My mind is abuzz with memories from long ago as we enter yet another autumn. As the air begins to cool, we are again reminded of the passage of time. Fall does that.
Do you remember autumn, the cool air, and heading back to school?
Those first few days back in a classroom in the 1960s were always hot and humid, which made it challenging to learn anything. Our minds were numb from the heat. We didn’t have air conditioned classrooms in 1965. I recall hot sticky late summer days and the resonance of Katydids echoing throughout the trees. The air was moist, heavy and alive with the sounds of Mother Nature getting ready to bed down for a long winter’s nap. Katydids, also known as “Bush Crickets,” signaled the end of summer. We associate that sound with the dog days of summertime. They began their concert with short chirps in July that grew into a steady buzzy roar as late summer ensued.
Of all the seasons, fall has always been my favorite. It is a season of calming, settling in, and preparing for the darkness of winter. For some, autumn is decidedly depressing. There’s less daylight, which affects our moods. The trees and grass gradually become grey and barren. The rustle of leaves and chilly northern breezes signal the onset of winter. Nature goes to sleep in a process of rest and regeneration. It is surely true more people die in the fall than in any other season.
Fall is all about closure and the end of another year.
Ironically, those first hints of autumn are also times of great anticipation. The sweet wonderful aroma of woodsmoke in the air is a smell we become conditioned by early on. Doesn’t the smell of woodsmoke from neighborhood fireplaces and cookouts remind you of Christmastime? That’s our conditioning from the time we can toddle. It seems to begin long about Halloween and becomes sweeter as autumn deepens.
Back to school was always a dreaded time. Shoes that were too tight. Time in a dressing room trying on all sorts of clothes – including heavily-starched shirts and pants that did not fit. That first early morning breakfast of the school year – Cheerios and white toast with not enough butter. The smell of a school bus that had been closed up all summer. Passing the same line up of homes and businesses. Turning the corner and roaring up in front of our schools. A new and different classroom. A fresh face teacher you either liked or immediately hated. The issuance of book covers with local business ads.
Madison Avenue liked starting brand loyalty early.
Unless you really loved school, each school year was long, boring, and monotonous. “Get out your arithmetic books and turn to page 24…” Because I personally hated math, it was challenging to turn to page 24 and actually be interested. The good news is – I loved English and History.
Springtime was always an awakening. Trees began to bud and life returned in a rush of euphoria. As swiftly as school began, it wound down to a close and all those goodbyes from teachers and classmates.
See you in September…
The seasons and the school years were but the beginning of a lifetime of endless turnover, which led us all to where we are now—amid reflection…
From the time we are born, we begin the fundamentals of relationships beginning with our parents and ultimately siblings and extended family. Those first interactions are with the soul who has given us life—our mother. Close by under the best of circumstances is our father. Together, they teach and mentor us as we make our way through childhood. If they’re fortunate and been on top of our upbringing, we emerge into the world as responsible adults. It is a fragile formula and something like Oklahoma weather in May.
Being a parent has never been easy. It is easily the toughest job we will ever have with the greatest responsibility, and certainly the most thankless—and that’s okay. We’re not in the parent business for gratitude. As parents, we are supposed to stand by our children through the toughest of times—keeping them on course to where they don’t become a burden to society.
If you bring a child into this world, you must first be willing to accept responsibility for them, and that’s a tough one to chew in the hardest of times, especially if you’re a parent with a teen out of control. As your children grow into adults, you have to begin letting go and allowing them to make their own mistakes and bask in their own success or misery. It is the only way they will ever learn how to be responsible adults. Pain teaches… It is always good for you to be there for your kids as an advisor, especially in adolescence. However, in letting them make their own decisions, allow them to make and accept responsibility for their own mistakes.
What hurts the most as a parent is watching your kid go through being hurt because what hurts them surely hurts us. My wife and I are late-in-life parents. We adopted our son, Jacob, at birth at 50 and 52 respectively. It is remarkable how many people comment on our grandson, only to be politely corrected that he is our son.
At 52, I was more ready to be a father than I was at 32 when my first born arrived in 1988. I had a lot to learn about being a father at 32 and had a long way to go. There was so much I didn’t understand about what a child needs. I made a lot of terrible mistakes as a father—and as a long-distance father two-thirds of a continent away, huge mistakes and erred judgment—which did indelible damage to my kids because they always needed me close by.
