We don’t cook a lot. I can count, on one hand, how many consecutive days we’ve eaten dinner at home and still have enough fingers left over to tell how I feel about the little punk in this story I am about to tell.
So, as I said, we tend to go out. We have regular haunts. On Wednesday’s we usually go for wings at Zackel’s in Claridge. We like Pasqaulino’s in Irwin. And at least once a week we go to Johnny’s Wife’s Place II in Harrison City for pizza. Last night was pizza night.
We’re pretty much well known in the restaurants we frequent and have a good relationship with the staff. Last night was no exception as the poor server at JWPII was all on her own dealing with some large parties in the dining room. One of those large parties had a lot of young kids, say between five and ten years old.
Now, I will be the first to admit my kid can be a handful. She has her moments when she cannot be corralled but we do our best to rein her in and apologize when needed. However, this group we saw last night was very lax when it came to policing their kids. At one point, the most hellish of fiends wandered around, getting under foot and eyed up the ice bin. I could just tell what was going to happen next. As a parent, you get this sort of precognitive vibe when a kid is going to act ornery. You can see the child standing in a room and know exactly what kind of trouble they are about to get into given the various outlets for mischief that are available. In this instance, I knew he was headed for the ice bin, right under the drink station.
Demon spawn walked right over to the bin, and reached his big ole snotty paw into the bin, grabbing the ice scoop. Pulled it out and grabbed a chunk of ice with the other snot paw. He wandered over towards his table where the adults were oblivious to his actions. He put the ice in his mouth and then he was noticed by parental units who asked where he got his new toy. He pointed and they mouthed something and he wandered back. At this point, I knew, KNEW, what was going to happen next.
You guessed it. Ice scoop and slobbery chunk of ice went back into the ice bin. A barrage of “NOs” was coming from our table as both my wife and I began yelling to the kid not to do it. The only thing that stopped me from physically going over there was that it wasn’t my kid and the last thing I wanted was some adult looking at me like I’m Jerry Sandusky.
So, we grabbed our overworked server and explained what happened. She closed the ice bin and brought out a huge bucket of fresh ice for glasses.
But it didn’t end there. The demon spawn also wandered over and began banging on the POS screen for the food and drink orders. At this point I looked at him and said, “HEY! Hell no, man. Get!”
Meanwhile, parents and other adults at the raucous table were oblivious to the actions of the little bastard and I yelled out, “Why am I policing other people’s kids?”
Eventually, the party made plans to leave and I could tell that the mother was just looking to get the kids home and into bed before she sat down with her glass of wine and Ambien. I could tell this group was Penn Township’s pretentious elite. The, “I don’t police my kids because they’re angels and it interrupts my free time to give a damn!”
Had my kid pulled a stunt like this it would have been a huge ordeal. First of all, she would never have made it to the ice bin. Also, had she eluded the radar and made it into hostile territory and came back with the ice scoop we would have grabbed it and her and marched back to the wait staff to tell them what happened. Then she would have apologized to them and I would have offered to help fix the situation.
Cleaning out an ice bin is not fun. I’ve done it. And not even just the small ones on a rollaway bar. I’m talking the big ice machines in the kitchens of establishments. I’ve had to clean them out, completely. It’s a big undertaking when you don’t already have 14 other jobs to do.
Needless to say, we were angry and it didn’t even technically affect us.
Police your damn kids!
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Showing posts with label damn kids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label damn kids. Show all posts
Friday, April 27, 2012
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Who The F**k Are These Kids?
I’ll admit that I did not pay too much attention to the Grammy’s. Award shows are becoming ridiculously overblown and phony. The one show I used to watch with great regularity, The Oscars, is slowly dropping off my radar with every year. James Franco nearly killed it all together, last year.
However, I did manage to see a few performances, like Katy Perry, who looked and sounded awful. I also saw Adele win for album of the year, which I applauded. Her voice is reminiscent of singers from decades gone by and whoever wronged her has now made her a rich woman.
Frankly, I really don’t give a rat’s hind quarters about half of those musicians out there. They all suck in my book. I don’t think I need to beat that dead horse like I have in the past. And another thing… what the hell is Country music doing infiltrating the Grammy’s? Don’t they already have 15 award shows throughout the year? Though, Taylor Swift losing made me smile.
But on a more disturbing note, a trend developed on social media services where people, mostly kids, said, “Who the ‘eff is Paul McCartney?”
Come on, parents! This is sad. This is my generation’s offspring running around out there praising Justin Bieber and Nicki Minaj and Lady Gaga and they don’t know who the ‘effing Beatles are? And not just because of Rock Band or Guitar Hero.
My daughter is four years old and she knows most of the words to “Eleanor Rigby”! She loves The Beatles. She sees commercials that use Beatles’ songs and says, “Hey, it’s The ‘Yellow Submarine’ guys.” She loves that movie, even though The Beatles had little to do with the acting. I remember watching an intimate performance, by Scott Blasey of The Clarks, in our hometown a couple years back and his daughter knew all the words to “Being For the Benefit of Mr. Kite!” She’s roughly the same age as my daughter.
Folks, we are one step closer to Idiocracy. It’s pretty sad when Dave Grohl, of all people, has to come out and say, “Musicians, knock that autotune shit off or I will cut a bitch!” OK, he didn’t say that. In fact, his speech was a little hypocritical because he has done some electronic work on some of his music awhile back. Still, the fact that one of the Foo Fighters has to come out and shame you is ridiculous. That’s like putting Katherine McPhee out there as the poster child for saving Country music. “Y’all need to start drinking more and having heartache or Country will die!”
Rock is dead. I get it. One of the greatest rock bands ever found a replacement singer on YouTube. Another is touring with an American Idol winner. We get it. Rock died before Kurt Cobain did. But it only ceases to be memorable if parents do not educate their kids on what it used to be like for those of us who remember bands like The Beatles and Led Zeppelin and The Who. Kids need to know that Elvis Pressley was more than a guy who does weddings in Las Vegas and died on a toilet. They need to hear Jimmy Hendrix and Stevie Ray Vaughn both play “Little Wing” and then have a healthy discussion on which version is better. Even though it was Jimmy’s song, I love Stevie Ray Vaughn’s version better. Though, I love Hendrix’s version more than Derek and the Dominoes’.
The point is that the current pool of artists, if you can call K-E-Dollar Sign-HA an artist, are lazy and are given fame and prominence for nothing. There was a time when you had to bleed and starve to get a sniff at stardom. You think Blues artists back in the first half of the 20th century were able to hit it big thanks to a hack singing contest? No. John Lee Hooker was not auto tuned nor on Fox being judged by a British twat with a horrible haircut. And yet, we should praise Miss “Tik Tok” because she can string together a mess of rhyming couplets about drinking some Jack and smelling of crack?
