encountered. (For the record, I am not a reformed white male, but a presbyterian white man.) To me, they read something like, "I am terribly offended by your recasting the discussions in terms which the people like me have not previously authorized, and will therefore excuse myself from paying any heed to the actual arguments you are making." The bitter irony, of course, is that many (although probably not all) of these middle- to late-middle-aged reformed white males have criticized today's young people for being overly delicate snowflakes.

Honestly, I listened to the original podcast and found nothing objectionable about it. The comments, particularly from the ladies, are trenchant, but that's what makes for entertaining listening. They were having an open and honest conversation, not attempting to educate me or reformed white males comfortable in their privilege: something which they have every right, before God and man in these United States, to do. Why would I bother to take offense?

And now I have given you just what everyone has been waiting for: a white man's opinions on race and gender relations. At long last.

The Flintstones

I didn't see it coming, but apparently no one else did, either, if the interwebs are a reliable indicator for this sort of thing. It was recommended during a segment on the Slate's Political Gabfest podcast. I found it on the Hoopla digital library site (thanks, Aurora Public Library!), and figured I had nothing to lose by checking it out. Boy, howdy, am I ever glad I did.

I speak, of course, of DC Comics' reboot of The Flintstones.

It's more than a little shocking, especially for those of us with no particular fondness or animus toward the original Hanna-Barbera cartoon. Steve Pugh's artwork is in the classic modern "realistic" comic-book style, and he does a competent job of rendering the visual complexity of the town of Bedrock. However, the real genius behind the project is writer Mark Russell, who uses this page right out of history to examine our moment in history. I've been trying to remember when last I came across a biting social satire of this caliber with such an intensely human heart, and the closest I can come is somewhere between the British and American versions of The Office.

A bit of dialogue from Slate's Quarry, as a new Cro-Magnon employee queries Fred Flintstone.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"How come you wear a tie?"

"I read an article once that said you should dress for the job you want, not the job you have."

"So how long have you been wearing that tie?"

"Fifteen years."

Everything in our culture gets skewered, but I can forgive all the jabs at religion since Unitarianism ends up taking the hardest hits. So, so good.

1x

While I now listen to almost all my podcasts at twice normal speed, a couple employ such carefully constructed soundscapes that their meaning would be obscured, and their impact radically diminished, if their playback were sped up.

One, of course, is Nate DiMeo's The Memory Palace, a faithful celebration of the human beings who populate history books. Every episode is, honestly and truly, beautiful. DiMeo has begun listing credits at the end of the show, but his original practice was to simply let music fade out each story, giving the listener a moment to reflect on the human experience he has just heard. You can't rush The Memory Palace. You have to give heed to every beat, every carefully constructed sentence, and then think. And think.

The only other, at least so far, is The Truth, an anthology of radio drama for the podcast age. In this case, the story is not simply content, but a construct built of sound, pacing, and style. Rush it, and you won't get it.

I'm not sure what would get me to slow down to 0.5 speed. A pharmaceutical advertisement?

OPC FG XXXI, 5

As you are no doubt aware, chapter XXXI, 5 of the Orthodox Presbyterian Church's Form of Government clearly states that local congregations, and not presbyteries nor the General Assembly, have control over their own local properties. It's there because, as I hope you're aware, when the congregations which would become the OPC seceded from the old Presbyterian Church U.S.A. (often because their pastors had come under Church discipline for not affirming theological liberalism), the national denomination asserted ownership of their buildings and property. Often these congregations were sued in the civil courts; shockingly, the local congregation won control of their property only once, even though in every case the properties had been bought and paid for by the local members, not the national denomination.

This sad history is playing itself out again as the "mainline" denominations take another decisive step away from the historic Christian faith. (In the twentieth century, they denied essential Christian doctrine; in the twenty-first, essential Christian ethics. Since the Church has historically been defined first by doctrine and second by ethics, one wonders what of "Christian" is left to these "churches.") As homosexual marriage and ordination are institutionalized, another wave of congregations is seceding and is losing their properties. This week's Research on Religion podcast focuses on a law review article by Michael McConnell and Luke Goodrich, "On Resolving Church Property Disputes," which suggests ways in which civil courts can take a genuinely neutral approach to litigants in these cases. OPC history is not mentioned, but the Form of Government of our sister Church, the Presbyterian Church in America, does get a shout-out.

