Paul Simon sang — “When I think back on all the crap I learned in high school it’s a wonder I can think at all. And though my lack of education hasn’t hurt me none I can read the writing on the wall.”
I’m not exaggerating when I say my high school years were the worst four years of my life. Most everything I needed to learn I learned in kindergarten, picked up a thing or two as late as 8th grade, but I didn’t learn Jack Shit in grades 9 through 12. I had few friends. It was so bad, as you will see in the pictures below, not even Da Gooberment tried to protect me!
What they tried to teach me was mostly a Big Pile Of Bullshit. Here, let Pete Seeger ‘splain it to you in under two minutes.
It’s not that I wanted a lot of government protection. Eddie Billian (actual name), a wannabe jockfuk, picked on me almost every single day. I used to daydream about cutting off his hands in shop class. I would have been happy if they let me get away with just that, a Justifiable Amputation. Even after all these years … Eddie, if you’re reading this just know that if I ever run into you, I’m going to kick you in the fuck.
Unfortunately, we now have laws governing ………. everything. Laws we couldn’t even have imagined back in my day. Somewhere along the line we gave up our right to choose even simple things, and allowed the government to impose their standards upon us. As you read this, just ask yourself one question: —–“When will we tell the government we would rather die, than continue to be their mindless slaves?”
WHEN did we say, “To hell with this?”
OK, let’s get started.
That was the extent of the warning my mom gave me. Back in my day, there were well over 200 activities that could put your eye out! But, virtually none that could kill you. How much fun can a game be if there isn’t at least a small chance of death?
So, the kids on our block played an interesting version; each of us would get one jart and at the same we’d throw it straight up in the air as high as we could, and then we’d dodge the incoming hail of plastic and steel … the idea being to wait to dodge the missile until the very last possible second. One time a jart buried itself into Angelo Falcone’s foot, and he started to cry when blood oozed through his white Converse sneakers …. not because it hurt, but because his father was gonna kill him for messing up his sneakers!
It’s been shown that the business end of a jart can land with a force of several thousand pounds of pressure per square inch. Seriously. We Boomers may have ruined America, but we surely weren’t pussies.
By my own estimate, I believe jarts were thrown about 138.4 Billion times by 1987. In April 1987, seven-year-old Michelle Snow was killed by a lawn dart thrown by one of her brothers’ playmates in the backyard of their home in Riverside, California. She should have ducked. Previously, only two other children died. So, 138.4 Billion throws … 3 dead … do the math. Mr. Snow went on a crusade and by 1989 Congress banned jarts, again, but this time forever.
In one respect, I suppose it’s nice that in America one person can still make a difference. On the other hand, one person gets their way almost always at the expense of thousands of others. Isn’t this tyranny by the few?
In the news today the town of Westminster, MA (pop: 7,000) banned the sale of any and all tobacco products ….. a decision made by a THREE MEMBER Board Of Health. Three people who don’t give a damn that the overwhelming majority of the town does not support this action. Why …. that’s almost as bad as 317 million Americans being ruled by 535 criminals in Congress.
Back in my day, it seemed like everyone smoked. Watch an old episode of Perry Mason; Perry and Paul Drake smoked constantly … murderers smoked while murdering. Doctors smoked while delivering babies. You could smoke in a supermarket, in an airplane, or any restaurant. Teachers smoked. Students smoked in the bathroom. Doctors smoked Lucky Strikes. Even Father Joseph at my Catholic school, St Peter’s, smoked while greeting Sunday parishioners.
Asking “Mind if I light up?” was a mere formality. No one dared say, “No!” for fear of being labeled a pussy. Smokers smoked and there was zero lack of concern for those who didn’t smoke. Smokers weren’t forced outside …. non-smokers were! Those were the good old days of ‘IN YOUR FACE!’. It was a world full of adults who didn’t have anxiety attacks over a thousand different “safety” issues.
Whether riding a bike, or roller skating, or skateboarding …. NO ONE wore a helmet. If you did, your social life would have been over, kaput, finito … an outcast, destined for humiliation and abuse … especially in gym class. There were only two groups that wore helmets; football players and the mentally retarded. (Our own poster, bb, wore a helmet … and he wasn’t a football player.)