Who the ‘eff is Paul McCartney?
Who the ‘eff are you? What have you done to earn anyone’s respect. Go out and learn a little about the world. Get a clue!
Parents? Teach your damn kids about real music. Class dismissed!
However, I did manage to see a few performances, like Katy Perry, who looked and sounded awful. I also saw Adele win for album of the year, which I applauded. Her voice is reminiscent of singers from decades gone by and whoever wronged her has now made her a rich woman.
Frankly, I really don’t give a rat’s hind quarters about half of those musicians out there. They all suck in my book. I don’t think I need to beat that dead horse like I have in the past. And another thing… what the hell is Country music doing infiltrating the Grammy’s? Don’t they already have 15 award shows throughout the year? Though, Taylor Swift losing made me smile.
But on a more disturbing note, a trend developed on social media services where people, mostly kids, said, “Who the ‘eff is Paul McCartney?”
Come on, parents! This is sad. This is my generation’s offspring running around out there praising Justin Bieber and Nicki Minaj and Lady Gaga and they don’t know who the ‘effing Beatles are? And not just because of Rock Band or Guitar Hero.
My daughter is four years old and she knows most of the words to “Eleanor Rigby”! She loves The Beatles. She sees commercials that use Beatles’ songs and says, “Hey, it’s The ‘Yellow Submarine’ guys.” She loves that movie, even though The Beatles had little to do with the acting. I remember watching an intimate performance, by Scott Blasey of The Clarks, in our hometown a couple years back and his daughter knew all the words to “Being For the Benefit of Mr. Kite!” She’s roughly the same age as my daughter.
Folks, we are one step closer to Idiocracy. It’s pretty sad when Dave Grohl, of all people, has to come out and say, “Musicians, knock that autotune shit off or I will cut a bitch!” OK, he didn’t say that. In fact, his speech was a little hypocritical because he has done some electronic work on some of his music awhile back. Still, the fact that one of the Foo Fighters has to come out and shame you is ridiculous. That’s like putting Katherine McPhee out there as the poster child for saving Country music. “Y’all need to start drinking more and having heartache or Country will die!”
Rock is dead. I get it. One of the greatest rock bands ever found a replacement singer on YouTube. Another is touring with an American Idol winner. We get it. Rock died before Kurt Cobain did. But it only ceases to be memorable if parents do not educate their kids on what it used to be like for those of us who remember bands like The Beatles and Led Zeppelin and The Who. Kids need to know that Elvis Pressley was more than a guy who does weddings in Las Vegas and died on a toilet. They need to hear Jimmy Hendrix and Stevie Ray Vaughn both play “Little Wing” and then have a healthy discussion on which version is better. Even though it was Jimmy’s song, I love Stevie Ray Vaughn’s version better. Though, I love Hendrix’s version more than Derek and the Dominoes’.
The point is that the current pool of artists, if you can call K-E-Dollar Sign-HA an artist, are lazy and are given fame and prominence for nothing. There was a time when you had to bleed and starve to get a sniff at stardom. You think Blues artists back in the first half of the 20th century were able to hit it big thanks to a hack singing contest? No. John Lee Hooker was not auto tuned nor on Fox being judged by a British twat with a horrible haircut. And yet, we should praise Miss “Tik Tok” because she can string together a mess of rhyming couplets about drinking some Jack and smelling of crack?
Who the ‘eff is Paul McCartney?
Who the ‘eff are you? What have you done to earn anyone’s respect. Go out and learn a little about the world. Get a clue!
Parents? Teach your damn kids about real music. Class dismissed!
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Queasy Rider Part Two
I recently spoke about how I have lost my edge as a roller coaster and amusement park enthusiast. I don’t know if it’s an inner ear thing or just plain age. It could be that becoming a father took away that desire to put my life and my lunch on the line in an effort to get the adrenaline flowing. I don’t know even know if I still have what it takes to stand in line for a ride that takes you straight up into the stratosphere and then plunges you head first into the ground like Mel Gibson’s career. Maybe I should just relegate myself to riding the train around the park and yell at kids for walking fast past me.
Last weekend, my wife had the spontaneous notion to just up and go to Kennywood. I reeled back in terror, not because she wanted to go to an amusement park but, because she decided to just do it as a spur of the moment thing. We don’t do well with spontaneity. We tried it once on vacation a few years ago when we decided to take the last day of our trip to Myrtle Beach and drive up to the Outer Banks to see the lighthouses. We didn’t realize we would end up in a Post Apocalyptic Pool Hall At the End Of the Outer Banks. It just seems that every time we try to do something on a whim ,we end up causing a rift in the space time continuum. Bad things happen. However, we realized that summer is flying by and our three year old should get to see Kennywood this year. So, I packed up our World Ending Survival Kits and got ready for a little spontaneity. To even out the odds of riding and babysitting, we included my wife’s niece on the trip and headed out.
First off, we picked the hottest day of the century to go to the park. Everywhere little red mercury thermometers were saying, “’Eff this! It’s too damn hot.” The high temperature was listed to be 93 but the heat index probably put it over 103. Now, why can’t they just say it’s 103? I don’t care what the temperature is and then what it feels like. Either tell me what the temperature is or tell me what the temperature feels like, but don’t say both. Pick one and stick with it. It’s the same with wind chill. Just say it’s the worse number in terms of hot or cold. It makes my life easier. I’m standing in my bedroom toggling between fashion choices. “Well, it’s 93 out there so let’s go with boxers. But, it feels like it 103, so maybe I should go with briefs.” Tell you what, that’s how we should report the weather. “Ladies in gentlemen, the temperature is going to be over 100 degrees. Better go with wet suit.”
Secondly, my daughter has no fear. I mean she will run at top speed towards a brick wall expecting the brick wall to move. The first words out of her mouth, upon exiting the Family Truckster and seeing the Phantom’s Revenge plummeting towards the parking lot with screaming and yelling passengers on it, was “I want to ride that roller coaster.” I informed her that she was still too small for it and she rebuffed my comments and said, “But, I’m a big girl.” Kids. We decided to start off small and rode the carousel. She got a kick out of riding the horses and felt that was all the prep work she would need and started picking out all the spin and puke worthy rides to try next. I told her we needed to get some lunch first but she was adamant about living on the edge. Of course, wanting to eat and then ride spin and puke rides was pretty close to living on the edge for me.