Of course, the very fact national denominations are taking local congregations to the civil courts is a manifest sign of their failure as Churches (1 Corinthians 6:1-8). This grasping after the things of this world is also what makes me laugh through my tears whenever a liberal protestant postures her or his communion as being much nicer than my own

hide-bound, reactionary fellowship.

2X

No, that's not my pant size.

For a moment, I thought it a little too early in the development of the medium to call this the "Golden Age of Podcasting," but then I remembered the first Golden Age of Television came pretty early on in the development of that medium, too. When a thing is new, there are few to no rules to constrain its growth and direction, and though there are many, many regretful clunkers, there are also wonders too countless to number. Marty, anyone?

I think it was Christmas 2013 when I actually finished listening to all the podcasts in my queue, but then EconTalk did a joint episode with Research on Religion, and I never got caught up again. I try and try and try to resist the temptation to subscribe to another, but Imaginary Worlds was too tempting to pass up. In an ordinary week, I have roughly 30-45 minutes a day (between working out and doing the dishes) to listen to podcasts, with maybe 2-4 more hours during Saturday chores. When you're adding up 6-8 hours of new audio every week, you quickly get into a listening hole. I go through my podcasts in chronological order, so I was about six weeks and and 36 hours behind when I listened to the 500th episode of EconTalk.

Mike Munger mentioned that he listens to his podcasts on 1.5x speed. This had never before occurred to me. I was afraid everyone would sound like a chipmunk, but iTunes uses some sort of audio scrubbing software which doesn't alter the tone or timbre of anyone's voice; it just sounds like they're talking fast. I quickly adjusted to 1.5x, and then took the leap to 2x. As of today, my queue has gone down to only 27 hours, and I'm only 2 and a half weeks behind. At this pace, I am finally beginning to hope I can begin listening to podcasts the week they come out.

Sadly, my iPhone doesn't offer a 2.5x setting.

The new pilgrims & the rule of law

The Sept. 20 edition (I'm only a month behind in podcast listening!) of Research on Religion was a discussion with Joseph Castleberry on his recent book, The New Pilgrims. The discussion focused primarily on the religious and entrepreneurial vitality of both legal and illegal immigrants to these United States, and to that extent was interesting, but not particularly revelatory.

Things got interesting toward the end of the podcast. Many political and social conservatives oppose illegal immigrants on the simple ground that they have violated the law. Castleberry offers an intriguing counterproposal: the rule of law is a two-sided arrangement wherein the citizen (or individual) ought to obey the laws, and the government is obligated to provide just laws. Castleberry noted the widespread consensus that immigration law in these United States is "broken" and offered a skeptical read on both Democrat and Republican Party failures to reform it. In sum, Castleberry suggests that when a law is unjust, individuals ought not be faulted for breaking it.

It's a provocative observation which echoes the arguments posited in our nation's Declaration of Independence. Political and social conservatives, including Christians, who revere that Declaration would do well to consider it.

The case for reparations

Quite some time ago, I concluded, with Abraham Lincoln in his Second Inaugural Address, that the Lord has already determined, and wrought, the reparations owed for the years of American chattel slavery. Credit is owed to Ta-Nehisi Coates for accomplishing the near-impossible feat of making me reconsider an opinion with his Polk-prize-winning 2014 essay, "The Case for Reparations." He powerfully demonstrates that systematic oppression of African-Americans continued long past the formal end of chattel slavery, effectively countering my assumptions regarding that for which African-Americans might be owed reparation. It's a long read, but Coates' arguments are thoughtful and deserve thoughtful engagement.

What reparations, then? How might they be gathered, administered, and distributed? Is money even the issue? At the end of section IX, Coates writes,

What I’m talking about is more than recompense for past injustices—more than a handout, a payoff, hush money, or a reluctant bribe. What I’m talking about is a national reckoning that would lead to spiritual renewal. Reparations would mean the end of scarfing hot dogs on the Fourth of July while denying the facts of our heritage. Reparations would mean the end of yelling “patriotism” while waving a Confederate flag. Reparations would mean a revolution of the American consciousness, a reconciling of our self-image as the great democratizer with the facts of our history.

