Perhaps a better title would be, too many wimps not enuff studs. At least in the pre teen and pre 20’s, youth. As a young Wolf I had fallen down off everything from bull calves to mini bikes by the time I was 10 years old. Hopped off of loose hay stacks and wrecked at least two manure wagons by age 12 and even after raced old Ford N Tractors, right there in the feeding chutes. I had at least one broken arm, twisted ankle and I healed. Maybe better because, Mom & Dad looked at it as, Boys will be boys, patched up the bloody parts and I went on with life.
Today parents , do parenting with way too much antiseptic methods and don’t let young males mature. Girls are only slightly better equipped. for life.
I see this with the kids that live next door to me here in Rupert. While only partly adjusted and from various homes, and fathers, I think, are those supervising these kids doing the job properly? I’m sure there were those when I was youth that would ask my Mom & Dad the same question. Thing is that was for different reasons. I was scared of little, accepted dares readily,and never knew the word NO, or can’t be done. This no doubt started when I was 6 years old, when after going to HAFB with Dad to his job there, testing mechanical work done on fighter aircraft as well as cargo birds, I did as I always did , played in this T-39 pleasure craft that was there for use of the base General. Most times the batteries were dead, and thus the aircraft. However on one Sunday it tweren’t. With a bit of thinking of what I had learned reading flight and aircraft manuals , I decided to taxi out of the hangar, and into the wild blue. Remember, this is a military aircraft, while no arms, still had Air Force markings. I was circling Evanston, before anyone got excited. An F-4 , came astern steered me back, but I flew and landed all by myself without any help from the HAFB tower.
After that, got my butt paddled, bike taken away for a month, but shortly after joined the Junior Civil Air Patrol there, and was into flying long before I looked at driving.
I did the wild thing with a gal who baby sat me at age 8 and by age 9 was driving, not legally, but driving. Mom nor Dad ever restricted me from doing anything with the idea of , oh he might get hurt. In many ways, it was more a warning to others that I might hurt them.
The disolvement of the nuclear family of a fixed mom & Dad in the same home with mom & dad being man and a woman , at the same address, enduring internal squabbles. Kids who knew how to work on both farm as well as in urban environments , Hell I enjoyed moving sprinkler pipe, and milking cows. Feeding the lambs, and hogs, was a fun thing. When I was just between ages 7 to 8, I mixed Jim Beam and Similac together. Got sick, but loved the taste. After having a brew in the barn while pulling teats was one of those looked forward family things. And yet, because of them damn white collared bastards, called Health & Welfare amongst other, parents can’t (and wont) swat a kid on its butt, as well as over protect to the point, that our kids never gain any substantial points of reference to guide them through life.
Is there and answer?
That in my next entry,
Quote of the day:
Eagles may soar, but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines. - John Benfield
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