With park food, you cannot go wrong if you get Potato Patch fries. I don’t care how hot it is outside, you can find the will to scarf down those awesome fries with cheese. One great addition to the Food and Beverage department was the presence of forks. While it’s nice to get knuckles deep into a basket of cheese fries, it just makes it easier when dealing with a little one. Midway through lunch, my wife had to take her to the Sierra Mist Misting Station to get cooled off a bit. Did I mention it was hot? That was pretty much the theme of the day. “It’s hot!” It was the kind of heat that negated the effects of drinking four or five soft drinks in a row. I would have done better with water but a medium Pepsi or Mountain Dew was $2.39 and a 16 ounce bottle of water, in the vending machine, was $3.00. I was hot but not that hot, yet.
Next up was the Turtles. This was another one of my favorite rides as a kid. It simply goes around in a circle and every so often goes over a hill. Not too thrilling, to say the least, but that whole grumpy man / inner ear thing was making me a little queasy. That and the fact that the seats were made of reflective metal had me wishing I’d worn longer shorts but the effects of the heat on the outside of my legs was nothing compared to the heat that was generated within the confines of my clothing. The relative humidity of my shorts was somewhere around 110%. Any longer on the length of the material in my short legs would have had me looking for that wet suit. Still, the little one got such a kick out of these rides.
After I regained my equilibrium we headed over to the Lost Kennywood section of the park and my wife, niece, and daughter decided to forgo the long line for the Pittsburgh Plunge and just stand in the observation area to catch the splash down from the boats. Me, I opted to stay as dry as possible since I was the human purse. I had to carry everything in my pockets, cell phone, keys, camera and wallet. I was like a cat. I did not want to get wet. Regardless of how hot it was, I maintained my “stay dry if at all possible” policy.
That’s another thing I’ve grown out of in my years. Water rides. I used to love rides like the Raging Rapids and Log Jammer. On a hot day I found comfort in just getting completely drenched on a water ride in order to cool off from the heat. But, in my curmudgeon years, I’ve stayed away from water as if I was a Mogwai. It may not be all about age. The one thing that used to drive me nuts as an Amusement Park employee was when a soaking wet guest would reach into their sock and pull out a folded stack of money. They would peel the dollar bills away from each other, discard the hitchhiking lint, and hand me a few ones to play my game. I wanted to put on a biohazard suit and use tongs to take their money. Things worsened when you got their wet money and you put in the stack of money you had in your apron and then the wetness transferred to the rest of the stack. It just felt dirty. It would be like handing a twenty to a stripper and asking for change. Besides being impolite, it’s a little on the eww side. I don’t think I want the ones you just pulled out of your crotch. It’s nothing against you personally. I support single moms working their way through medical school. Not that I know anything about that.
Apart from my hang ups about getting wet at the amusement park it’s not just about me getting wet. In fact, if it pours down rain, I welcome the relief from the heat. It’s the water in the park that I don’t care for experiencing. It’s that poorly chlorinated water that smells of minerals and sweat that gags me. The water from wet rides consist of whatever base water is in the ride plus all the dirt, grime, sweat and possibly other bodily fluids it collects as it drips off the passengers onto the floor of the ride. It gets stomped around by their shoes and then falls back into the water and then gets recycled back into the ride, ready to splash the next guest. Standing in line for a ride along with tens of others who reek of "wet guest" is not exactly a lot of fun. I am just as to blame as I stand there with the crotch pot set to simmer. I should have chosen briefs for this.
After The Petri Dish Plunge, my wife took her niece to go try out the new ride while I braved the wilds of Kiddieland with my daughter. Now, I fully expected to find myself in the middle of my worst nightmare. I was all set to be amid a sea of rotten children, pushing and shoving their way around the rides. I was prepared to stand in long lines and watch as my little angel turned into a devil as she sometimes [read: often] becomes impatient. What I wasn’t ready for was the exact opposite. She was tickled to ride and was a perfect little doll. The ride operators were courteous and helpful. The other kids were very polite and while there was a little excitement over getting into the gates, they all pretty much took turns. There were no Altamont or Riverfront Stadium reenactments, anywhere. The only time it even got a little scary was the revelation that I would have to ride the S.S. Kenny with my kid. I thought the S.S. Kenny was supposed to be a kiddie version of the Pirate Ship. However, that was a miscalculation. The Pirate Ship only goes back and forth. This was more like the Cosmic Chaos as The S.S. Kenny goes back and forth and then spins around as it sails. I might as well have been on the Edmund Fitzgerald.
Once my wife returned to tag me out, I booked it for the front of the park to ride the new coaster, The Skyrocket. The wait was almost an hour long, but I was willing to tough it out along with the other park water soaked guests. EW. I then noticed something a little amiss. Up ahead of me was this little whelp of guy holding an infant. Couldn’t have been more than a few months old. Beyond thinking, “Hey, get that kid under some cover, it’s hot and sunny out here,” I couldn’t help but wonder how this guy was going to pull this off when he got to the deck. There’s no way in all of Zelienople that they are going to let that kid ride and I didn’t see any mother around, either. Once we got up to the deck I saw the master plan. Momma was riding two cars ahead of him and when her car came back in, he was ready to get on after handing the baby over to her. Made more sense to me after witnessing it. Still, they handed off an infant over a gap in the floor which made me cringe a little. Yet, that all went away as I got ready to try out a new coaster. In all, the ride lasted just over a minute and was pretty neat, save the hour wait.
By now, the late afternoon sun was blazing over the park’s horizon and was still very hot. My wife snuck in another splash down cleansing and an hour long wait for the indoor coaster called The Exterminator while I rode The Whip and the Carousel with the munchkin. We stopped for some pizza and then I was back to Kiddieland while my wife rode the Aero 360 with her niece. Until now, we both looked at that ride like it was enough to make us yack. She rode it twice, though, loving it. I was still enjoying being a proud parent and wearing that badge of honor as my little one continued to ride her heart out on the miniature rides. Unfortunately, another spin and puke called the Dizzy Dynamo. It was a bit like a Tilt-A-Whirl but I felt more like it was a Tilt-A-Hurl. She got to ride the mini Turtles and a few more rides before my wife got back.
We decided to ride the carousel and the Paratrooper before getting ice cream. I was all set to spray the crowd on the Paratrooper while my daughter giggled and laughed all throughout the ride. As we stood in line for ice cream the flood gates opened over the park. It had been threatening to rain since before sunset and now we were caught inside the park. We all hopped up on the covered porch surrounding the cafeteria and ate our ice cream before dodging the raindrops back to the van.
That’s when it happened. We had one more ride to go on and it was the car ride home. This little angel, this perfect child, this kid who spent the better part of seven hours riding her but off didn’t make it out of the parking lot before crashing. So, I guess I can still find enjoyment and excitement at the amusement park at my age without having to wear black socks up to my knees or shake my fist at the “damn kids” who whiz past me heading for the roller coaster queues. I just have to spend some time watching my kid enjoy the hell out of riding the rides. I don’t have to worry about my tubes going all wonky or fear that my Potato Patch fries might make a reappearance. I kind of like it that way. I still like that car ride at the end of the day. That’s still my favorite. By the way, I need a shower. I've got some serious "wet guest" funk going on with my person. Should have worn a wet suit.
