Why I Sound Mad: A Colorado Conservative’s Wake-Up Call to a Broken Nation

I’m a sexagenarian.

Yep. That’s a real word. Sounds like something you’d get arrested for saying at a church picnic, but it just means I’m over 60—and still kicking, mostly upright, and only moderately reliant on ibuprofen. But the real news is that my mom, Pat—sweet, sharp, and still a little terrifying when she needs to be—is turning 88 next month. She’s still got it. Still reads The Scott Sheet. Still knows how to land a guilt trip like a heat-seeking missile.

How do I know?

Well, we talked on the phone the other day—nothing unusual. Some laughs, some catching up, the normal “you eatin’ enough vegetables?” routine. But later, she texts Julie, not me. My wife.

“I’m worried about my son. I read his sheet, and he seems so angry.”

Oof. Right in the soul.

Now, let me clear something up. I’m not angry—not in the way she thinks. I’m not walking around like a cartoon bulldog looking to snap at everything. I’m an optimist, always have been. I believe in people. I really do. I believe in second chances. I believe that most folks, deep down, want to do the right thing—even when we screw it up. I believe in the kind of grace that only God can give, the kind that sees potential where the world sees a mess.

Heck, I’m basically that Luke Bryan song in human form—“I believe most people are good.” Cringe if you want, but I do.

And I’ve spent my life trying to live like that mattered. Forty years behind a microphone, doing radio the old-school way—connecting with folks, cracking dumb jokes, playing good songs, crying when we lost someone, helping when someone needed a hand. It was never just a job. It was a community. It was you. And then came public service—Planning Commissioner, Mayor, Councilman, and now County Commissioner. Same mission, different hat. Still just showing up, listening, serving.

But something’s changed. Something in the air. You feel it. I know you do.

About ten years ago, give or take, it all started unraveling. Maybe it was social media—maybe it was when the world decided it didn’t need God anymore. Either way, something cracked. People got mean. Quick to judge. Quick to cancel. We stopped forgiving each other. We stopped talking. We started screaming.

Suddenly, we were all in social media bunkers, firing off snarky missiles at anyone who dared disagree. Redemption? Out. Compassion? Optional. Public humiliation for saying the wrong thing back in 2011? Mandatory.

And yeah, maybe that’s where the edge in my writing comes from. I’m not angry in the bitter, hateful way. I’m angry because I care. I’m angry because this place—Colorado—used to be different. And I mean different.

We were Westerners. Rugged. Friendly. We minded our own business, lived our lives, and let others live theirs. You kept your side of the fence clean, and I kept mine, and if your dog got loose, we didn’t call the HOA—we gave it a biscuit and walked it home.

Now? Now it’s regulation after regulation, bill after bill, bureaucrat after bureaucrat telling you how to breathe, drive, raise your kids, mow your lawn, and, if they had their way, how to butter your toast. In 2024 alone, the state legislature passed 705 bills—more than we’ve seen in years. That’s not governance. That’s micromanagement on steroids. That’s totalitarianism.

And don’t even get me started on the crime. We used to leave our doors unlocked. Now we leave the porch light on and pray the car’s still there in the morning. Colorado’s jumped to 4th in the nation for combined violent and property crime—up 32% over a decade. Meanwhile, we cut our prison population and then scratch our heads wondering why people don’t feel safe. Spoiler alert: It’s not a mystery.

And here comes the Governor, all smiles, saying he’s “making Colorado more affordable.” Sure, Jared. If by affordable you mean double the mortgage burden, 35% higher grocery bills, and young families priced out of the neighborhoods they grew up in, then yeah—great job. The average family now works more hours just to pay for housing than they did eight years ago. Beef’s up. Chicken’s up. Movie tickets feel like a mortgage payment. And our paychecks? Holding steady like it’s doing us a favor. Jared lied. Yet people still love him. Why?

And yes, Mom—I’m mad about the culture stuff, too. Not because I hate people. Not because I want to control anyone’s life. But because truth matters. God made man and woman. That’s science. That’s Scripture. That’s common sense. You taught me to speak truth in love—and I try to. But now, saying “a man can’t have a baby” gets you labeled a bigot. We’re expected to affirm lies, not out of kindness, but out of fear. That’s not compassion. That’s coercion.

And you know what really gets me? The same folks who yelled “FOLLOW THE SCIENCE!” during COVID now want to ignore biology, dismiss chromosomes, and pretend a cloth mask could stop a virus while Big Pharma raked in billions and we got left with side effects, mandates, and empty savings accounts. You raised me to respect institutions, Mom. But they’ve betrayed that trust. They lied. And they’re still lying.

Meanwhile, we’re tearing down statues, rewriting history, pretending we just appeared here without sacrifice or struggle. I was taught to honor the past—not worship it—but respect it. And now that makes me “problematic.”

And when I speak up, they say it’s because of “privilege.” My sweet, single Momma, was that two-bedroom house in LaSalle you worked yourself to the bone to pay for… privilege? Because it didn’t feel like privilege. It felt like hard work, sacrifice, and love. But now they want “equity,” which just means they want the rewards without the work.

I’m not against fairness. I’m not against justice. I’m against being told that everything I am—everything you raised me to be—is something I should apologize for.

You raised me to love God. I found Him in the basement of LaSalle Presbyterian Church. I’ve carried that Bible Rev. Bill Phillips gave me since I was seventeen. And lately I find myself going back to Romans 1:24–32, where Paul says, “God abandoned them to do whatever shameful things their hearts desired…” and I can’t help but wonder… are we there now?

Has He abandoned us? Because it feels like we’ve abandoned Him.

I know some people say me writing The Scott Sheet and venting on social media is just more noise in an already-too-loud world. But I don’t believe that. I believe God equips us with the right skills, the right voice, the right moment—and He tells us to use them.

So yeah, I’m louder now. Maybe bolder. Maybe a little snarkier than I used to be. But it’s not to divide. It’s to wake people the hell up.

I don’t want hate. I don’t want chaos. I want truth. I want a return to common sense. I want to serve people the way you taught me to—with humility, humor, and a whole lotta heart. I want folks to realize this country—this Colorado—is still worth fighting for.

So yeah, Mom… I’m pissed.

But I’m gonna be alright.

And I love you. Thank you for raising a loudmouth like me.

—Scott