My dad’s first two cars didn’t have seat-belts. My first car, a 1958 Pontiac Chieftain, didn’t have seat-belts. When we did get cars with seat-belts, we didn’t wear them. They were a pain in the ass. Belts were made to hold up your pants, not bind you up in a seat. Child seats? Never heard of them. When we brought my new baby sister home from the hospital, my mom just threw her in the back seat … with me. I did put a Teddy Bear on the edge of the seat to keep her from falling off.
Sure, I’ll agree that seat-belts save lives. But, that’s not the point. It should be a PERSONAL decision … not one forced upon you. Besides, the gooberment doesn’t give a rats ass about your life …. otherwise they wouldn’t have sent 100,000+ young men to their deaths in various adventurous wars since WWII. Nosiree. “Click-it or ticket” is all about extracting more money from your wallet into theirs.
In case you didn’t read the ad … you must;
“Tanfastic lets the sunshine in. It’s not loaded up with sunburn protection like old folks and kids want. Tanfastic’s for you 15-to-25 year olds who can take the sun. Especially if you want to get superdark. Superfast.”
Got that? Back in my day we did NOT try to BLOCK the sun. Oh, no!! The goal was to AMPLIFY the sun’s rays. Get dark, baby .. real, real dark!! Screw that sun-screen shit. The only people who went the sunscreen route were those with medical conditions … like, albinos. My sister (I swear!) used to smear herself with butter. Other women (like, Nancy Pelosi) used Crisco. I swear that’s true. Back then few ever asked, “What could go wrong?” If it feels good, do it, and being a Darkie felt reeeeal good.
Sadly, that’s the world we live in today. I’ve seen parents hook up their children with what looks like a dog leash. A few weeks ago we went out to eat with Ms. Freud’s son and family. It was a nice day, so we ate outside in the patio area. As it so happened her grandson, Andrew, wandered off …. a few feet behind another table … when his mommie started freaking the fuck out … “WHERE’S ANDREW!! WHERE’S ANDREW!!!!!!”. It was so goddamn embarrassing, you have no idea.
During summer vacation from school, somewhere around 9AM I would proudly announce, “I’m going out to play!” Mom’s only response, “You better be home by dinner!” …. which was 6PM. Yeah, nine hours of unsupervised activity. Oh, you should know … I lived in Newark, NJ. I would wander literally MILES from home … either to Weequahic Park (a two mile walk), or to my best friend’s house in Irvington (a five mile bike ride … no helmet). Sometimes my dad would take me shopping to the lumber yard, hardware store, etc., and if I was a pain in the ass, meaning, I’d pester him to buy me shit, well … he would just leave me in the car once we arrived at the destination. Sometimes that happened during 100 degree weather. BOTH my parents would have been arrested, dozens of times, in today’s environment. I think it was Pogo who said, “We have met the enemy, and it’s us.”
That’s what my dad said when he was teaching me to ride a bicycle, and I was doing just fine, and then the sumvabitch let go, and then I freaked out, and then I fell, and then I scraped my elbow and hand badly enough to draw blood, and then I cried, and then yeah he said “Quit being a baby!”, and then mom came running and spit (yes, spit) in a hanky and then tied it around my arm with her kerchief (yes, kerchief), and then I got my (then) skinny ass back on the bike and then learned to ride it THAT very day. Our “first aid” kit consisted of Band-Aids and a bottle of iodine.
See the kid in the picture? He’s about to have his nuts rammed by a goat. See the adults? They think that’s funny as shit. We were tough back then.
Do you know the nutritional value of white bread? I’ll tell you. Less than zero. In other words, eating it actually extracts needed minerals and vitamins from your body. Wilson’s Mor was originally named Wilson’s Moron … cuz you gotta be a retard to eat it; pig’s head, snout, cheek meat, and even tongue. Their motto is “everything but the squeal” Yummy!!
As a child, I did not know one single adult, ever, who was concerned about getting this or that vitamin, or this or that mineral … except in commercials. We ate some of the crappiest “food” ever invented. Yet, we survived, and even thrived.
Compare yesteryear to Moochelle’s Mandated gooberment lunch. Below is a picture taken earlier this week by Darrel Bunch, a senior at Haskell High School in Oklahoma. WTF???