Last weekend, my wife had the spontaneous notion to just up and go to Kennywood. I reeled back in terror, not because she wanted to go to an amusement park but, because she decided to just do it as a spur of the moment thing. We don’t do well with spontaneity. We tried it once on vacation a few years ago when we decided to take the last day of our trip to Myrtle Beach and drive up to the Outer Banks to see the lighthouses. We didn’t realize we would end up in a Post Apocalyptic Pool Hall At the End Of the Outer Banks. It just seems that every time we try to do something on a whim ,we end up causing a rift in the space time continuum. Bad things happen. However, we realized that summer is flying by and our three year old should get to see Kennywood this year. So, I packed up our World Ending Survival Kits and got ready for a little spontaneity. To even out the odds of riding and babysitting, we included my wife’s niece on the trip and headed out.
First off, we picked the hottest day of the century to go to the park. Everywhere little red mercury thermometers were saying, “’Eff this! It’s too damn hot.” The high temperature was listed to be 93 but the heat index probably put it over 103. Now, why can’t they just say it’s 103? I don’t care what the temperature is and then what it feels like. Either tell me what the temperature is or tell me what the temperature feels like, but don’t say both. Pick one and stick with it. It’s the same with wind chill. Just say it’s the worse number in terms of hot or cold. It makes my life easier. I’m standing in my bedroom toggling between fashion choices. “Well, it’s 93 out there so let’s go with boxers. But, it feels like it 103, so maybe I should go with briefs.” Tell you what, that’s how we should report the weather. “Ladies in gentlemen, the temperature is going to be over 100 degrees. Better go with wet suit.”
Secondly, my daughter has no fear. I mean she will run at top speed towards a brick wall expecting the brick wall to move. The first words out of her mouth, upon exiting the Family Truckster and seeing the Phantom’s Revenge plummeting towards the parking lot with screaming and yelling passengers on it, was “I want to ride that roller coaster.” I informed her that she was still too small for it and she rebuffed my comments and said, “But, I’m a big girl.” Kids. We decided to start off small and rode the carousel. She got a kick out of riding the horses and felt that was all the prep work she would need and started picking out all the spin and puke worthy rides to try next. I told her we needed to get some lunch first but she was adamant about living on the edge. Of course, wanting to eat and then ride spin and puke rides was pretty close to living on the edge for me.
With park food, you cannot go wrong if you get Potato Patch fries. I don’t care how hot it is outside, you can find the will to scarf down those awesome fries with cheese. One great addition to the Food and Beverage department was the presence of forks. While it’s nice to get knuckles deep into a basket of cheese fries, it just makes it easier when dealing with a little one. Midway through lunch, my wife had to take her to the Sierra Mist Misting Station to get cooled off a bit. Did I mention it was hot? That was pretty much the theme of the day. “It’s hot!” It was the kind of heat that negated the effects of drinking four or five soft drinks in a row. I would have done better with water but a medium Pepsi or Mountain Dew was $2.39 and a 16 ounce bottle of water, in the vending machine, was $3.00. I was hot but not that hot, yet.
Next up was the Turtles. This was another one of my favorite rides as a kid. It simply goes around in a circle and every so often goes over a hill. Not too thrilling, to say the least, but that whole grumpy man / inner ear thing was making me a little queasy. That and the fact that the seats were made of reflective metal had me wishing I’d worn longer shorts but the effects of the heat on the outside of my legs was nothing compared to the heat that was generated within the confines of my clothing. The relative humidity of my shorts was somewhere around 110%. Any longer on the length of the material in my short legs would have had me looking for that wet suit. Still, the little one got such a kick out of these rides.
After I regained my equilibrium we headed over to the Lost Kennywood section of the park and my wife, niece, and daughter decided to forgo the long line for the Pittsburgh Plunge and just stand in the observation area to catch the splash down from the boats. Me, I opted to stay as dry as possible since I was the human purse. I had to carry everything in my pockets, cell phone, keys, camera and wallet. I was like a cat. I did not want to get wet. Regardless of how hot it was, I maintained my “stay dry if at all possible” policy.
That’s another thing I’ve grown out of in my years. Water rides. I used to love rides like the Raging Rapids and Log Jammer. On a hot day I found comfort in just getting completely drenched on a water ride in order to cool off from the heat. But, in my curmudgeon years, I’ve stayed away from water as if I was a Mogwai. It may not be all about age. The one thing that used to drive me nuts as an Amusement Park employee was when a soaking wet guest would reach into their sock and pull out a folded stack of money. They would peel the dollar bills away from each other, discard the hitchhiking lint, and hand me a few ones to play my game. I wanted to put on a biohazard suit and use tongs to take their money. Things worsened when you got their wet money and you put in the stack of money you had in your apron and then the wetness transferred to the rest of the stack. It just felt dirty. It would be like handing a twenty to a stripper and asking for change. Besides being impolite, it’s a little on the eww side. I don’t think I want the ones you just pulled out of your crotch. It’s nothing against you personally. I support single moms working their way through medical school. Not that I know anything about that.
Apart from my hang ups about getting wet at the amusement park it’s not just about me getting wet. In fact, if it pours down rain, I welcome the relief from the heat. It’s the water in the park that I don’t care for experiencing. It’s that poorly chlorinated water that smells of minerals and sweat that gags me. The water from wet rides consist of whatever base water is in the ride plus all the dirt, grime, sweat and possibly other bodily fluids it collects as it drips off the passengers onto the floor of the ride. It gets stomped around by their shoes and then falls back into the water and then gets recycled back into the ride, ready to splash the next guest. Standing in line for a ride along with tens of others who reek of "wet guest" is not exactly a lot of fun. I am just as to blame as I stand there with the crotch pot set to simmer. I should have chosen briefs for this.
After The Petri Dish Plunge, my wife took her niece to go try out the new ride while I braved the wilds of Kiddieland with my daughter. Now, I fully expected to find myself in the middle of my worst nightmare. I was all set to be amid a sea of rotten children, pushing and shoving their way around the rides. I was prepared to stand in long lines and watch as my little angel turned into a devil as she sometimes [read: often] becomes impatient. What I wasn’t ready for was the exact opposite. She was tickled to ride and was a perfect little doll. The ride operators were courteous and helpful. The other kids were very polite and while there was a little excitement over getting into the gates, they all pretty much took turns. There were no Altamont or Riverfront Stadium reenactments, anywhere. The only time it even got a little scary was the revelation that I would have to ride the S.S. Kenny with my kid. I thought the S.S. Kenny was supposed to be a kiddie version of the Pirate Ship. However, that was a miscalculation. The Pirate Ship only goes back and forth. This was more like the Cosmic Chaos as The S.S. Kenny goes back and forth and then spins around as it sails. I might as well have been on the Edmund Fitzgerald.