I made a tough career decision in 1994 that moved me in Los Angeles where a career decision should have been more a personal one—where I would have put my kids ahead of my career. My kids remained in Tennessee. A divorce followed, further straining an already fragile relationship. No one has ever said on their death bed they wished they’d spent more time at the office. The deepest regret has always been not having spent more time with the family.
No matter how much you love your children, distance puts incredible strain on the relationship you have with them. As a faraway parent or grandparent, you miss a lot of important moments in their childhoods though you do manage to make a few of them. If you and your ex have an adversarial relationship, kids suffer the most.
As a long-distance father, it was never been easy for me to watch my kids growing up far away. They’re all grown now, two of them with children of their own. It is surely something watching them raise their kids and watching another generation unfold. And, no matter how much I want to be a part of their lives, it will never be the same 1800 miles away. I never kid myself. I am little more than a figurehead grandfather in faraway California. I have to stay on top of video chats with them, which don’t happen as often as I’d like between my schedule and theirs.
Chances are good you’re a long distant parent or grandparent. You understand how challenging it is emotionally to miss your kids and grandkids. If you have a tight budget and can’t travel to see them as often as you’d like, rely on technology to keep you close. There are video chat apps that enable you to stay close to those you love. What’s more, these apps are largely free which means you’ve run out of excuses.
I’ve learned with my kids not to hover over them as adults. I know they’re on the same trip I was as a young man. Sometimes, there just isn’t the time to call or write. Life gets darned hectic. A child is but the one relationship you as a parent have where your child grows up and goes out into the world—without you. This is where you have to be strong enough to know how much your child loves you—and find the courage to let them go. If you hear from your kids on a regular basis, you are fortunate because not everyone has that. There are parents who wonder where their grown kids are – and that has become the norm.
I’ve said this before—whether it is your child, a friend, or a member of your family, it is always best to set them free emotionally and see where it goes. If you hear from them, you have a healthy relationship. If you don’t, you were never connected to begin with. It is never good to remind anyone to think of you. Healthy relationships don’t require constant reminders. They just happen naturally. Let them know what they mean to you, then, step back and see if they circle back to you.
Have you ever noticed the passion boomers have for automobiles?
Cars haven’t been just transportation for most of us, but also something cool to be seen in—or not be seen in. Cars used to be rolling works of art or really bad road commodes. It was all about style and looking cool back in the day. Cars were an extension of our personalities. It was tough being stuck with the discarded family clunker to drive at age 16. This was especially important in our teen years when it was time to go cruising. No one wanted to be seen in a clown car—Mom’s old broken down grocery getter or your older sister’s cast off. Maybe, your first car was a clown car—a smelly old station wagon or one huge pile of a four-door sedan with rust holes in the quarters.
My first car was a 1960 Valiant sedan. Talk about culture shock in a styling studio by the late automotive stylist, Virgil Exner? Some journalists of the period called him “Virgil Excess.” My Valiant was one of those finned cat-eye taillight Valiants with a slant six engine, pushbutton automatic transmission, and that ridiculous continental spare tire treatment in the deck lid. That first year, Valiant was just a Valiant – not a Plymouth Valiant. Chrysler intended to create the Valiant Division just like Ford did with the Edsel – Edsel Division. When Chrysler saw what a disaster Edsel was, it scrapped plans for a Valiant Division. Valiant became a Plymouth model in 1961.
I loved my Valiant.
A lot of us had VW Beetles as first cars, which is why they command such a high price today. Boomers love them. It’s the sweet nostalgia of a VW Beetle that keeps us hanging on to our youth. Beetles were plentiful and cheap back in the day. They sat on used car lots everywhere for a few hundred dollars a copy.
Put $100 down and buy a car…
Virtually every college from coast to coast sported dozens of VW Beetles along with the disgusting aroma of unburned exhaust hydrocarbons. Nostalgic baby boomers want them and will pay anything to get into one. So many are gone or survive as dune buggies. A buddy of mine bought and restored a 1957 Beetle with the rare oval rear window. He wanted a split-window bug, but good luck on that one. Although so many of us called them Bugs and Beetles, Volkswagen called them the Type 1. The hippie busses were called Type 2 models. The Type 2 really was the first minivan. It was so grossly underpowered that Consumer Reports deemed it unsafe because it took forever to get up to highway speed—but who cares?
