You think the kids in Bedford-Stuy or Peoria or East Los Angeles or or even Beverly Hills aren't out raising the same ruckus? They're just hiding it from you oldsters. Because that's part of their job description.

You think the kids are worried about lawyers? Bullets maybe, in some places, but not lawyers.

Wow.

I had one of those "Johnny Seven" rifles and had completely forgotten about it until I saw the advertisement on Ross' site.

World War II was a terrible time, except for the kids. We fought the Japs from sun up til sundown. We fought them in the alleys, we fought them in the vacant lots (there were still those), we fought them on the stream banks. After we fought them we straggled home about dark and stoked up on whatever Mom had put together with her ration cards, then we slept soundly--because tomorrow was another day.

When we weren't fighting we were collecting newspapers, grease, and scrap-iron so the big guys would have what they needed to fight.

We were all on a war footing. Hell, in the South we even sacrificed our grits. Grandma told us the grits had to go to the boys at the front, and we had to get by on "cream of wheat" until the battle was won.

Glorious times.

Since I was (barely, but undeniably) pre-Baby Boom, I was always astonished that, while most of us wanted to get older in a hurry and longed to hang out with the older folks where the fun was, His Majesty the Baby Boomer seemed determined never to grow up.

That still leaves me slack-jawed. It was a helluva country once, even for fatherless kids like me.

Feminism is Bad for Children and Other Living Things:

Slyvia Plath's son kills himself
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/uk/article5956380.ece

Epic FAIL.

If anyone saw my kid scraped up like that, I would be in front of a Sylvia-Plath-reading Child Protective Service apparachik before you could say "Bell Jar".

Speaking of cool bikes, hills, danger, etc...
More Speed Than You Need A true story. Who needs a fucking helmet?

JWM

A few years back my wife and I saw two boys playing around the local park, which includes a flood-control run (creek). They were riding bicycles without helmets, playing out a game in an imaginary world, running into and out of flood culverts, jumping out onto the rocks in the run itself. In other words, they were behaving like boys of a bygone era. It was a wonder to behold.

Under no circumstances did it ever occur to either me or my wife to turn these two little rebels over to our Insect Overlords.

Let's see, baseball (hardball, fast pitch, no helmets) in the spring and summer, football (tackle, no helmets or pads) in the fall, hockey (sticks and skates only) in the winter, bicycling from early spring to late fall (no helmets), and just running around like the normal boys we were all year round (no protective gear of any type). The worst I ever got hurt in these neighborhood pickup games was the occasional bruise or road rash. But skinned knees? Oh, hell, yeah! All the time. They were worn proudly, like merit badges.

Judging by the age of the ball glove in the ad, it seems these enormous band-aids should have been around when I was a kid. My mother never bought them, but I could have used them a few times.