Kids

Those who grew up (whatever that means) during the 50s, 60s or even the 70s enjoyed a window in United States history which may never open again. Youth was defined by blocks of time just to be a kid. I recall untold hours spent riding my bike over dirt mounds and city streets and off to the public pool, climbing trees, chasing lizards, having dirt clod battles, investigating the giant concrete tubes on the new freeway site, shooting archery in my front yard, cruising Park Central Mall, watching the first episode of The Mickey Mouse Club (damn, Annette was gorgeous), participating as a crossing guard at Heard Elementary School, taking the bus downtown to the YMCA twice a week, and finally  spending a disproportionate amount of time in Mr. Krauss’, the principal, office. Corporal punishment was alive and well. I was awarded the honorary rank of Company Commander when it came to receiving said punishment.  

Our parent’s largest political concern was “the bomb.” We were dead center of the Cold War. Some folks actually built fallout shelters. I excavated a bath tub sized area in the back yard as my contribution to our family’s tenuous intermediate-term safety. Despite all of the freedom which surrounded us, we were not free-range. Allow me to elaborate. Our parents, or extended family adults, continued to mete out discipline when we messed up. We knew when it was coming, we knew what it would be, we accepted it and moved on. 

My mother’s favorite disciplinary device was “grounding,” generally one month at a whack! I have no doubt that the only reason my experiences were not more diverse is that I spent roughly half my high school career under house arrest. In contrast, today’s youth are either hyper-scheduled (dance, sports, swim, cheer, gymnastics, body building, reading club, private tutoring, junior militia, etc. etc. etc.) or they assume a sedentary posture to devote substantial blocks of existence to an electronic device. They no longer are required to think at all much less think critically. Their lives are engaged with others who think at them. Hence when the need for discipline arrives it becomes a chapter of “shock and awe” executed by those who are as inept in delivering it as their charges are at receiving it. Enough said.

Yesterday, I thumbed back the pages of the soon to be released epic, Aging with Memo or You’re Never Too Old to Rent Kayaks. Shortly after lunch major laughter arose from the beach below. Rapid surveillance identified four youths romping in the trench created by the Tuito River as it cut through the sand bar and emptied into the bay. These boys, rolled, romped, dove, squealed, splashed, screamed, and laughed for the better part of three hours. The trip through the trench lasted half a minute. Once complete, they ran back to travel down yet again and again and again. They were kids being kids. A smile grew across this now wrinkled face and warmed this semi-hardened heart.

Of the ten or so activities identified in the opening paragraph, virtually none of them would be allowable or available today. Offspring are chauffeured to their friends and appointments; construction sites are fenced and guarded by canines; lizards are visited at the Reptile House of some zoo; archery anywhere on the premises would violate the neighborhood CC&Rs; homes have pools installed which are rarely used; private contractors now provide crossing guard services; the original MMC wound down by 1960; ask a kid today to take a bus somewhere—you know what type of look that would generate (WTF??); and corporal punishment—we could not begin to walk down that path.

My remaining hope is that children today are still sent the principal’s office. My offsetting fear is that they are sent by inept classroom disciplinarians to a senior inept administrative disciplinarian who then calls the parents to discuss a concept about which they know little or nothing. Remember when it was fun to be a kid?  Find a raggedy pair of shorts, a T-shirt and bring them to Yelapa; no batteries required.