And Lastly …
Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It was better that way. And that’s all I have to say about that.
Smoking is serious shit. I am pretty much convinced that disposition to getting full blown cancer is primarily genetic with environmental triggers.
If it was good for you, I would smoke a carton a week without struggling.
I am pretty certain my father, who passed away 2 years ago now, died from smoking. He finally quit about 10 years before he died.
Imagine how much longer he could have “existed” in that assisted living home — him being one of the few with his mental faculties still intact. Instead he passed away from a heart problem at 95.
So if you want to live to be 100+, as your body starts to fail you, housed with incoherent people, don’t smoke.
The boomers are the ones who fucked things up. The worst fucking generation ever. This is the generation that when young was anti-establishment only to become the establishment that is oppressive on so many level that the Puritans look lenient.
Of course that does not mean everyone in the generation, but it is the majority.
I also remember when a couple of decades the boomers were classified as those born from 1945 thru 1956 (or maybe 1957). Then all of a sudden those born up to 1964 were included. Well, I am one of those and I sure as hell am not a boomer. Never was. There is a whole lost generation who is between the boomers and Xers and we do not fit into either category.
Honestly, even calling those born in the late 40s as part of the same generation as those from the late 50s is stupid. They have nothing in common. First set was into Elvis and second into Hendrix.
When was the introduction of MINORITIES ?
It musta been PRETTY BORING living and working and vacationing surrounded by people who liked the same things YOU liked, believed the same things YOU believed, laughed at the same jokes YOU laughed at, behaved the way YOU did …
Thanks for a wonderful story! The comments bring back so many memories. BB gun fights, throwing cumquats at cars and hauling ass laughing as you were chased. Holding onto the shoulder of someone on a motorcycle as you rode your stingray so you could get up to about 35-40 mph and hit the homemade ramp that pointed almost straight up. If you crashed everybody laughed like hell no matter how messed up you were unless you had a bone sticking out somewhere. Damn we were lucky. Bookmarking this for sure.
I played outside for hours and sometimes rode my bike miles away. Dirt clod wars that sometimes had rocks inside.
Climbing trees to incredible heights.
I used to stand on the front seat when my dad drove. Or lay on top of the shelf by the rear window while my dad drove.
My dad would sit me in front of him and let me drive his motorcycle when i was like six years old.
My uncle would take me shooting. I would shoot all kinds of guns as a kid. I would take a 22 or a shotgun and walk all day in the desert blasting stuff. I read a book about all the pest animals you could shoot and did my part to rid the world of them.
I have fond memories of running loose and wandering everywhere at places like the drag races or a favorite, The smash up derby’s,they had a lot of them when i was a kid. I’m not sure what happened, maybe insurance issues killed this crazy fun. My folks would just tell me to come back after the event was over.
Thank you so much Stucky, I’ve been beaming reading through this.
Ah, childhood of the 70s. Walking miles and miles alone, selling things I made door to door, mom pimping me out to old ladies for housecleaning at age 8, getting lost in the woods for hours, eating lunch from crabapples, wild carrots and wild mint found on my treks.
Bottle rocket fights, corn stalk fights (abandoned corn field, took us neighborhood kids two summers to clean it all out and send a few of us to the hospital for stitches), my best friend and I taking off on her horse – bareback – and going to her cousin’s 2 miles outside town. We wouldn’t have gotten in trouble if our 11 year old minds would have acknowledged the fact that 70% of the trip was along our main highway.
Smoking on the train tracks. Setting up a “camp” and sneaking out to drink all summer long.
Locking my sis out of the house then getting my ass blistered for her cut arm resulting from her being determined to get back in.
Ah, what good times.
My son was lucky enough to grow up in the country and get many of these same experiences, my daughter will never be so lucky.
Nor will she want to. The one thing the school manages to pound into their little heads is “safety first.” She tells me all the time the ways I’m risking life and limb. Little rule-following, do-gooder. But she is 9 and already exhibiting contrarian thoughts when it comes to many other things, so I have hope.
“We would walk past the front security gate of the U.S. NIKE Missile Base (an anti-ballistic nuclear missile base was literally across a gravel road from us ….” ——— Au Canary
Wow. Wow. Wow!!!! Talk about things I haven’t even thought about in 40+ years!!!
