Washington D.C.—Hey wait a minute! What am I doing writing this column? I thought The Contrarian was supposed to be something like Secret antiperspirant: "Strong enough for a man, but made for a woman." I’m supposed to do the other one, the one with "Ideas" in the title. Isn’t this taking equal opportunity just a little bit too far? Aren’t the gender police likely to get after both me and PRI?

"Well, it’s like this, officer," I’d have to explain. "You see, my wife has a regular office job to which she commutes in the morning, while I, being a member of the Theory Class, work at home. My commute involves merely walking down one flight of stairs in the morning. So when the baby arrived a few months ago, it only made sense that the stay-at-home spouse should take care of the baby during the day.

"Changes? Oh sure, there have been some changes. I had to switch cars with the missus; I had to give up my mid-life crisis car—a two-seat convertible roadster—in favor of a sport utility vehicle, which is much more suitable for hauling infants and support gear. I have learned to type with one hand, while holding a baby in the other. I can change a diaper faster than a computer printer cartridge. . .

"What? Well, yes, officer, in fact I do take her along with me to the wine store, on the theory that the three most important outside figures in your life are your priest or rabbi, your classical Greek tutor, and your wine merchant. Oh no, officer, I consider the whole arrangement to be a mere warm-up for home-schooling. Little Winston is already web-surfing, and I expect she will be able to draw marginal cost curves by seven months. After that comes metaphysics and eschatology at 12 months—you can’t be too sure with Y2K coming you know . . ."

But that’s not it at all. Turns out what I’d really be interrogated for these days is whether I have bought a government-approved playpen. It seems the Consumer Products Safety Commission, one of those wholly independent federal regulatory agencies with a roving charter to investigate and declare a jihad against any product, has instigated a recall of several models of portable playpens because they can collapse in the middle if a hefty child or overeager dad puts weight in the wrong place.

It could well be that my Winston’s playpen is in fact vulnerable to this problem, just as many other everyday products have hazards that a reasonably cautious person can discern. Here we can see a glimpse of the administrative state at its worst. Exactly why is it, I should like them to explain, that the government thinks I am incapable of choosing products and looking after my child’s safety, but somehow capable of making an adequate choice for president or senator? I think I know what the innermost answer to this question is, and why the administrative state dare not speak it openly.

—By Steven Hayward