If there is one thing I like about Tucker Carlson, it's that he knows how to dress.

White shirt. Striped tie. Blue blazer.

I dress like that myself, and I've always thought my tweeds and khakis sent out the message that I am a solid, well-educated man with some sense of tradition, and that I'm not going to be any trouble at all, no matter where I am.

Of course, my upbringing was considerably more working-class than Carlson's, and I picked up my classic style from my father, a man with a great liking for good clothes he had to buy on sale.

"Son," he told me. "Your clothes should never be too bright, too tight or too new."

And that's just the point. Some things, parents should teach their kids.

What exactly is a "rep tie"? The details of gay sex. The details of straight sex, which are nearly the same as the details of gay sex.

In the states where teachers are just about forbidden to mention the existence of gay people, they're gonna understand why I don't want teachers talking to my damn kids about Tucker Carlson.

You don't want teachers talking to your kids about sodomy? I understand. I don't want teachers talking to my kid about lying for money or for ratings or because those lies are the best way to attach yourself to the dumbest percentage of the available American audience.

In my house, we have values. Those values are rooted in the Bible and in decency and in our American culture.

We know there are people out there like Tucker Carlson; they just didn't used to be on television because back when I was a boy, fascists stayed in the closet, where they belong, and they weren't always trying to shove their agenda down your throat.

A man knows when it's time to talk to his son about Tucker Carlson. A woman knows when it's time to give her daughter "the talk" about Marjorie Taylor Greene.

A kid gets to be a certain age, he starts asking questions

"Dad, some of the boys talk about 'trickle-down economics.' Does it really make poor people rich?"

"Mom, are unions really communist?"

And every parent dreads it, but one evening, little Timmy looks up from under his tousled mop of blonde hair, and you look into those innocent blue eyes, and you know what's coming.

"Dad, who was Tucker Carlson?"

You're gonna want to brush the kid off. How do they hear about these things so young? What happened to a time for innocence? Why not let the kid be a kid, just for a few more years?

Don't do it. You're the parent. This is your job.

"Well, son, in this house, we believe in Jesus and the flag and telling the truth."

"Some people, they don't believe in those things," you say. "They say they do, but they don't, and they tell lies just to get famous and rich."

"Gosh," says little Timmy. "Do we know any people like that?"

This is when you have to be stern.

"Everybody knows people like that," you say. "We just don't let them in our house, and we're not their friends, and we never, ever go anywhere with them, not even if they say it's just a tour of our nation's capital."

Don't be embarrassed. The kid's gonna grow up, a little more every day. Your grandfather explained Joe McCarthy to your father, and your father explained Ronald Reagan to you. Either you tell the kid, or he learns it on the street.

Good luck.

To find out more about Marc Munroe Dion, and read features by Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit www.creators.com. Dion's latest book, a collection of his best columns, is called "Devil's Elbow: Dancing in the Ashes of America." It is available in paperback from Amazon.com, and for Nook, Kindle, and iBooks.