I'm glad I grew up in the fifties and early sixties. We had more freedom back then, back in the day... back before the education eggheads, child psychologists, do-gooders and dickheads stuck their chubby little fingers into all the nooks and crannies of childhood and twiddled about, leaving their flaccid mark on everyone and everything. Back then, the rules were simple: shut the fuck up when you're in class; listen and learn; and be kids the rest of the time.
Recess was kid time. There was only one rule: don't draw blood. (Well, there were actually two rules. The second one was: don't touch Cindy Cullen's tit, even if she wants you to. Who knew? Live and learn, eh?) These days, a kid (especially one of the male calibration) can't seem to draw a breath without having a whistle blown, a time out, a lecture, a consequence or a suspension.
School is so 'safe' these days that outdoor recess is cancelled when the temperature dips to minus 15. Everyone is required to get in touch with their feelings (what I call the inner wimp); kids need goggles and the presence of a staff member to play floor hockey or mini-stick; aiming for a guy's head in dodge ball is a punishable offence; saying 'shut up' is unacceptable -- even if some prick is on your case and whispers that your sister fucks toads. You can't play Red Rover -- after all, someone might get an arm ripped off. You can't slide down a snow hill face first, or standing up, or if you've forgotten to bring snow pants, or if there's a bit of ice half-way down, or if Timmy twisted his ankle doing it last week, or -- heaven forbid -- the school board's Director of Dickheadedness decides to pay your little community a visit.
Ah, fuck me. I'm glad it's Friday night.
Oh yeah: Cindy... it was worth the punishment, babe. And I'm glad we're still friends. Hey, here's our song.
2 weeks ago