The question 'What does it mean to be a conservative?' has occupied an increasing amount of my time the last few days.

For years, I thought I knew the answer.

I realize now that I don't have a clue.

I grew up in the late 50s and early 60s in a Republican, conservative house in Watertown.

My mom and dad believed in limited government - they didn't think the government could fix everything, or should.

They saw firsthand the failure of an ambitious government program called 'Urban Renewal,' which destroyed perfectly good buildings and neighborhoods.

They were generally not union fans, my dad having been beaten up by Teamsters.

They were religious. We went to Stone Street Presbyterian Church every Sunday.

They didn't drink or smoke or swear, except when my dad was using his hammer to build something, and he would quietly curse the wood for not yielding the right way.

And yet...

My folks strongly believed that the government had no business in legislating morality. They were about as conventional as conventional gets, but had gay friends and thought they had the same rights (or should have) as everyone else.

They believed in racial equality. My dad saw two men lynched when he was growing up, and it scarred him forever.

One of the only two times my dad ever raised a hand toward me was when I used the 'n' word, when I was 8 or 9.

So he believed the government had a job to do there.

And as part of the generation of World War II, he didn't think government was the enemy either - it could do some jobs better than private enterprise. And my dad was a businessman.

Probably the biggest thing he believed was that conservatives were the adults in the room; when everyone else got carried away, they would bring things back to earth. They understood that compromise was what grown-ups do, that the world works when everyone gives up a little.

It was, I think, a matter of temperament, an understanding that the world isn't always going to be what we want it to be. It was modesty - with your neighbors, your family, your God. It was acknowledging you don't and can't know everything, so you better go slow.

I keep looking for these traits in the race for the 23rd, and I can't find them.

Erick Erickson at redstate.com (one of the most important and powerful of conservative blogs) writes about conservatism and the 23rd this way: www.redstate.com/erick/2009/10/16/judas-goats-and-principles/

I take some heart from this part of it:

Friends, it is not every race. It is not every issue. It is not all the time. It is rarely, if ever, all or nothing. There is always room for disagreement. 

And yet, there is nothing in this column, titled "Judas Goats And Principles" that would really explain where the line between conservative and not conservative is.

Did Dede Scozzafava cross it when she backed legalized abortion? Gay marriage? Card check? All three? None of the above?

And how conservative do you really have to be to be in the fold in 2009?

I think the name of the column suggests the answer - if you are not very, very much a part of the solution, you are a 'Judas.'

If that phrase 'not part of the solution' reminds you of something, it should.

As the left collapsed when the 60s ended, it became more and more rigid, less able to tolerate dissent, more infantile in its demands.

"If you're not part of the solution," the leftists would say, "you're part of the problem."

My dad hated that with a passion - to him, the absolute belief that you were right and the other guy was wrong was the exact opposite of civil society, a world where honest disagreements could get worked out.

He would shake his head in wonder at where we are today - as the left and right have swapped places, as the childish tantrums and venom spill from the right - here's an example  - and as the adults leave the room, and lock the door behind them.