Amen.

But how to effect such a spiritual renewal? Nate DiMeo, creator and producer of the elegant and wonderful The Memory Palace, has a suggestion in "Notes on an Imagined Plaque to be Added to the Statue of General Nathan Bedford Forrest, Upon Hearing that the Memphis City Counci has Voted to Move it and the Exhumed Remains of General Forrest and his Wife, Mary Ann Montgomery Forrest, from their Current Location in a Park Downtown, to the Nearby Elmwood Cemetery." DiMeo and Coates agree that in order for our nation to truly change, we must first become historically aware.

But that, in turn, must be a spiritual renewal. Our nation must want to become historically aware, to know its sins in order to make amends for them. Those who want to know their sins are those who want to repent of them because they long to lay them at the foot of the Cross of Christ.

Both Ta-Nehisi Coates and Nate DiMeo speak eloquently of the persistent and evil problem of race relations in these United States. Perhaps unwittingly, the case they make is, ultimately, a case for the preaching of the Gospel.

Farewell, Wiretap

Wiretap may have been the first, albeit unofficial, spinoff from This American Life, when frequent contributor Jonathan Goldstein returned north and began a CBC radio show comprised (mostly) of recorded telephone calls. Regular listeners soon learned that the more absurd a call seemed, the more likely it was to be a completely true story.

When the latest episode didn't turn up in my podcast feed this week, I went to its home page and learned Wiretap's run has concluded. Even if you're not a fan of Canadian whimsy and profundity, go there to be moved by a video presentation you'll find of one of the show's most memorable pieces.

And now I have to find another CBC podcast to meet my minimum weekly required dosage of Canadia.

How do we begin the immigration conversation?

I agree with his perspective, but I'll be the first to admit that this lecture from M. Daniel Carroll of Denver Seminary, delivered at Beeson Divinity School, begins on a somewhat pedantic note. Unless it's a sermon, I consider listening to someone tell me something I already know and agree with a waste of time, and I almost gave up during the first five minutes. But then Carroll gives a reading of the Old Testament as a collection of immigrant narratives, and concludes by making the point that if the Scriptures invite us to identify with and find ourselves in its narratives, then they call us, as Christians, to identify with and find ourselves in immigrant narratives.

Read as the primary humanist text, the Bible enables and equips us to find the human even, and perhaps especially, in those we identify as alien.

A Christmas podcast instead

Finding no new Christmas albums whose recording artists didn't induce a yawn, I decided to download Harry Belafonte's Christmas (a reissue of his 1958 To Wish You a Merry Christmas) from Freegal, but even that disappointed. The performances were so anodyne that I wondered whether someone else had secretly recorded "Day-O" in his place. I'm now reduced to hoping that some record company executive will rediscover Simon and Garfunkel's version of "Go Tell It on the Mountain" from Wednesday Morning 3 A.M. and convince them to reunite for a whole Christmas album. Hey, it worked for Bob Dylan and Christmas in the Heart.

Being as I listen to my podcasts in sequential order and I'm living about 4 weeks in the past (which means no, I still haven't heard the final installment of Serial), I decided to sort out the holiday-themed episodes for this week's listening. The Truth is sort of an old-fashioned radio drama show, except all the sound elements reflect a distinctly modern sensibility. NPR's All Things Considered commissioned them to produce a story to air on Christmas day, and they came up with the truly wonderful "Naughty or Nice." You can wait to hear it on the radio on December 25, or you can download it today. Every minute brought me a delighted smile, and, needless to say, it drives home the true meaning of Christmas.

Which is presents.

Lunch ladies are heroes

For 30 years now, TED talks have been enabling educated white people to think they have deep insight into the world. As an educated white person who thinks he has deep insight into the world, I like TED talks, and, precisely because I am their target audience, I have come to despise the smug preening of so many of them. Nonetheless, I subscribe to the TED podcast because every once in a while I hear one which touches on our common humanity rather than our overweening self-confidence. Jarrett Krosoczka's paean to lunch ladies is a lovely reminder that, whatever else one might say about the public schools, very many of their employees are decent human beings who genuinely are working for what they perceive to be the good of children. More: it's a reminder that what makes America great is a fundamental sense of decency which is grounded in a recognition of the value of human beings as such.

