I was once a young college kid in Minnesota, hooked up with the campus progressives. When Desert Storm broke out just over a decade ago I joined the protests and campus demonstrations. We marched in Minneapolis, shouted, carried signs. You know how it goes.

Now, more than a decade later, I'm married, a parent, a homeowner, living in the suburbs and driving a Jeep. But, by jove, we dressed up for the cold rain and I'll be damned if it wasn't January '91 all over again.

But this time some enterprising punks didn't drag trash dumpsters a long way and light them on fire. No indeed! There was about 20 police (half mounted on horseback, half in riot gear with clubs) and half a dozen squad cars driving us all forward. Freedom to assemble? Nonsense! This was a cattle drive.

I'm not good with estimating numbers. I'd say we stretched 3-5 blocks long, calculate it yourself. The crowd was peaceful, and we had many encouraging honks from motorists and waves from buildings and skyways.

I was hoping for a European-style protest, with a 6-digit turnout. So my word of advice to those of you who've marched in the past and gone on to middle-age: get off your recliner, turn off your television (throw it out the window!), and find that punk that once lived in you. He or she is still there.