Once my wife returned to tag me out, I booked it for the front of the park to ride the new coaster, The Skyrocket. The wait was almost an hour long, but I was willing to tough it out along with the other park water soaked guests. EW. I then noticed something a little amiss. Up ahead of me was this little whelp of guy holding an infant. Couldn’t have been more than a few months old. Beyond thinking, “Hey, get that kid under some cover, it’s hot and sunny out here,” I couldn’t help but wonder how this guy was going to pull this off when he got to the deck. There’s no way in all of Zelienople that they are going to let that kid ride and I didn’t see any mother around, either. Once we got up to the deck I saw the master plan. Momma was riding two cars ahead of him and when her car came back in, he was ready to get on after handing the baby over to her. Made more sense to me after witnessing it. Still, they handed off an infant over a gap in the floor which made me cringe a little. Yet, that all went away as I got ready to try out a new coaster. In all, the ride lasted just over a minute and was pretty neat, save the hour wait.
By now, the late afternoon sun was blazing over the park’s horizon and was still very hot. My wife snuck in another splash down cleansing and an hour long wait for the indoor coaster called The Exterminator while I rode The Whip and the Carousel with the munchkin. We stopped for some pizza and then I was back to Kiddieland while my wife rode the Aero 360 with her niece. Until now, we both looked at that ride like it was enough to make us yack. She rode it twice, though, loving it. I was still enjoying being a proud parent and wearing that badge of honor as my little one continued to ride her heart out on the miniature rides. Unfortunately, another spin and puke called the Dizzy Dynamo. It was a bit like a Tilt-A-Whirl but I felt more like it was a Tilt-A-Hurl. She got to ride the mini Turtles and a few more rides before my wife got back.
We decided to ride the carousel and the Paratrooper before getting ice cream. I was all set to spray the crowd on the Paratrooper while my daughter giggled and laughed all throughout the ride. As we stood in line for ice cream the flood gates opened over the park. It had been threatening to rain since before sunset and now we were caught inside the park. We all hopped up on the covered porch surrounding the cafeteria and ate our ice cream before dodging the raindrops back to the van.
That’s when it happened. We had one more ride to go on and it was the car ride home. This little angel, this perfect child, this kid who spent the better part of seven hours riding her but off didn’t make it out of the parking lot before crashing. So, I guess I can still find enjoyment and excitement at the amusement park at my age without having to wear black socks up to my knees or shake my fist at the “damn kids” who whiz past me heading for the roller coaster queues. I just have to spend some time watching my kid enjoy the hell out of riding the rides. I don’t have to worry about my tubes going all wonky or fear that my Potato Patch fries might make a reappearance. I kind of like it that way. I still like that car ride at the end of the day. That’s still my favorite. By the way, I need a shower. I've got some serious "wet guest" funk going on with my person. Should have worn a wet suit.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Kids These Days
No, this is not another rant about the decline of adolescence in today’s world. So, feel free to stay on my lawn for the time being. But after I’m done, go away. [adjusts old man cap and hikes up trousers]
Actually, I had the chance to observe a few different children this weekend, either in person or over the web. Some of these experiences are touching, some heart breaking, some well, let’s just say it’s my kid and as bad as an influence I have been on her, she makes me laugh… and that’s why she’s still alive. [finger snaps, guns, wink] Kidding.
Let’s start off the weekend with Finley Pletcher. I did a hap hazard write up on her for Friday to help boost the opportunity for her family, old high school friends of mine, to get some additional exposure to their daughter’s fight with LCA. I could have taken more time but I was doing it quickly to get it up before the weekend because they were doing a fundraiser on Saturday.
I got to meet Finley at a concert this weekend and she is as adorable in person as she is in the write-ups I’ve read. She’s a brave little girl in a scary situation. We spend the early years of our childhood learning from experience. We learn by associating concepts based on our senses. Balls are round because we can see the shape and feel the texture of an object that lacks corners and straight lines. We hear the sound of a ball bouncing and know what it is. A big part of these experiences hinge on our perception based on sight. Not to rely on television as a crutch, but my own daughter has learned more from watching PBS and…. unfortunately, The Family Guy, than I could hope to teach her. More on that later.
I work in a field that is dependent on my ability to be able to look at and read information. And, on the side, I have the other business that relies on graphic design. Well, I know it looks like I’m blind or at least nearsighted when it comes to my work in that respect but just think if I couldn’t see at all. Still, growing up, I was a very visual person. I would have taken a movie over a book any day. That’s pretty bad for someone who had aspirations of being a writer. Even when it came down to books made into films, I was more about being handed all the information then having to do the extra work when I was reading. I’ve sort of shifted my concentration whereas I read more than I see. That goes with the notion that I don’t get to watch as much television and film but I am still not reading literature. It’s mostly tech writing, blogs about my line of work, or simply distractions from life.
But, if I were to lose that sight that I so dearly relied on, well, I’d be lost. To see someone at the precipice of total darkness and still being very much a kid and enjoying all the privileges of that age is very brave and inspiring to me.
Next up is little Selma. Selma the two year old granddaughter of my wife’s boss. Selma, and her three month old sister have an exciting and scary life. While they are both native to Southwestern Pennsylvania, Selma has spent almost half of her life in Vietnam with her parents who both work there. Her sister is going to be returning with them in a little while and will spend probably close to two years of her life, there, while her parents continue to work for the government.
Imagine being a small child and having to board a big plane for a 19 to 20 hour flight. All the little bumps and jolts taking you on a rollercoaster trip of sorts. Then, you are dropped into a distant land with no familiar faces. No uncles or aunts that you are used to seeing. No grandparents to come and visit and for a few hours of the day, your parents are gone while they work. Granted, at such a young age, most kids haven’t formed a huge attachment to the comforts of living in your native land. Canada is the only other country I’ve ever been to and for all the similarities between them and the U.S. there are still things that look different than I’m used to around here.
My own kid makes this list just because of her biggest adjustment. She lost one of her closest relatives this past April. My mother-in-law used to regularly babysit my daughter and when she died, my kid really put things into perspective. For being only three she gets a lot of concepts and knows that “Grammy” is no longer alive and, as she puts it, is at Kevin’s. [Heaven] We blow her a kiss every night and she is really easy going about it but there are times when she looks at us and says, “I miss Grammy.” Just last week, she broke my heart. My sister-in-law called to talk to my wife and my daughter wanted to speak to the person on the phone, no matter who it was. When my wife put her sister on speakerphone and she said, “Hello” her voice sounded a lot like their mother’s causing my daughter to yell out, “Grammy!” It devastated us to have to tell her it wasn’t. Now, she still has her other Grammy and they spend time together but losing one makes that one even more special to you. We hope she always remembers what a great person my mother-in-law was and never forgets their time together.
