Chuck Schumer has 63 crayons. He’s got funding for Medicare, Medicaid, Social Security, Defense, Education, Infrastructure, Emergency Services, and half a dozen more he can barely keep track of. But you take one purple crayon away, say, $9.4 billion in spending from a $6 trillion government purse, and Chuck doesn’t reach for a reason. He goes for the matches.

The Senate majority leader is stomping around in diapered outrage, threatening a full-blown government shutdown because House Republicans dared to introduce a rescissions package that trims a fraction of a percent from the federal budget. Not 5%. Not 1%. 

Less than two-tenths of one percent.

You wouldn’t burn down the house over a misplaced couch cushion. But Washington isn’t rational. It’s theatrical. And Chuck Schumer isn’t behaving like a leader. He’s throwing a tantrum in the toy aisle and daring anyone to stop him.

Let’s be clear about what set him off.

The Trump administration, in coordination with House GOP leaders, rolled out a modest package targeting wasteful, unspent, or duplicative programs. The biggest headlines? Rescinding funds from green climate initiatives nobody used, trimming foreign aid that serves foreign bureaucracies more than American taxpayers, and, yes, cutting funding for public broadcasting.

And that last one? That’s the crayon Schumer clutched to his chest like a toddler refusing to share.

In an interview on July 8, he warned,

“This partisan, reckless package, if pursued, could put us on the road to a shutdown."

Now, cutting a small slice of PBS might seem insignificant to you or me. But to Schumer, it’s sacrilege. However, in his world, PBS doesn't host cooking shows or antique auctions. Instead, it's a holy institution providing emergency broadcast services to those living in rural areas, the only means of reaching those in upstate New York if his floor speeches are to be believed.

Based on the hue and cry, one would think the Washington Monument was getting chopped down, brick by brick.

No matter the story, context matters. 

Cutting $9.4 billion (with a B) equals the removal of a thimble from the ocean. However, because that thimble, no matter the size, holds programs that Up-Chuck likes, the entire room must pretend that what's happened is an existential threat to the free world as we know it!

But it's not.

Schumer isn't signaling alarm at the math because he knows the formula and figures. Chuck knows how minor the cuts are: Those cuts are so small, they’re basically the government putting a dime in a tip jar and calling it fiscal discipline. What bothers Chuck the most is the precedent: The Republicans asserting control over even a sliver of spending without his nod of approval equals the freedom he cannot grant. Schumer doesn't want just obedience; he wants to hold the entire federal government hostage.

It’s worth remembering that Chuck wasn’t always like this. Just a few months ago, he helped avert a shutdown by siding with Republicans in passing a continuing resolution, breaking ranks with his own progressives who wanted to force the issue. Back then, he framed himself as a stabilizing adult in the room.

Now? Now he’s back to pounding his fists while sitting in his highchair because someone served him store-brand macaroni instead of the one with the cartoon dinosaur on the box.

That’s not statesmanship. That’s petulance. And it’s dangerous.

If a government-crippling standoff is the result of a single disagreement, then governing isn't the word I'd use. 

Instead? I'd say babysitting.

Let's dig in. 

The targets of the GOP's recission are unspent funds for the pandemic, climate programs already out of takers, questionable returns from foreign development aid, and some domestic subsidies. You don't have to ask; public broadcasting also falls under that umbrella.

None of these funds touches Social Security, Medicare, national security, national security, or FEMA.

Not a single child goes hungry, a soldier doesn't lose any pay, and the band bridge continues unabated.

This isn't austerity: It's janitorial work that involves cleaning out cushions and returning unused gift cards months before their expiration date.

However, in Up-Chuck's world, cleaning the federal books is akin to theft, where he's crying like a petulant child whose juice box was stolen and replaced with seltzer.

Spending isn't the most dangerous lesson here: It's about power. If Chucky succeeds in making even minor cuts politically toxic, it screams that any attempt to rein in spending will be met with the ultimate threat: the government will shut down, and the other guy will be blamed.

As a parent, I've watched my daughters learn the art of manipulation—crying just loudly enough, and directing it at the right parent, to get the cookie.

And, in Chuck's mind, the media will be the cookie. He's hoping for headlines assigning blame to the GOP for cutting funds to PBS instead of the Democrats, 

"... rejecting 0.2% trim in wasteful spending." 

Schumer is counting on journalists to carry his juice box for him.

So far, so good.

Axios and the Washington Examiner have already reported on the story using his perspective. Yet few ask why a man who runs the Senate would risk a full shutdown over table scraps.

Fewer still ask why someone with that much power continues to act like a child denied recess.

Public broadcasting has become the symbol here, so let’s examine it honestly.

PBS is not a vital artery of democracy. It’s a nostalgia channel for tote-bag liberals who miss Mister Rogers and still think Ken Burns documentaries are the pinnacle of television. If rural New York is truly relying on Downton Abbey reruns to survive emergencies, then the problem isn’t Trump’s budget. It’s that Chuck never picked up the phone to fund a proper warning system.

And if public media is that crucial, why not fund it with private partnerships, viewer donations, or state-level appropriations? Why should a factory worker who doesn't give a tinker's damn in Iowa subsidize a classical music station in Schumer’s backyard?

Answer: Because he says so. And if you disagree? 

Shut it all down.

This isn’t a policy fight. It’s a performance.

Schumer isn’t outraged. He’s offended. He didn’t get to hold the pen. He didn’t get to lecture the class before the test. And now he’s yanking at the tablecloth, hoping to ruin the whole meal before dessert comes.

There comes a time when every adult has to deal with a tantrum. You don’t negotiate or plead. You certainly don’t give the crayon back.

You let the child wear himself out, wipe his nose, put him on the couch, and learn that screaming doesn’t buy you control.

It's about bloody well time that the GOP needs to wear its grown-up pants.

If Republicans cave here, they’ll spend the rest of this term, and probably the next, governing under threat of the next tantrum. Whether it’s over electric school buses, gender curriculum, or Ukraine funding, Schumer will know he holds the juice box.

Let him scream.

Let him flail.

Let him throw his tantrum on the Capitol steps if he wants.

But don’t reward it.

Because if we don’t start saying no to these theatrical shutdown threats, then Up-Chuck won’t be the only toddler running the place.

He’ll be the poster child for how Washington fell into a crib and never climbed out.

They’ve got legacy media. You’ve got us.

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