We just wanted to have fun.
VW Beetles were no fun on a cold morning. It took forever to get warm. Exhaust fumes would come into the cabin and give you a headache. However, for whatever they were, they sure beat walking or, heaven forbid, being seen on the high school campus on a bicycle—with a banana seat, baskets, and a generator set with a light and taillight.
When we were growing up, cars were king. Every fall, new car dealers would paper up their showroom windows and tease us. We waited in steamy anticipation. “Come See the new Fords for 1965!!!” or “See the USA in your Chevrolet…” as sung by Dinah Shore. My God, who could resist?
It was pure magic.
As age 16 grew near, we watched the calendar and started marking off days until we could take our driver’s test and walk out of the motor vehicle bureau with a driver’s license. It meant heading out on our own for the first time without an adult in the passenger’s seat. You could leave the parents behind.
Free At Last!!!
Back in the day, you could identify an automobile by its styling. At a glance, you knew if it was an Oldsmobile or a Buick. Not only were brands unique and unto themselves, so were the corporate divisions. There was a distinct difference between Ford and Mercury, and Dodge and Plymouth. GM had a class pecking order too. It went something like this— Cadillac/Buick/Oldsmobile/Pontiac/Chevrolet. GMC Trucks was a step up from Chevrolet, but not by much. Would you agree that was the pecking order at GM, especially if you were a GM family?
If you were just starting out in adulthood, you drove a Ford. In time, making a little more money, you drove a Mercury. And, when you finally arrived in the big time as a division manager or vice president, you moved up to a Lincoln.
There are legendary brands and generations that excited new car buyers and have held the imagination of generations. The 1955-57 “shoebox” Chevrolets—the “Tri-Fives”—have long been hot collectibles. Yet—did you know Ford outsold Chevrolet in 1957? The ’57 Fords, though quite handsome, haven’t gained the notoriety of their Chevy counterparts in terms of collectability. The sexy finned ’57 Chevrolet still stuns the masses 63 years later like no ’57 Ford or Plymouth ever has.
Whenever we think of the cool street corner 1950s with cigarettes rolled up in shirt sleeves, leather jackets, and greasy kid stuff, the ’57 Chevy in all its forms comes immediately to mind along with the song “Runaway” by Del Shannon. It was a great time to be young, attractive, popular, and hanging out with friends at your favorite cruising spot on a Saturday night. For guys, it was cruisin’ for chicks. For the ladies, it was flirting over a car hood to see who would try to pick you up.
No other place in the world knew and embraced the car culture like Los Angeles, California. This was especially true right after World War II ended and it remains true today. Angelinos love automobiles and they especially love being seen in cool cars. The more striking the vehicle the better they like it. Those native to Los Angeles knew great cruising spots like Van Nuys Boulevard, which seems to be the most legendary in Southern California. Van Nuys isn’t the place to cruise anymore because it has become unsafe, but it was for a long time.
The whole car culture phenomenon emerged from the vastness of Southern California where you could drive 100 miles and still be in Los Angeles. Although it can be debated by many, cruising and drag racing were born here. It was LA’s perfect climate of year-round sunshine that made cruising and drag racing favorite pastimes. Enthusiasts hopped up their cars and just couldn’t get enough of it. It is well documented the first official drag racing event happened in Santa Ana at an old shuttered Army base in July of 1950 according to Hot Rod Magazine Feature Editor, Tim Bernsau. This makes drag racing official 70 years old. Yet—real drag racers never grow old.
Robert “Pete” Petersen founded Hot Rod Magazine out of the trunk of an old jalopy and the car magazine was born. Hot Rod grew to be very successful. It birthed dozens of other types of car magazines and the culture flourished. Other automotive publishers popped up all over the country, but primarily in Los Angeles. Shows and racing events surely followed from coast to coast. It was an exciting time to be alive and into cars.
Cruising and drag racing swept the country like an aggressive California wild fire. The music. The cars. The clothing. The attitude. Main Street in dozens of communities across the land. Small Town USA. Drive-In burger joints. Good food. The ambiance of Americana—an element lost to the times. We’re not what we were in 1960. The good news is we have sweet wonderful memories. Ideally, you were born in 1946 through the early 1950s and have the kind of memories witnessed in the great American movie classic “American Graffiti.” Such was the way in 1962 as those first baby boomers came of age. They wanted to cruise.