Lastly, I’m going to have to close this out on a sadder note. The final child I had need to mention was a little boy named Carson Rudick. My wife went to school with his mother and over the weekend, Carson died after a long fight with cancer. He was only five. The updates we received over his mother’s facebook page just killed us. We had just returned from a concert in my hometown. The lead singer of The Clarks, Scott Blasey, returned home for a solo performance in the town square. Although, he did not perform entirely by himself as two of his daughters arrived and took over the concert. They sang some covers with their Dad, including songs by Taylor Swift, Train and rounding out their set with a duet of Being For the Benefit of Mr. Kite. Honestly, how many children, under five, know that song off-book? Not many. Anyway, our little one got to meet Scott after the show and get pictures taken and once we returned home and had settled into our evening we saw the updates on Carson.
I have known people in my life who have had cancer. Some have beaten it, some have continued to struggle with it, and unfortunately some have lost their battle. And while the death of my mother-in-law was hard, she didn’t ultimately die of cancer. She had given cancer a run for its money and in the end a stupid brain hemorrhage killed her. But a little girl, named Samantha, had bone cancer and did die of the disease. She was only 11 and was a fighter. She was the granddaughter of one of my former bosses, when I worked in a hotel. I got to meet her and saw, first hand, how courageous she was. And as a man who does not put faith in a lot of things outside of what he can see or touch, I prayed for that girl. I prayed hard for nights on end. I asked for anything and I was never answered. That is what sucks most of all. A child with their whole life ahead of them taken from this Earth way too soon. I couldn’t even begin to fathom what my life would be like if I lost my little girl. For all the gray hairs and broken toys… that I didn’t contribute to, for all the Desitin painted walls and nail polished comforters, my life is constantly filled with joy on an hour to hour basis because of her being in my life. You truly discover a whole new level of love when you have a child and you will protect them with your whole being from the dangers that exist in this world.
So, for as much as I bitch about kids these days I just wanted to let you know that I still find inspiration, joy, bravery, and sadness in those I’ve had the honor and privilege to meet or read about. I won’t get on any Whitney Houston sing along but I do feel that the only thing out there that’s going to save the lot of us is our children. Hug them often. Hug them tight. Never forget the good and the bad. Give them your love, protection, and undying devotion. Raise them right and they’ll repay you in something more valuable than gold. Kids these days are special and we really need to be the best person for them to look up to.
And then, of course we’ll embarrass the hell out of them with pictures of their childhood. They’ll buy us just as many crappy gifts as we buy them. Socks, come on! We’ll put them on a golden pedestal and claim they are the best singer, actor, athlete even though they aren’t. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Now, get off my lawn and take your ball with you.
Actually, I had the chance to observe a few different children this weekend, either in person or over the web. Some of these experiences are touching, some heart breaking, some well, let’s just say it’s my kid and as bad as an influence I have been on her, she makes me laugh… and that’s why she’s still alive. [finger snaps, guns, wink] Kidding.
Let’s start off the weekend with Finley Pletcher. I did a hap hazard write up on her for Friday to help boost the opportunity for her family, old high school friends of mine, to get some additional exposure to their daughter’s fight with LCA. I could have taken more time but I was doing it quickly to get it up before the weekend because they were doing a fundraiser on Saturday.
I got to meet Finley at a concert this weekend and she is as adorable in person as she is in the write-ups I’ve read. She’s a brave little girl in a scary situation. We spend the early years of our childhood learning from experience. We learn by associating concepts based on our senses. Balls are round because we can see the shape and feel the texture of an object that lacks corners and straight lines. We hear the sound of a ball bouncing and know what it is. A big part of these experiences hinge on our perception based on sight. Not to rely on television as a crutch, but my own daughter has learned more from watching PBS and…. unfortunately, The Family Guy, than I could hope to teach her. More on that later.
I work in a field that is dependent on my ability to be able to look at and read information. And, on the side, I have the other business that relies on graphic design. Well, I know it looks like I’m blind or at least nearsighted when it comes to my work in that respect but just think if I couldn’t see at all. Still, growing up, I was a very visual person. I would have taken a movie over a book any day. That’s pretty bad for someone who had aspirations of being a writer. Even when it came down to books made into films, I was more about being handed all the information then having to do the extra work when I was reading. I’ve sort of shifted my concentration whereas I read more than I see. That goes with the notion that I don’t get to watch as much television and film but I am still not reading literature. It’s mostly tech writing, blogs about my line of work, or simply distractions from life.
But, if I were to lose that sight that I so dearly relied on, well, I’d be lost. To see someone at the precipice of total darkness and still being very much a kid and enjoying all the privileges of that age is very brave and inspiring to me.
Next up is little Selma. Selma the two year old granddaughter of my wife’s boss. Selma, and her three month old sister have an exciting and scary life. While they are both native to Southwestern Pennsylvania, Selma has spent almost half of her life in Vietnam with her parents who both work there. Her sister is going to be returning with them in a little while and will spend probably close to two years of her life, there, while her parents continue to work for the government.
Imagine being a small child and having to board a big plane for a 19 to 20 hour flight. All the little bumps and jolts taking you on a rollercoaster trip of sorts. Then, you are dropped into a distant land with no familiar faces. No uncles or aunts that you are used to seeing. No grandparents to come and visit and for a few hours of the day, your parents are gone while they work. Granted, at such a young age, most kids haven’t formed a huge attachment to the comforts of living in your native land. Canada is the only other country I’ve ever been to and for all the similarities between them and the U.S. there are still things that look different than I’m used to around here.
My own kid makes this list just because of her biggest adjustment. She lost one of her closest relatives this past April. My mother-in-law used to regularly babysit my daughter and when she died, my kid really put things into perspective. For being only three she gets a lot of concepts and knows that “Grammy” is no longer alive and, as she puts it, is at Kevin’s. [Heaven] We blow her a kiss every night and she is really easy going about it but there are times when she looks at us and says, “I miss Grammy.” Just last week, she broke my heart. My sister-in-law called to talk to my wife and my daughter wanted to speak to the person on the phone, no matter who it was. When my wife put her sister on speakerphone and she said, “Hello” her voice sounded a lot like their mother’s causing my daughter to yell out, “Grammy!” It devastated us to have to tell her it wasn’t. Now, she still has her other Grammy and they spend time together but losing one makes that one even more special to you. We hope she always remembers what a great person my mother-in-law was and never forgets their time together.
