I just read Ryan Lizza’s March 17th New Yorker essay on Hillary Clinton. That essay inspired this letter:
I’m outraged that Hillary
Clinton promises, if elected president, to help people (in her words)
"quit smoking, to get more exercise, to eat right, to take their
vitamins" ("The Iron Lady," March 17). Perhaps I’m overreacting
because I buried my mother on Wednesday, but neither Uncle Sam nor Mrs.
Clinton is my parent. That role was performed remarkably well and
lovingly by the persons who had responsibility for it: my father and
late mother. I, like any self-respecting adult, resent beyond words
the impertinence of any stranger presuming to possess the moral
authority to intrude into my affairs.
To my own dying day, I
will live by the creed instilled in me by my parents: My life is my
own, and just as I have no right (or wish) to meddle in the affairs of
others, no one – regardless of how exalted her status or how large her
electoral majority – has the right to meddle in mine.
Sincerely,
Donald J. Boudreaux
