When was it okay for kids to swear in elementary school? Or to see your 13-year-old neice practically sitting on a 14-year-old boy while at the lunch table? Why is it okay for 5th grade girls to wear about as much fabric as a bathing suit in their daily routines? Other than on the Chinese gymnastics team, when did 10 become the new 15?
Kids are growing up way too damn fast! I support siblings helping care for thier younger brothers and sisters. That teaches them essential skills for their futures, and often can lead to profitable babysitting jobs. Besides, if they see how hard it is to keep a family running, maybe they'll keep their legs crossed for a few years longer. But when peewee sports become less about having fun and more about tournaments or the possible high-school scouts in the audience, we have a problem.
Perhaps its the internet and digital age. Kids don't have to sneak their parents' National Geographics to see a topless woman. Parents are giving their pre-teens cell phones and hooking up computers in their rooms before they even get their "big boy beds". Does that really help them? Are they kidding themselve by thinking it will make them smarter or they'll not rebel as much when they think you give them stuff?
And I guess I was at the front edge of this change-over. I learned about sex, AIDS, and that santa wasn't real in the same hour - Nick News was having a special on AIDS, and my mother thought I should know about santa before I got a dose of sex-ed. And I had my share of fun before I was married. But I still feel uncomfortable swearing, especially with my parents present.
When kids can no longer be kids, and start acting like adults before they hit puberty, where does the fun go? What happens to mental development when we can't imagine our fantasies anymore?
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Paradise of Ice
There is just something about snow. It ages us and rejuvenates us at the same time. It makes us wish for the future and dream of the past. Perhaps what captivates me is it's the ability to cover up the world in a fresh white canvas. It evens out all the flaws and societal disturbances for a fresh new blanket waiting to be cut or molded.
And yet, snow brings the nostalgia out of those of us who sit back in the warmth of their dwellings and watch patiently as the flakes fall. It brings us back to a more nurturing time. We wait patiently, our cold noses and rosy cheeks pressed to the window as we try to inspect each individual snow flake before it melts from the warmed fog of our breath. We remember mother checking layer after layer of blush clothing and woolen undergarments until finally you feel like an astronaut getting to take those first steps onto a virgin canvas of ivory. There's nothing like the crisp wintry air in your lungs and the faint smell of a nearby fireplace. We crunch snowballs in our mittens and wait for unsuspecting "intruders" to our ivory fortress. We become Michelangelos of the frozen tundra while building snow creatures who, oddly enough, we put clothes on to keep warm. We grab every flat surface in our vicinity to see what creates the smoothest and fastest vehicle in our quest for terminal velocity. And we wait for hours watching the news to see that one important title that says we can stay in this wonderland one more day.
Of course, this rush of seasonal joy escapes all too quickly into puddles of slush and dread. And, as adults, we must take the new role of shoveler, worried parental inspector and gloomy weary icy-road traveler. But, oh to be that kid once again.
And yet, snow brings the nostalgia out of those of us who sit back in the warmth of their dwellings and watch patiently as the flakes fall. It brings us back to a more nurturing time. We wait patiently, our cold noses and rosy cheeks pressed to the window as we try to inspect each individual snow flake before it melts from the warmed fog of our breath. We remember mother checking layer after layer of blush clothing and woolen undergarments until finally you feel like an astronaut getting to take those first steps onto a virgin canvas of ivory. There's nothing like the crisp wintry air in your lungs and the faint smell of a nearby fireplace. We crunch snowballs in our mittens and wait for unsuspecting "intruders" to our ivory fortress. We become Michelangelos of the frozen tundra while building snow creatures who, oddly enough, we put clothes on to keep warm. We grab every flat surface in our vicinity to see what creates the smoothest and fastest vehicle in our quest for terminal velocity. And we wait for hours watching the news to see that one important title that says we can stay in this wonderland one more day.
Of course, this rush of seasonal joy escapes all too quickly into puddles of slush and dread. And, as adults, we must take the new role of shoveler, worried parental inspector and gloomy weary icy-road traveler. But, oh to be that kid once again.
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