We left Newark to move to South Plainfield, NJ … where my parents still live.
I used to ride my bike to Hadley Field, a tiny regional airport …. which in July 1925 conducted the very first ever transcontinental night airmail flight …. to watch little airplanes land and take off.
Right next to the airport was a Nike Missile Base … with two actual “dummied” NIKE missiles at the front gate. I thought that was cool as hell ……… and with missiles like that I wondered why I’d need to duck under a wooden desk in case of a nuke war! lol
Actual picture from the South Plainfield base;
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“Nike Battery NY-65 was constructed adjacent to Hadley Airport (originally, Hadley Field), site of the nation’s first air mail service. This two magazine Nike missile battery was first manned by Regular Army units and later by the New Jersey Army National Guard. Nike Hercules missiles first arrived at this base during 1961 and the site remained an active air defense installation for another ten years.”
Wow. Thanks for stirring up some OLD, almost forgotten, memories.
I remember snow sledding down a steep street that crossed a main road at the bottom. It was all right because we had spotters at the bottom who would yell if cars were coming. If a car was coming, we’d have to turn the sled real hard or purposely dump it. Yeah, I should be dead. But now I put on a seat belt to avoid a $103 fine. Sucks.
My uncle was given a gas can and was told by my grandfather to walk two miles down the road to get the truck from a field and stop at his uncle’s place on the way home to pick the the hay fork. He took his gun with him so he could shoot prairie dogs when he stopped to rest. He was 5 years old at the time. He got to the truck, put some gas into the carb, the rest into the tank, went to the front of the truck and cranked the leaver until it started, then got in to drive it. Since he was so little he had to step on the gas peddle then stand up to look out the window, then step on the gas, look out the window, and on and on till he got the fork and got the truck home. What would they think of that now a days? Oh and my gram had all 11 of her babies at home, and once waited 3 years to register the 3 that had been born since the last time they’d registered any. My mom rode a horse to school, with 3 of her brothers on the same horse, no helmets or safety gear, -40 degrees in the winter. That would be called child abuse now. All 11 of them grew up and lived until they were in their 80’s and 90’s. Gram lived until 101.
My son operated a backhoe, by himself, when he was 5 years old and took down and dug out the roots of 3 dead trees on our property. He drank milk straight from a cow that had 1/2 an inch of cream on the top, saddled his own horse and rode it at home alone, by himself when he was 9 years old, went fishing with his mother and fell into the Fraser river off a log boom, got plucked out, then both laughed about it later, rode his bike 1 1/2 miles to his friend’s place when he was 8, drove a truck when he was 12, (by himself, alone in the truck), and told me later when he was 22 that he’d loved growing up like he did. Now they’d report me to CPS and take him away from me and put him with a couple of gays. Oh, for the olden days!
Blame it on liberalism or denying God, whichever came first!
THIS IS SUCH A GREAT ARTICLE!!! I was born mid ’40’s an that was exactly how it was!! THank you for posting it I laughed all through it-so accurate!
the year was 1973. For our senior play I had the part of “Sheriff Droop-along”. I thought it would be a good idea to bring my dad’s 12 gauge double barrel shotgun as a prop. I even loaded some blank shells on my dad’s reloader which I discharged on stage!! NOBODY. SAID. A. WORD About me bringing a real gun to school. Can you imagine what would happen to a high school senior doing that today? He’d be lucky to be rotting in prison if not shot to pieces by the cops after the school lockdown.
The boomers are the ones who fucked things up -StainousAnus
O. Since you sound like a whiny spoiled Looennial.
Bite me -KB
Fantastic essay Stucky! We had the socker boppers, creepy crawlers, pocket knives, tree house, etc.
Stuff I did:
Broke a mercury thermometer and rubbed the mercury onto a franklin half dollar until it was coated and shiny (with my bare hands of course).
Set up bike ramps and using or Schwinn Stingrays we would jump over several other kids laying down.
Range wars all over the neighborhood with hard as hell acorn type “berries” we picked off these weird bushes the grow in south Florida.
