The American Spectator

Some other kids pointed at me, smiled, nodded.

Another man and woman thanked me.

I brushed past a state trooper, and just so he would know, mentioned what happened. He leaned forward eagerly.

“Do you want to press charges?”

I didn’t.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. Unless you want me to. If it would be helpful somehow.”

“I’m not allowed to influence your decision.”

I thought of the protester smiling for the photographer as her fingerprints were taken in the jailhouse. I passed on the pressing of charges. (I later learned that this particular tribe of protesters shows up regularly at public state functions, and has a consistent record of spitting on the troopers and, when it’s available, throwing dirt on them. Hmm. Maybe I should have pressed charges — I’d never be issued another speeding ticket in Montana.)

Outside, the protesters formed a semi-circle between the doors and the school buses. Apparently the fourth grade demographic is critical to the buffalo/slaughter/genocide/murder/whatever protest faction.

Adults walked by with bemused smiles. One guy in a cowboy hat started lecturing one of the hippy-chick protesters about the importance of the Montana beef industry to the economy. Probably a lobbyist.

And the best thing of all, the fourth graders were pointing and laughing at the protesters. In the photo I took, you can even see the kids inside the school bus laughing at the protesters.

AFTERWARDS, MY WIFE AND I went to Wendy’s for lunch. I ate a baked potato with sour cream and chives. As we were leaving, a woman approached me. Her face was earnest.

“I saw you at the Civic Center, and I just want to thank you for standing up!”

And later: Two of my daughter’s classmates told her they were “proud” her dad had stood up and asked the protestor to behave.