As we came of age, automobiles became more exciting and more powerful. That was the undoing of some of us. A friend of mine was killed right in front of his house a Nova on a wild and crazy Saturday night horsing around. There were others in my graduation year lost to tragic automobile accidents. We remember this period as the muscle car era. Chevelle, GTO, Roadrunners and GTX, Corvette, Mustang, Camaro, Firebird, AMC’s glorious two-seat AMX, the 426ci Hemi Cuda, Challenger, Olds 4-4-2, Buick GS and GSX, even the seemly vanilla Rambler Scrambler. These were bad ass cars. The more unusual your muscle car, the more attention it got at the local drive-in.
We romanticize classic cars for their beauty and power—however, quality and efficiency have vastly improved since the middle of the 20th century. Classic cars are always exciting in someone else’s garage. Though they were easier to drive when we were younger, they can be challenging when you’ve cleared your 60th birthday. I still have my ’67 Mustang high school car my mother gave me long ago. I love the way it looks. However, I’m not much on driving it anymore. Why? Because it’s darned uncomfortable. Mom would agree…
I come from a long line of Washingtonians who’ve called Washington home and experienced this great city. I have ancestors who were members of The Oldest Inhabitants of the District. I love the District of Columbia for its awe inspiring beauty, charm, and the majesty of the many memorials honoring our founding fathers and those who’ve fought and died for the freedoms we take for granted. This is the greatness America has to offer in a nutshell despite its problems. Washington is very symbolic of who we are as a nation and certainly humbling.
That said – it’s time for a rant.
Do you ever feel like we’ve lost our way? And, do you find the two-party political system tiresome? I find myself squarely in the middle—neither right nor left—or perhaps just a pinch of both. Some call this being “Progressive” or “Moderate.” Some might even call it being indecisive. Both parties have become decidedly disconnected from the average American. Each takes a lot for granted.
What has either party really done for you?
A far right buddy of mine said that if I wasn’t right nor left that I didn’t have an opinion. Oh really? Being neither right nor left doesn’t mean I don’t have an opinion, it means I am free to have an independent viewpoint. I try to think outside the two-party box. Being stuck in one mindset limits our potential. An open mind invites change and growth. As free Americans, we are free to question the judgment of our leaders. In fact, it is our responsibility to question our leaders. Have you reached out to your representative lately?
Do you even know who they are?
Best I can tell, America needs a third party—a party with staying power that can grow and and infuse positive change in our political system. An alternative political party that can make a real difference. A movement that can break this destructive cycle of political and special interest fueled by money instead of what’s good for the People. Imagine a third party that’s a mix of liberal, conservative, and independent beliefs.
Yes—really…
We really aren’t that far apart as free Americans. We just need to talk – with civility. The system as it currently is isn’t serving the American People.
The current two-party system is broken.
America need a neutralizer.
Here’s something we should all be able to agree on – Our Veterans… Both parties have failed to honor and take care of our Veterans despite all the campaign rhetoric. Politicians promise. Politicians forget – or choose to forget. They’re elected and promptly disregard those who have fought and died for their freedom – and ours. Politicians have completely forgotten those who currently serve around the world, including Iraq and Afghanistan. Our greatest patriots sit in these forward positions wondering what happened. They wonder if anyone really cares about them.
It is a wonder anyone joins the military. It is becoming harder to recruit and retain good people because there’s no incentive to sign up. Our Veterans who have served valiantly continue to be left behind to sleep under bridges and in homeless shelters without the dignity of having served their country. The best example I can think of are Vietnam era Vets. No one has said thank you. We owe each and every one of them a better way of life and the respect they have surely earned.
Oh sure – it is easy to thank them for their service on the fly in the supermarket or in the mall. Helps us feel better about ourselves. That’s where it ends. What have any of us really done to serve our Veterans as they have served us?
Not much…
What does this say about us?