Walking on the top of a five or 6 story building that was under construction right on the unfinished walls with noting between the ground and us but the air. Riding our bikes round and round in the same unfinished building.
No rules “football” where the aim was simply to get the ball to the other side of the yard, no matter how and the other side stopped you or tried, also no matter how. Add in the hard metal sprinkler heads through the yard for extra fun when hitting the ground.
Walkig in the shallow water of the numerous lakes that we around collecting minnows and small crabs for our aquarium and getting numerous hand and feet cuts from algae covered barnacles.
Swinging from vines in our ficus tree like Tarzan. My brother broke his arm that way when a vine gave way.
Ranging all over for miles on our bikes, also just to be home by dinner time.
Learning to shoot using a 20 guage shotgun my dad had the stock cut down so it would fit my 10 year old size.
Man, those were the days,
I liked that piece up until the last lines about there being no “homos” in the Boy Scouts … and how that was better than havig gay Scouts.
The fact is, there WERE gay Boyscouts. Always have been. It’s just that back in the “good ol’ days” the gay boys were deep in the closet, scared and probably ashamed. Because they were taught the. should be ashamed — and scared of being “out” (visible). So they didn’t tell anybody about their feelings or orientation. Some probably ended their lives in suicide. Was that somehow better? The good old days?
I’m old enough and fortunate enough to have grown up in that time period. The list of thing we did is long! BB gun fights, dirt clod fights, sword fights with tobacco stalks or sticks. We threw whole ears of corn at each other in my dad’s barn and those things hurt! If we got hurt we sucked it up and went on.
No didn’t think about seat belts. Cuts, scrapes and bruises were part of growing up. Didn’t go whining either after. Didn’t want to be labeled a sissy.
Cops were there for keeping the peace and didn’t go looking for someone to arrest or shoot. One of my buddies dad was a state trooper. He didn’t give me one ticket. Called my parents instead!
I survived. And so can the rest of you without the gov’t nanny state.
“I also remember when a couple of decades the boomers were classified as those born from 1945 thru 1956 (or maybe 1957). Then all of a sudden those born up to 1964 were included. Well, I am one of those and I sure as hell am not a boomer. Never was. There is a whole lost generation who is between the boomers and Xers and we do not fit into either category.”
Amen to that as I have never felt myself one of the boomers, too young and not knowing why they were protesting and too late to the table, so to speak, as they had already secured all the good jobs. Not that I have not done OK but the people from around 1957 to 1964 are certainly not the same, as a class, as those older boomers.
I was born in Phoenix in 1936. I remember do the pledge of allegiance to flag before Pearl Harbor. “…to the flag…” was accompanied by pointing to the flag with the palm open and upwards. I also remember recess where we would be given a football and we’d play “blood and guts”. The person with the football would run around the playground until it was taken way, repeat until the bell ended recess. I remember riding my bike all over town, even through South Phoenix housing projects with never a worry.
I graduated from Scotsdale HS in 1954, with 70 in my graduating class and from ASU in 1959. I took 5 years as I worked part time to for it.
Whenever I stop and think about it, I am ever grateful that I came of age in the 50s.
I got stitches in my upper lip when I was four or so and my Dad was driving our 1958 VW Beetle (no seat belts) out on some dirt roads in the woods and I was bouncing up and down on the front passenger seat. I bounced so high I split my lip on the windshield. Did that teach us? Hell no, a couple years later same story but this time my hard head CRACKED the wind sheild!!
The comments following this piece are dissapointing in their failure to address the heterosexist / homophobic comment about “homos” in the Boy Scouts.
The “good old days” of rampant and rabid homophobia and heterosexism were not so very good. Fortunately, in many places, gay boys are thought by most as just being boys. Not monsters.
@Didius, my dad owned a ’67 Chevrolet stationwagon, he bought it when mom came up pregnant with me, felt he should have the “family” car. Only car he ever bought brand new, anyway…
The bench seat in the front had a pull-down arm rest in the middle. I remember many a drive with the arm rest pulled down and my butt parked on the “Johnny Seat,” (no idea why they called it that, but they did).
Luckily for my face (that dashboard was miles and miles of good old ‘murkin steel), dad’s reflexes were good and the few times he had to stop quickly he was able to get his arm up and catch me before I splatted the dash.
