I had just boarded a flight from Atlanta to Spartanburg, South Carolina.  Packed flight, but it appeared
as though the only empty seat on the plane might be next to me.

I hate to admit it.  I really do…but I’m a spoiled brat.

I’d love to be a major league baseball player.  Even at fifty-eight years old, I still have dreams where I hear the announcers talking about this miracle of sports, this unbelievable specimen who strikes out hitters with a 116 mph fastball and a 54 mph knuckleball.  “At the age where most of his peers are thinking about the proverbial rocking chair on the front porch,” says the Vin Scully of my dreams,  “This man defies the ages.  He’s as smooth and spicy as the mustard you’re slathering on your ballpark hot dog.”

I hear it so often; “These kids all feel so entitled!”  

They’re not.

Follow me here, because I believe that much of our public policy, from education to economics, is predicated on this idea.