My grandfather was a Republican who had very little patience with the GOP. He always said when Republicans were in power hard times came with them. Except for the Reagan years, which were long on optimism and recovery, this has been proven consistently by the GOP. Yet – my grandfather remained a Republican until he passed in 1966 a the age of 72. He was very committed to the party. He walked the walk of party loyalty. I remain a Republican too, but can’t honestly tell you where I will be in a year. My mother and the rest of the family were staunch FDR/Kennedy Democrats. I grew up believing the GOP was the evil empire. When the family learned I had become a Republican, it changed things considerably.
I liked Reagan – hence the switch.
Isn’t it something this crazy divide between left and right when we need to be unified and focused on just being free Americans? The divide between the parties was never as bad as it is now. Back in the day, the two political parties worked together even under the most difficult of circumstances.
President Ronald Reagan and House Speaker Tip O’Neill knew how to sit down, kill a few beers, and come to a mutual agreement where both sides benefited. They had great respect for each other and wanted what was best for their country. These gentlemen understood the art of respectful disagreement and compromise.
Americans used to agree to disagree on the issues and remain civil. As a rule, people just didn’t discuss politics. They just didn’t go there. These days, disgruntled Americans who cannot agree take their marbles and go home—never to speak again. The divide has never been greater when what we need most is unity. Instead of concentrating on our differences and attacking one another’s character, why aren’t we focusing on what we have in common?
When I consider the great political divide, I recall the crash of an Eastern Air Lines Douglas DC-9 on approach to Charlotte in 1974. Two professional airline pilots flew this Douglas jet into the ground on final approach. Some 72 of the 82 on board were killed. The NTSB’s crash investigation revealed the two pilots were involved in a heated political discussion and ignored the rate of descent and altitude. The crash, which happened three miles short of the runway, ended their discussion and a lot of innocent human lives. That’s how dangerous politics can get when people can’t keep it all in proper prospective.
On Election Night of 2016, I knew we were in for the worst years of our lives because one party then had all of the power and was calling all the shots. I didn’t understand how far reaching the corruption would become. I see it now. There has been no one with the courage to police this corruption. This is how it works when one party is in charge and we’re void of a political watchdog. This would have also been true had the Dems taken both houses and The White House.
Absolute power corrupts—absolutely—regardless of party.
Power intoxicates.
There have been horrendous abuses of power under the current administration and the Congress. This is why a balance of power and operating with a true commitment to the American People is important. This has been proven time and time again throughout American history. The United States Congress has become something of a country club and a flop house in recent decades where modest income-earning newcomers are elected to the House and Senate and remain there for a career.
Well, what the hell is that?
Some stress the need for Term Limits, yet it’s like complaining about the weather. Everyone complains, yet what can anyone do about it? The logic against term limits is stability and having constant Congressional turnover. In theory, it limits corruption because it’s a short trip. It prevents excessive amounts of power and influence gained when a member of congress has been there a long time. It would also limit the power of special interest.
Being a member of Congress was never intended to be a career. Our founding fathers viewed it as an opportunity to serve the country. It should be done for honorable reasons and a real desire to serve. A good example is the perks congressionals vote for themselves including outlandish pay increases and unlimited benefits. That isn’t serving, that’s taking. Special interest adds insult to injury. Term limits mean fresh ideas and new approaches instead of the same old complacency. When members hold the same seat for years, they get complacent and stagnant.
Nothing gets done.
Fresh faces sport new ideas.
It can be safely said voters dislike the increasing role money plays in our so-called democratic government. Money dictates the plan. Congressionals feel the added pressure of raising campaign funds instead of serving the people. The primary duty of any member of Congress is to serve the American People. This isn’t happening today. They’re only serving themselves. Our president is only serving himself.
Is anyone in Washington really serving the American People?
The down side of Term Limits is it would actually limit the freedom of the people to continue to vote for elected representatives they want. Voters develop a loyalty to a member of Congress they come to know over time. Voters continue to re-elect the incumbent because no one likes the unknown. We like what’s familiar. Senators Mitch McConnell and Lindsey Graham are but two examples as are Diane Feinstein and Nancy Pelosi. All have had long standing careers in Congress. They’ve served their constituents well. However, it remains unclear just how well these folks are serving the American People—which is the primary reason why they were elected to begin with. I believe some of these people need to go.