Lastly, I’m going to have to close this out on a sadder note. The final child I had need to mention was a little boy named Carson Rudick. My wife went to school with his mother and over the weekend, Carson died after a long fight with cancer. He was only five. The updates we received over his mother’s facebook page just killed us. We had just returned from a concert in my hometown. The lead singer of The Clarks, Scott Blasey, returned home for a solo performance in the town square. Although, he did not perform entirely by himself as two of his daughters arrived and took over the concert. They sang some covers with their Dad, including songs by Taylor Swift, Train and rounding out their set with a duet of Being For the Benefit of Mr. Kite. Honestly, how many children, under five, know that song off-book? Not many. Anyway, our little one got to meet Scott after the show and get pictures taken and once we returned home and had settled into our evening we saw the updates on Carson.
I have known people in my life who have had cancer. Some have beaten it, some have continued to struggle with it, and unfortunately some have lost their battle. And while the death of my mother-in-law was hard, she didn’t ultimately die of cancer. She had given cancer a run for its money and in the end a stupid brain hemorrhage killed her. But a little girl, named Samantha, had bone cancer and did die of the disease. She was only 11 and was a fighter. She was the granddaughter of one of my former bosses, when I worked in a hotel. I got to meet her and saw, first hand, how courageous she was. And as a man who does not put faith in a lot of things outside of what he can see or touch, I prayed for that girl. I prayed hard for nights on end. I asked for anything and I was never answered. That is what sucks most of all. A child with their whole life ahead of them taken from this Earth way too soon. I couldn’t even begin to fathom what my life would be like if I lost my little girl. For all the gray hairs and broken toys… that I didn’t contribute to, for all the Desitin painted walls and nail polished comforters, my life is constantly filled with joy on an hour to hour basis because of her being in my life. You truly discover a whole new level of love when you have a child and you will protect them with your whole being from the dangers that exist in this world.
So, for as much as I bitch about kids these days I just wanted to let you know that I still find inspiration, joy, bravery, and sadness in those I’ve had the honor and privilege to meet or read about. I won’t get on any Whitney Houston sing along but I do feel that the only thing out there that’s going to save the lot of us is our children. Hug them often. Hug them tight. Never forget the good and the bad. Give them your love, protection, and undying devotion. Raise them right and they’ll repay you in something more valuable than gold. Kids these days are special and we really need to be the best person for them to look up to.
And then, of course we’ll embarrass the hell out of them with pictures of their childhood. They’ll buy us just as many crappy gifts as we buy them. Socks, come on! We’ll put them on a golden pedestal and claim they are the best singer, actor, athlete even though they aren’t. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Now, get off my lawn and take your ball with you.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
How Are Kids Even Alive Today?
I should be writing my dissertation on the finale of LOST but that’s just way too much work. Instead, I’m dragging out the old soap box for another edition of “THOSE DAMN KIDS!” This week I want to look at a couple of stories, old and new, about trends in what could be considered the end of civilization.
First off, the hot dog. For what it’s worth, these things are going to kill you anyway. American hot dogs are probably one of the worst foods to ever be created. The hot dog looks at the Double Down and says, “Pfft, amateur.” Besides being lovingly referred to as “containing lips and assholes” the amount of nitrates and salt in the things would probably make Ghandi say, “No thanks. I’m full.” In fact, the one thing that sticks out in my mind from being a child and loving hot dogs was the notion that if I eat too much, I’ll get ass cancer.
But the biggest “Damn Kids” moment comes from a recent story about the changing the hot dog. According to multiple sources around the Internet, which is never wrong, pediatricians are asking for a change in how the hot dog is designed. Why? Because of the threat of kids choking on one. In a wonderfully monochromatic pie chart, the percentage of food related, non-fatal choking hazards was around 60%. Actually, I’d be worried if that number was any lower. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to see kids choke but if they are looking at things that kids actually choke on, food better be above coins and toys or anything else. If not, then what the hell are kids putting in their mouths and why are we not addressing that?
Now get this, one of the solutions was thought up by the guy who invented Steakums. I am astounded by this. I lived on Steakums my freshman year of college. It was a food group alongside Kraft Macaroni & Cheese, Rama Noodles, Pizza, and Beer. I almost lose respect for the guy because he is enabling people to be idiots. I suspect the number one reason kids choke on food is attributed to parental stupidity. Still, the fact that kids choke on anything is terrible and I’ve been through that scare with my daughter. She was still an infant and I was feeding her applesauce mixed with rice cereal and she got a little stuck in her throat. Did I panic? No. Did I do the Heimlich? No. I simply reached in with my finger and removed the obstruction. Now, my daughter is almost three and loves hot dogs. Hell, we had them for dinner last night. And you know how she ate them? My wife cut the hot dog in half and told her to take small bites. When that became too messy as the bun disintegrated from being too wet from the juice in the dog, she held the hot dog and said, “Here take a bite.” Otherwise, we cut the hot dog up into small bites and she can eat them off her plate.
So, spending millions of dollars on redesigning the hot dog, which has been the same since probably the 1400s, seems silly when the proper solution would be to use a fork. It costs less and does the trick nicely.
Next up, “THOSE DAMN KIDS AND THEIR FADS.” When my sister was in her teens there was a fad that swept the nation. One little toy became a must have among people in her generation. It was called the pet rock. It was literally in a bock with an instruction manual. Genius! When I was in school ten years later we had fads, too. They were called friendship pins. Do you know what they were made out of? Safety pins and beads. Now we have things called Silly Bandz which is a rubber band bracelet. KIDS ARE WEARING OFFICE SUPPLIES AS FASHION!?!?!? But, But, I say BUT, again, they are becoming band in schools? Why? They are a distraction. No…. School is boring.
You have to understand that a typical kid around the age of 9-13 has little attention span and that’s mostly the fault of today’s parenting and tech savvy-instant gratification-technology. Kids are already being made to conform to a dress code, sometimes even stricter than office casual Fridays. Their identity and individuality is being stripped from in pieces right down to how they can wear their hair. The more you try to jam them into a one size fits all container the more they will bust out of that mold. They’re growing and evolving and we’re trying to stop that. I’m all for rules but let’s not be crazy here. My generation didn’t disrupt classes or learning by sporting a safety pin with colored beads on our shoe. Why is it so hard today? Why are we just fine and kids today are so screwed up that they have to be threatened by the fun vampires?