Then, after I and the family grew too large for the Johnny Seat, there was the privilege of being the oldest and getting dibs on the “way back.”
A couple times a year we would load up the wagon and head to South Bend. I nearly always got the entire back of the wagon, just me, blankets, pillows, suitcases and a cooler. I would read, wave at truckers, fight off the kids trying to breach my barricade, hide if Dad’s wrath started to be directed my way.
It was AWESOME. What the hell has happened to us and why do people like it this way?
And trust me, they do. They not only like it, they want more.
All this said, and there was a lot of fun had, I will be a killjoy and point out the neighborhood kid who lost an eye in a rock fight. That was a bummer. But the biggest screw up was my brother and another kid making the granddaddy of all pipe launchers – pipes with threaded cap on one end, hole drilled in it to light the propellant/place the fuse. The propellent was usually the gunpowder from a couple of blackcats, the missile a marble.
Anyway, they upped the ante to a big pipe the found somehow – an inch or two pipe. Same process, except they stuffed the bastard full, and jammed some big something down the pipe as a missile. My brother lit the fuse while the other kid held it in place with his foot.
Turned out holding it with his foot was a big mistake. The pipe did not explode, but the concussion from the explosion split his shoe lengthwise up the middle. Same thing happened to his foot – a lengthwise split through his entire foot. They saved his foot, but it left him semi-crippled for life.
Some of the stuff was dangerous, and there were some accidents. The problem was always the way things escalated – snowballs to iceballs, dirt clods to rocks, small fire crackers to giant ones, etc. if small was good, big had to be better, right?
And the fact I survived driving a huge V8 with crappy tires and bad brakes and a lead-foot is amazing. And who used or had seat belts? Lots of young folk died in crashes in those days. Lots. Cars are much safer today.
But it sure was fun.
Generation Jones
http://www.generationjones.com/?page_id=6
These experts underline the importance of distinguishing between the post-WWII demographic boom in babies versus the cultural generations born during that time. Jonesers were born between the mid-1950s and mid-1960s, with the exact birth years varying from nation to nation. In the U.S. and most Western countries, the birth years most often used for GenJones are 1954-1965.
https://generationsq.wordpress.com/category/generation-jones/
@Llpoh, yep, kids got hurt.
Guess what? They STILL do. Kids drop dead all the time from accidents and illness.
It is 100% impossible to regulate stupid, sick, or crazy out of existence. But we are good at trying.
My dad lost his eye in a BB gun fight. All the neighborhood kids would bring forth their pellet and bb guns, then choose sides and go to war like it was the Wild West.
One of my dad’s best friends was the one that blinded him.
Dad said when he got home from the hospital, all the kids were still out having gunfights with only one difference, his friend had his ass busted for “aiming high.”
That was it. No lawyers, cops, and permanent records. Dad has lived with his disability his entire adult life.
I used to do accounting for a guy that lost a friend from a bb gun in the ’30s. All the farm kids had drawn a big ole target on the backside of the barn and would have shooting contests.
One time the pellet hit a nail head and ricocheted back going into the eye and killing the shooter.
Boss said that the parents stopped the contests for a couple months, then gave in and let them go back. The kids decided to wear glasses for protection. Glasses that were just glass, not safety lenses.
People die. We ALL die.
Taking away the ability to have fun and experience failure, death and risk, is taking the joy out of our world.
“It’s for the children” equates to destruction of our souls in exchange for allowing Darwin award winners to procreate. Not a good trade in my opinion.
@ James
Dude, we were having fun until you had to go and harsh the mellow… fucking buzzkill. There’s always one in every group… “that guy”…
You want to be a fag advocate? Then go wear a rainbow wig and have your very own LGBTQRSXYZ parade on your own time in the privacy of your own home…
Goddamn sniveling fag nazis…
@ shropster
Had a similar game when I was young. This was early/mid 70’s. Called “Kill the guy” or “Smear the queer” (shoutout to James).
Ball is thrown and caught by someone. That someone is chased by a howling pack of kids until he is caught and pummeled. Then the ball is taken from him and thrown again. Rinse, repeat.