We are stuck in a terrible rut despite all the rhetoric promoting the great job Washington believes it is doing. It has failed to effectively lead and manage a horrible pandemic, which is only growing worse as I write this. It is one thing to promote one’s self and quite another to actually do a great job. Doing a great job involves a lot of hard work in the trenches serving those who elected you. And—without needing a constant pat on the back for doing the job you were elected to do.
Americans develop a loyalty to their representatives and want them to stay in office indefinitely, which is why incumbents get re-elected. The logic among voters is the longer you’re in office, the better you should become at doing the job. Voters don’t like the unknown. Not all lawmakers can legitimately claim such success. Some are just dead weight occupying a congressional seat who need to go.
In theory, lawmakers on local, state and federal levels who have proven themselves effective leaders should not have their service cut short by term limits, which is why there will likely never be term limits.
When I was a boy, I listened to my parents hashing out the issues of the day—the Vietnam War, racial and gender inequality, poverty, the horror of Richard Nixon being elected to The White House (remember, they were staunch Dems), and landing on the Moon in 1969. Our greatness. The issues my parents debated 50 years ago weren’t much different than the issues we’re facing now. We still have two wars going in the Middle East (the longest in American history) no one talks about. Racial and gender inequality remains a topic of discussion even though we elected a black man to the presidency in 2008. We still have systemic racism. On Main Street, racial inequality remains a huge challenge. The same can be said for income inequality for women. Women still aren’t getting a fair shake.
The Democratic Party, it suffered a horrible defeat in 2016—losing it all to the GOP and Donald Trump. It can be safely said the GOP has become the party of Trump and will continue to be so in the fall when Americans vote. The American People aren’t worn out enough yet. My issue isn’t just with the GOP and Donald Trump, but also Congressional Dems, who aren’t earning their pay either. I see Washington as a complete and total failure of government.
We need the kind of spirit America had in the post war years when we were young, on the rise, and were hell-bent to do great things—like going to the Moon, building jumbo jets, and erecting the tallest buildings in the world in New York and Chicago.
Do you know what stopped us short? Complacency… We stopped rolling up our sleeves and doing the grunt work necessary to remain the greatest nation in the world.
We lifted…
As the late Pete Pastere, former editor of Popular Hotrodding and a friend of mine, once said – “Never Lift!” He knew what he was talking about because Pete never lifted, which was what made him great. Pete was killed tragically in a motorcycle accident nearly 30 years ago doing what he loved most.
Pete would strongly suggest we never stop reaching for greatness. Never get off the throttle. Keep on keeping on—only better. The Dems are telling us to “Build Back Better!” Then by golly do it and stop talking about it. Do it. Take the defeat of 2016 and turn it into greatness.
In this age of cell phones and internet service, I recall the most basic form of mass communication back in the day—public address sirens. These guys sounded the alarm from coast to coast in communities all over America. One Baltimore area radio announcer (WBAL) called them “Baltimore’s sirens in the sky…” These high on a pole screamers kept people informed. They prompted attention.
Sirens have served a number of purposes—fire, Civil Defense, severe weather, earthquake, blast warnings, mine collapse, and even the Noon whistle some places. Whenever Washington, D.C. civil authorities sounded Civil Defense sirens all over the National Capital Area, my mother always called them the “12 o’clock whistle…” even though they sounded at different times. She didn’t quite understand it was a Civil Defense test, nothing more.
The most common Civil Defense siren was the Federal Signal Thunderbolt 1000T. Whenever we think of a nuclear attack warning, the 1000T comes to mind. It made a creepy bizarre sound in the middle of a school day that roared across the treetops for miles. It was an even more unsettling sound when they shut it down and it wound down to a stop. If they cycled the 1000T on and off, it became almost unbearable. It roared up and down, echoing its powerful voice through a long horn. People would run for Civil Defense shelters just to get away from the roar of a Federal 1000T.
When you heard the 1000T, you knew it was important.
Where I grew up in Maryland, local volunteer fire departments had alert sirens high on poles or on top of buildings. They sounded three times for fire and once for the rescue squad. Each community had its own unique siren. My hometown had a Federal 3T22 siren, which emitted a high/low tone. There was a time when the siren failed and both pitches sounded at the same time to produce a harmony. They repaired the 3T22 and it was back to the familiar comforting high/low tone. We could all sleep better.
