Editor's note: This article is adapted from the book Skirmishes, just published by National Review Books. Of Thanksgiving blessings, I have a surfeit. To begin with, I chose my parents well. My Dad was a paid-up member of the greatest generation. He came home from the Big War, raised a family, built a business, ran for the school board, and tended his suburban lawn fanatically. By any definition, and emphatically by mine, he was a good man. He was also a bit of a hardbottom and was given to apodictic pronouncement. One night at dinner — I must have been 14 or 15 — he announced that there were only two colleges in the country worth the price of admission, Harvard and Yale ...
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