Throwing the ball away so you didn’t get hit was a mark of cowardice, but strangely, throwing the ball to a hated rival so that he got dog piled was legal… no whining, no complaining, no sniveling… the longer you stayed on your feet before getting taken down, the more “points”… too bad we didn’t have a point system.. 🙂
James,
I think you have issues. I suspect most here could care less if someone is gay or not. It is the gay mafia that wishes to inject itself into everyone’s life that gets tiring. Be gay, be happy, flaunt if if you like, just don’t force me to prioritize your gay rights over my inalienable rights. Being gay is not something special, it is just something different. Some people don’t like different, most don’t care. Your sad tale is getting boring take someplace where someone gives a shit.
Sincerely,
Bob.
Billy,
We had “Pig Pile”. A group of us would be hanging out some one would shout pig pile, tackle someone to the ground and everyone would pile on. Often time the guy doing the tackling would get it as bad as the one tackled. No one was ever hurt badly, just bruise and cuts and an occasional bite mark.
Bob.
Ah… Now we are seeing the true colors round here!
@llpoh – “All this said, and there was a lot of fun had, I will be a killjoy and point out the neighborhood kid who lost an eye in a rock fight.”
True, however its possible to let kids have some adventure without being stupid about it. Someone mentioned bb-gun fights earlier, thats a great example.
We’d shoot fireworks at each other, throw rocks, swing sticks, and wrestled every day. We also toted around our bb-guns and later .22s with us everywhere. They never got pointed at another person. The one time my brother shot me with a bb-gun was the one time I got away with thrashing him, my step-dad told my brother “I should kick your ass, but your brother already did.”
Never point a firearm at something you don’t intend to shoot.
The point of my little story, is that presumably people can be taught the dangers ahead of time, and the remaining fallout can be chalked up to “toughening up.”
PS: Cars were more fun back then, but I’m pretty sure I’d be dead several times over if not for seat belts or crumple zones.
It has been fascinating and nostalgic to read all these great comments!
To: TE – You’re right, everybody dies… And in generations past, kids (and adults) died in simple and sometime quixotic circumstances that we just don’t see anymore. But often in generations and ages past the members of the human race that died due to accident or disease were, in the eyes of God (or Darwin for that matter) meant to die. The human race benefitted from this natural selection. Now, as you pointed out, the Darwin Award winners live to spread their genetics far and wide. Maybe we’ve made things a little too safe. In the ‘good old days’ a simple mistake could and often would cost you your life. People buried their dead, cried and mourned and GOT OVER IT. My neighbor is in her 80’s and remembers when growing up in rural Kansas that it was not uncommon for children to die in their early years from any number of causes. But the ones that survived to adulthood were tougher, smarter and luckier for it. I heard an historian once speculate that one of the reasons that America did so well in the decades after WWII was that the men who went off to the various parts of the world at war and survived to come home and then became rich and successful was because they were LUCKIER than the ones that died overseas. He had no proof but he firmly believed this!
Llpoh,
5 kids in my class in 1980 died in car wrecks out of 185. Not good odds. I see a lot more dysfunction from kids today. Poor coping skills, poor adaptive skills, not all but most. If we didn’t grow up that way, how is it that we did not let our kids grow up that way. The pervasive propaganda telling us we were wrong? Thinking maybe we were smarter than our parents? Thinking we have it all figured out and we will get it right. Ceding much of the freedoms that we had to the institutional constrictions of the state?
I suspect it is a blend of all of these and more. I only hope to do the best I can with what I have.
Bob.
A revenue-hungry state seeking to broaden its remit to regulate every aspect of daily life, in the same way that a religion would, only with no offer of an Afterlife. It is Sharia Law for the Godless.
Sorry,”If we grew up that way”
Bob.
Ah… Now we are seeing the true colors round here! “
True colors? Where the hell have you been?
Whatcha gonna do? Hit me with your purse?
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Bb gun fights were the one thing we made off limits. I do not think parents were involved in the decision. We just knew it was too dangerous, and we also knew pointing guns at people was a dangerous habit. We were all packing real heat by the time were were 10, and had a healthy respect for guns of any kind.
I agree safer is not necessarily better. But it is not necessarily worse, either. There is a line somewhere. Finding it is the challenge.