I understand there was a some kind of bracelet debacle a couple of years ago where the bracelets had some kind of hidden meaning for how far the wearer would go, intimately, but come on, you could code the same messages with anything. I have a red pony tail holder today, I go all the way. I’m wearing a yellow one, that means I like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain. Hell, the way someone wears their hair could be code for stuff like that. It doesn’t matter because there is something inherently wrong with the way kids process information today. There’s too much out there and parenting doesn’t have a good governance plan put into place.
I have been adamantly stating that I was born too soon and that being a kid in today’s world would be awesome because of all the things available to make life fun but I don’t know now. I think life would suck because people can’t be trusted… correction some people shouldn’t be trusted with raising a child. They are ruining it for everyone else. I mean we played with lawn darts! LAWN DARTS! We stood twenty feet apart and threw pointy objects at each other for fun! You never heard us complain about toys. We rode big wheels in the streets and baked real cakes with 100 watt bulbs. We ate dirt and played tackle football at recess. And you know what? Not everyone got to play at every soccer game and there were winners and losers. We learned that from day one. At the end of the game someone’s taking a lap because they couldn’t hit the cut-off man from right field. Hell, kick ball is too dangerous now? We used to climb ropes to the ceiling of the gym.
Classroom safety, there’s another one. “In the event of an emergency, everyone exit the room, except you Johnny. Make sure you open the windows and turn off the lights before leaving the room.” Remember that one? Yeah, there’s a big ass funnel cloud coming at the building and some poor bastard gets left behind to try and salvage the electric bill. Of course, our parents had it worse. In the event of an atomic bomb, they were supposed to hide under their desks. Apparently, desks in those days were shielded for radiation, regardless of the open space beneath them.
Honestly, how are kids even living today?
First off, the hot dog. For what it’s worth, these things are going to kill you anyway. American hot dogs are probably one of the worst foods to ever be created. The hot dog looks at the Double Down and says, “Pfft, amateur.” Besides being lovingly referred to as “containing lips and assholes” the amount of nitrates and salt in the things would probably make Ghandi say, “No thanks. I’m full.” In fact, the one thing that sticks out in my mind from being a child and loving hot dogs was the notion that if I eat too much, I’ll get ass cancer.
But the biggest “Damn Kids” moment comes from a recent story about the changing the hot dog. According to multiple sources around the Internet, which is never wrong, pediatricians are asking for a change in how the hot dog is designed. Why? Because of the threat of kids choking on one. In a wonderfully monochromatic pie chart, the percentage of food related, non-fatal choking hazards was around 60%. Actually, I’d be worried if that number was any lower. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to see kids choke but if they are looking at things that kids actually choke on, food better be above coins and toys or anything else. If not, then what the hell are kids putting in their mouths and why are we not addressing that?
Now get this, one of the solutions was thought up by the guy who invented Steakums. I am astounded by this. I lived on Steakums my freshman year of college. It was a food group alongside Kraft Macaroni & Cheese, Rama Noodles, Pizza, and Beer. I almost lose respect for the guy because he is enabling people to be idiots. I suspect the number one reason kids choke on food is attributed to parental stupidity. Still, the fact that kids choke on anything is terrible and I’ve been through that scare with my daughter. She was still an infant and I was feeding her applesauce mixed with rice cereal and she got a little stuck in her throat. Did I panic? No. Did I do the Heimlich? No. I simply reached in with my finger and removed the obstruction. Now, my daughter is almost three and loves hot dogs. Hell, we had them for dinner last night. And you know how she ate them? My wife cut the hot dog in half and told her to take small bites. When that became too messy as the bun disintegrated from being too wet from the juice in the dog, she held the hot dog and said, “Here take a bite.” Otherwise, we cut the hot dog up into small bites and she can eat them off her plate.
So, spending millions of dollars on redesigning the hot dog, which has been the same since probably the 1400s, seems silly when the proper solution would be to use a fork. It costs less and does the trick nicely.
Next up, “THOSE DAMN KIDS AND THEIR FADS.” When my sister was in her teens there was a fad that swept the nation. One little toy became a must have among people in her generation. It was called the pet rock. It was literally in a bock with an instruction manual. Genius! When I was in school ten years later we had fads, too. They were called friendship pins. Do you know what they were made out of? Safety pins and beads. Now we have things called Silly Bandz which is a rubber band bracelet. KIDS ARE WEARING OFFICE SUPPLIES AS FASHION!?!?!? But, But, I say BUT, again, they are becoming band in schools? Why? They are a distraction. No…. School is boring.
You have to understand that a typical kid around the age of 9-13 has little attention span and that’s mostly the fault of today’s parenting and tech savvy-instant gratification-technology. Kids are already being made to conform to a dress code, sometimes even stricter than office casual Fridays. Their identity and individuality is being stripped from in pieces right down to how they can wear their hair. The more you try to jam them into a one size fits all container the more they will bust out of that mold. They’re growing and evolving and we’re trying to stop that. I’m all for rules but let’s not be crazy here. My generation didn’t disrupt classes or learning by sporting a safety pin with colored beads on our shoe. Why is it so hard today? Why are we just fine and kids today are so screwed up that they have to be threatened by the fun vampires?
I understand there was a some kind of bracelet debacle a couple of years ago where the bracelets had some kind of hidden meaning for how far the wearer would go, intimately, but come on, you could code the same messages with anything. I have a red pony tail holder today, I go all the way. I’m wearing a yellow one, that means I like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain. Hell, the way someone wears their hair could be code for stuff like that. It doesn’t matter because there is something inherently wrong with the way kids process information today. There’s too much out there and parenting doesn’t have a good governance plan put into place.
I have been adamantly stating that I was born too soon and that being a kid in today’s world would be awesome because of all the things available to make life fun but I don’t know now. I think life would suck because people can’t be trusted… correction some people shouldn’t be trusted with raising a child. They are ruining it for everyone else. I mean we played with lawn darts! LAWN DARTS! We stood twenty feet apart and threw pointy objects at each other for fun! You never heard us complain about toys. We rode big wheels in the streets and baked real cakes with 100 watt bulbs. We ate dirt and played tackle football at recess. And you know what? Not everyone got to play at every soccer game and there were winners and losers. We learned that from day one. At the end of the game someone’s taking a lap because they couldn’t hit the cut-off man from right field. Hell, kick ball is too dangerous now? We used to climb ropes to the ceiling of the gym.
Classroom safety, there’s another one. “In the event of an emergency, everyone exit the room, except you Johnny. Make sure you open the windows and turn off the lights before leaving the room.” Remember that one? Yeah, there’s a big ass funnel cloud coming at the building and some poor bastard gets left behind to try and salvage the electric bill. Of course, our parents had it worse. In the event of an atomic bomb, they were supposed to hide under their desks. Apparently, desks in those days were shielded for radiation, regardless of the open space beneath them.
Honestly, how are kids even living today?
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