A running time of under 5 minutes, and I was weeping halfway through; if you have a heart, so will you.

Have I mentioned the Memory Palace?

The Memory Palace is a kind-of monthly podcast of varying length in which Nate DiMeo tells a story from American history. Each is elegant and evocative and a profound reminder that the people who lived in the past were people, and though their lives are now complete, they were utterly contingent and surprising as they were lived. The current episode, "We've Forgotten James Powell," is a brief survey of race riots in the 20th century and the persons whose mistreatment provided their impetus. DiMeo says, "We remember the fire, but we forget the match."

I wept. So should you.

D.G. Myers on Cancer, Dying, and Living

In a recent Econtalk podcast, host Russ Roberts interviewed the literary critic D.G. Myers, who is dying from cancer and has been writing on the subject. They begin with a lovely discussion of the reality of death and dying, deconstruct some popular euphemisms for being afflicted with disease, and then turn to literature and the field of creative writing in the universities before concluding with the Deuteronomic imperative to choose life.

Recommended.

A spelling dilemna

For the first couple decades or so of my life, I spelled it "dilemna," then felt foolish when I learned the proper spelling is "dilemma." As this website documents, however, I was far from alone: countless multitudes of English spellers around the world labor under the same misapprehension, and all for no good reason that anyone can figure out.

I can't decide if all the company should make me feel better, or if this is an example of the gross ignorance of crowds (as opposed to the wisdom of crowds).

I was alerted to said website by the excellent podcast of the Canadian Broadcasting Company radio show, Wiretap. Even though I listen to it every week, I find myself unable to turn off the universal American superpower of "Caydar:" as soon as I hear a Canadian accent, I am compelled to say to the nearest bystander, "That's a Canadian."

Because if you hear something, you should tell someone.

An indispensable podcast

I stopped acquiring audiobooks because of the inordinately large number of podcasts to which I subscribe: while I listen to an hour or more a day whilst doing chores or working out (anything to distract myself from the misery of physical exertion), I can find myself two or more weeks behind their release dates. However, so many podcasts went into reruns or hiatus at last year's end that, come Christmas, my podcast playlist almost dwindled down to nothing.

Almost.

That was when Russ Robert's Econtalk (my second-favorite podcast after The New Yorker's fiction podcast [because I love the short story and appreciate hearing intelligent readers discuss them]) did a joint episode with Tony Gill's Research on Religion, a weekly discussion on the social scientific study of religion. For anyone with any level of interest in the role of religion in our culture or in how religions (and in practice, Christian Churches) function as social organizations, it's a terrific resource. In my opinion, it's indispensable for pastors and Church leaders given the ever-changing, and evermore forgetful of the First Amendment's free exercise clause, legal landscape: for example, this week's episode on religious property cases coming before the U.S. Supreme Court.

Not every episode is equally indispensable; I felt no compunction over skipping the one on Roman Catholic saints, for instance. That, however, is a fairly high mark: one has to check out each installment for fear of missing something absolutely necessary. If you subscribe to podcasts, add this one to your list.

Goofus & Gallant

From my childhood experiences, I was under the impression that Highlights (for kids!) was available only in pediatrician and dentist offices. Mrs. Curmudgeon had a different set of experiences (when she gets her own blog, she can relate her anecdote of having an early horse picture published in Highlights), and so insisted Thing 2 get his own subscription when he got around to learning how to read.

My only objection to Highlights is the legendary "Goofus & Gallant" feature, which has the unfortunate effect (in my not-so-humble opinion) of making bad manners look like good clean fun and good manners look like the province of those in need of a more substantive hobby. If possible, Goofus and Gallant have both been redeemed by Jim Stallard's Goofus, Gallant, Rashomon, to which I was alerted by a dramatic reading on Wiretap (brought to you by our friends to the north in the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation). 

Finally, a weird little nook in our collective psyche gets the attention it has long deserved.