I often criticize and rarely recognize the overzealous appreciation for safety. I believe in my heart that we live in a completely neurotic and dreadfully fearful society; you hear about it everyday in our politics, in the air and on the roads. A general need for the building of self-esteem through braces, cameras, airbags and BPA-frees. I can not help but wonder if we haven't all become a bunch wimps.
On a recent car trip into the the twinkling of Christmas lights, I was the driver of a vehicle that was overstuffed with small children and adults - one car seat. We were shredding paint and burning rubber at the maximum speed of a whopping 2 miles per hour. My daughter and her two friends merrily enjoying the seizure-driven twinklings of merriment for which I was willing to shill out of pocket 12 bucks. Oh, it was beautiful. My daughter wanting to throw her body on top of the middle console and her friends bouncing recklessly in the back of the Crusher, my foot cramping. And then we came to the end - toll with Santa Claus and two police cars.
My dad would not have thought twice about this back in the 70's. No airbags. Cold beer in a cooler. Fishing poles. And the open road screeching tires with his buddy George riding shotgun, and my brother Danny, and George's kids all in the back of the pick up truck on what must have been the most flea infested mattress. Flying headlong to a remote location - we wrestled, as the truck teetered inches closer to a permanent nirvana at every passing mile. They had beer, and we had our mouth's painted a vibrant electric purple on Welch's Grape Soda, and all of us, I believe were loaded, and either ready to fish and camp or just pass out from exhaustion. We pulled off at some remote location. Both my dad and George held cigarettes dangling out of their mouth like they were characters in an Andy Capp comic strip. They's pour a little gasoline into a hole throw on a couple fat branches for kindlin' and WHOOSH - Now that's a fire!
They were there. They knew (not considered, but knew) we were all gonna be fine. A hospital was bound to be somewhere if we blew up or something. These fathers back in the day, were Vietnam Vets - tough as nails and they wanted an experience for their kids - who as it turned out never went to prison, enjoyed the bumps and occasional pain often associated with being stupid (like setting up a plank and brick jump in the middle of the street - no skate parks with mandatory helmet ordinances)
I understand why these laws exist.
Lawsuits. Not because some greasy politician cares about your kids - there's money involved.
So I drive out of the merriment of those bright colors with the kids quietly huddled in the back. We all waved happily and nervously at Santa. And got up to speed to get back to the other car. The kids survived - but then again, there is always tomorrow.
On a recent car trip into the the twinkling of Christmas lights, I was the driver of a vehicle that was overstuffed with small children and adults - one car seat. We were shredding paint and burning rubber at the maximum speed of a whopping 2 miles per hour. My daughter and her two friends merrily enjoying the seizure-driven twinklings of merriment for which I was willing to shill out of pocket 12 bucks. Oh, it was beautiful. My daughter wanting to throw her body on top of the middle console and her friends bouncing recklessly in the back of the Crusher, my foot cramping. And then we came to the end - toll with Santa Claus and two police cars.
My dad would not have thought twice about this back in the 70's. No airbags. Cold beer in a cooler. Fishing poles. And the open road screeching tires with his buddy George riding shotgun, and my brother Danny, and George's kids all in the back of the pick up truck on what must have been the most flea infested mattress. Flying headlong to a remote location - we wrestled, as the truck teetered inches closer to a permanent nirvana at every passing mile. They had beer, and we had our mouth's painted a vibrant electric purple on Welch's Grape Soda, and all of us, I believe were loaded, and either ready to fish and camp or just pass out from exhaustion. We pulled off at some remote location. Both my dad and George held cigarettes dangling out of their mouth like they were characters in an Andy Capp comic strip. They's pour a little gasoline into a hole throw on a couple fat branches for kindlin' and WHOOSH - Now that's a fire!
They were there. They knew (not considered, but knew) we were all gonna be fine. A hospital was bound to be somewhere if we blew up or something. These fathers back in the day, were Vietnam Vets - tough as nails and they wanted an experience for their kids - who as it turned out never went to prison, enjoyed the bumps and occasional pain often associated with being stupid (like setting up a plank and brick jump in the middle of the street - no skate parks with mandatory helmet ordinances)
I understand why these laws exist.
Lawsuits. Not because some greasy politician cares about your kids - there's money involved.
So I drive out of the merriment of those bright colors with the kids quietly huddled in the back. We all waved happily and nervously at Santa. And got up to speed to get back to the other car. The kids survived - but then again, there is always tomorrow.
I sure hope they never track down that careless family....how dare they ;)
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