An example – I provide my kids five star rated four cylinder safe soccer mom cars. And am ever so happy I have. They get from A to B and are far less likely to die on the roads than my generation was. That is a huge improvement. Huge.
Dear Site Owner / moderator,
Please remove my post in which I used the name “White Master”. Thanks.
In the late sixties I peddled my sting ray 6 miles to meet up with my closest neighbor friend Jerry. He was not only my best friend but he as I said was the closest neighbor. I think I was about 13 and Jerry was 14.
After countless discussions concerning the meaning of the trailerhouse compound located down the road (the M&M, a known whorehouse on the edge of town) we decided that talk was bullshit-action was required.
So together we peddled an additional mile or so towards town to knock on their door and humbly ask if we could get some pussy.
I will never forget the look of endearment she gave as we were told to come back in a few years.
Also the disappointment.
“The comments following this piece are dissapointing in their failure to address the heterosexist / homophobic comment about “homos” in the Boy Scouts.” ———– James
Are you gay?
Me too. So, don’t worry about it.
Just enjoy all the WONDERFUL stories folks are reminiscing about. I know I am.
heh heh
There were lots of gay ‘types’ in the Scouts. Some of them were just good homosexual folk wanting to contribute to positive society and others were just pedophiles! Both are still in the ranks and the child abusers need to be tarred n’ feathered.
Man o man.. What a great read and great memories.. Cooking fish we caught in the stream on an old piece of rusty fence wire… Stealing wood from the lumber yard, slidingssheets of plywood over the fence and dragging them up the RR tracks to build a fort.. Buying books of matches at the country store and having match fights.. And setting a field on fire once.. Tennis ball cannons… cut top and bottoms of pop canscanstape together. hole in bottom can, add lighter fluid and lit it..boom,just like a bazooka.. and then we graduated to lighting the tennis balls on fire.. Flaming bazooka wars…. jumping trains to ride to your friends house way up the road… It was the best of times and the worst of times?… Like some others here, high school sucked, l don’t remember anything of senior year. But I wouldn’t trade if for any time… You’ve converted a new blog follower
Stuck, please tell James your ‘tastes like chicken’ story.
Billy, are you obsessed with me? Why did you post my pic above?
Here’s a neat little self exam I made up, it requires no gloves or special gaydar equipment:
How to determine if you are a latent or flaming gay boy
1. You like hot dogs from der Weinerschnitzel (or can spell Wienerschitzel)
2. You enjoy an occasional hot sausage at Costco
3. You call another man’s package an egg basket
4. You enjoy the heft of your own piece (real men do not hold their dick in front of the urinal)
What’s the ruling on holding another guy’s dick in front of the urinal?
Couple other things from the olden days (not things I did, just things that were): sonic booms and aerosol cans blowing up while trash was burning. Sonic booms were unbelievable. You were just sitting there outside on the patio having a lemonade and thinking about holding another guy’s dick at the urinal when – with no warning at all – the loudest explosion you ever heard went off and scared the shit out of everyone. Then there was burning garbage. Every house had a 55 gallon drum along the alley. There was no recycling. Everything went into that drum and got lit on fire around 7 pm. One of my jobs every night at age 6 was to “go light the trash”. Mom handed me a pack of matches and sent me on my way. Almost everyone lit their trash every night. Every 15 minutes or so you’d hear an explosion as some mom’s empty can of Final Net blew up.
Comment on RE’s Doomstead Diner from someone named Eddie; ….
“The comments section of The Burning Platform is ruled by some of the most racist, misogynist, homophobic, red-neck assholes you’d never want to meet.”
Hey, Billy …. you made quite an impression!!! :mrgreen
Porky, take note, this place is not for the weak of dick.
Great post….and so so true. Things have really gone to $hit in the last 50 years.
Still remember my dad sending me to the store at 7 of 8 years old to get him packs of Lucky Strikes (25 cents)…..and the refreshing rubbery taste of Luke warm water out of the hose in summertime.
Someone above asked if we had minorities back in the olden days. Yes. Six black boys would ride into our neighborhood on two bikes. Twenty minutes later they’d ride out on six bikes. Is that rayciss, or is it just true?
Funny, I haven’t read one mention of autism, gluten intolerance, or food allergies in all of these memoirs.