This was buried in the comments section of Ace of Spades blog in response to a story about a lady who was ARRESTED for letting her kid shop in a LEGO store while she was in a different store in the mall. Except for the differences based on geography (Gulf Coast vs rural Virginia), there is very little I would change.
One of the things I always said I wanted to do (but never did) was send my kids ‘back home’ to spend part of just one summer where I grew up. Let them experience life in a small town – maybe spend a few early mornings in a tobacco field, enjoy home-made ice cream, and have nothing better to do at night than catch fire flies.
Listen to me. I sound like the kind of middle-age guy that would say, “Stay off my lawn!” Anyway, here’s the comment:
When I was 8 during the summer back in the summer of 1968, we’d swim in the bayou, fish all day, live in the woods near my home playing guns (liberals of today would have kittens), football (no helmets or pads), basketball and baseball. We caught crawfish and our dads would boil them in a huge picnic with the corn and potatoes. We’d wave to the shrimp boats and the party boats headed to the Gulf and they’d blow their horns to us on the bank.
I never really watched a lot of TV and never had a reason to do so. I did chores, such as clipping the beautiful hedges that surrounded our parcel like a living fence and mowing the grass under our giant live oak tree with an old push mower. I started mowing the grass when I was 8 and I got an allowance
My parents had a big, screened in porch that overlooked the bayou and we’d have sleepouts on it. We’d sneak outside and look at the massive amount stars overhead.
We’d walk alone to the gas station on the corner and spend some of our allowances on classic candy and Barq’s or Cokes in a glass bottle. The summers on the Gulf Coast were hot as hell, but it wasn’t because of “global warming/climate change/whatever they’ll call it tomorrow.” It’s the South. It’s hot in the summer. Either you deal with it or you don’t.
We’d flirt with the neighborhood girls and steal kisses and have little relationships. That’s how I met my wife for the first time and we started dating in high school.
The only rules were you had to come inside for lunch and supper and playtime ended when the sun went down.
If someone got hurt, we got an adult. It was no big deal. One time, a friend of mine broke his arm and his Dad took him to the hospital, which was 24 miles away in the city. There was no nanny state going after him for “abuse.” His attitude, like all of our parents, were “boys will be boys.”
Vietnam was raging, but it was so distant. It wasn’t until a boy from up the street died that it became a real thing for me. There were very few black kids in our town, so civil rights was also a distant thing for me.
I sold that house after my parents passed on and I do tear up when I think of it. My Dad never spoke of his time in Korea and not that I blamed him. All I knew was he had a Bronze Star that I happened on one day. I showed it to him and he gently said to put that away and never speak of it ever again. When I read the award after his death, I never realized that my Dad had the courage of a lion.
Now kids can’t be kids. They have live in hermetically sealed bubbles. We wonder why there is a childhood obesity epidemic (everything to the nanny staters is an “epidemic”) when we won’t let kids have their independence and play as kids were meant to do. We don’t let “boys be boys.” We have to drug them with Ritalin so they won’t leave their seats and be active. I was busy as a child, but my teachers accepted that as part of “boys being boys.” You want to know why we have man buns and skinny, feminized hipsters and there’s your answer right there.
We don’t let them learn at their pace and by methods guaranteed to help them. And we wonder why more women are attending college, not that is a good thing since they come out propagandized by the feminist movement into hating men and delaying childbirth or not even having kids.
Our elites denigrate flyover country and blue collar workers, at least until they need a plumber to unclog their pipes or a roofer to plug holes in their leaking roof.
I’m sorry about rambling here, but there’s so much in this society that makes me so depressed for the world I hand over to my children and now my grandchild. We need to continue to belittle this bunk from these perennial, freedom-hating busybodies and give our children a chance to have the rich childhoods that ultimately prepare them to be the great future citizens our nation needs them to be.