There was nothing quite like hearing this siren blow at 2 a.m. You knew someone was in big trouble in the middle of the night. If it blew three times, even bigger trouble. I will never forget the morning we had a fire in our home. Nothing quite like hearing the 3T22 – knowing they were coming to your house. As my father and I fought the fire and choked on the smoke, the roar of those Detroit diesel-powered pumpers coming up the street was comforting. Bowie’s Company 39, and that 3T22, saved many a life and property. We can all be grateful for their service.
I’ve also lived in the Midwest where tornado warnings were announced by a collection of different sirens that created a bizarre harmony across the community. Every once in a great while, authorities tested these sirens. That got everyone in a panic. Such is life in the heartland with its very unpredictable weather patterns. I recall a YouTube video where a Pampa, Texas tornado took out one of the warning sirens.
Talk about shooting the messenger?
Electronics has taken all the fun out of the siren song. I recall sitting in my bedroom at age 7 back in 1964 listening to firefighters horsing around with the newfound bark of an electronic ambulance siren behind our apartment complex. I couldn’t imagine what on earth that sound was. It didn’t sound like a siren. They played all of the different settings. In time, that electronic “yelp” became routine.
I can remember the thrill of Federal Signal “Q2B” blower sirens on the front bumper of firetrucks. We’ve all heard it. Federal Signal still makes it. It is a huge centrifugal blower with choppers and orifices that let out a scream you could hear in China. Federal Signal, manufacturer of all sorts of warning sirens, designed this puppy to make at least 123 db, which could be heard above all else, including your Bose sound system. There’s no way you wouldn’t hear it above Led Zeppelin. The Q2B is so effective it has never fallen from grace. It makes an incredible amount of noise.
Noise to some. A symphony to others – like firefighters.
Alert sirens became white noise in the background for a lot of communities. We heard them as we got about our business. The 3T22 in my hometown became an old friend. If you were in the shopping mall parking lot where this siren was behind the firehouse, it was startling and attention getting whenever it blew. I’d stand there in front of the bowling alley and listen to its voice. I’d hyperfocus on it as it wound down to a stop.
It was an awe-inspiring sound.
Today, that old 3T22 screamer remains atop a wooden pole some 30 feet in the air full of birds’ nests and other debris. Its bright yellow finish has been bleached away by the elements over time. It hasn’t sounded in decades—yet there it remains. It is impossible for any of us native to the suburban Washington community of Bowie, Maryland to imagine Company 39 without that siren. It became a familiar voice that accompanied us the whole time we were growing up. I’d come home for a visit from the Air Force and hear the 3T22, signaling memories that would remain forever.
Sirens remain a distant memory we would welcome hearing decades later.
I’ve been living in Southern California for nearly 27 years.
I will admit it—I’ve never enjoyed living here.
There, I said it…
I am here because career brought me here.
Great weather… Alternative Society…
When I moved here for the second time in 1994, I had to ask myself why I came back. Most disturbing to me about Los Angeles was the reckless nature of the way people drove here. Unsafe speeds. Distracted driving. Cutting one another off at any price including getting your ass kicked at the next traffic light. That “me first…” demeanor. “I’m late-I’m late—for a very important date…” and my needs are more important than yours. Everything, including one’s self, is more important than doing what you’re supposed to be doing at the time—focusing on driving and making safety your highest priority.
Gotta make that next appointment in Anaheim.
I’m an East Coast boy who has always believed Californians drove at outrageously high speeds and rather recklessly at that. We maim and kill a lot of people here—with spectacular freeway crashes, road rage shootings, red light runners, distracted driving, pedestrian hit and runs, and the rest of it. Irresponsible driving and reckless disregard for traffic laws seems to be what we are in California.
Rolling stops or what’s known as a “California Stop…”
Yep, there’s a ticket for that…
However—reckless driving isn’t just for California anymore. California didn’t invent reckless driving either. Dangerous driving is a given from coast to coast and border to border hence the great advances in automobile safety. Automakers have become obsessed with taking control of an automobile away from motorists in order to make driving safer. We cannot be trusted at the wheel anymore. Automatic braking and steering. Warning lights and chimes. Air bags. Three-point shoulder belts. Padded dashboards. Flush door handles.
Yet, there’s always some idiot out there among us who believes they can beat the train or make the red.
I’ve traveled this nation extensively and have been in 49 out of 50 states. North Dakota remains unexplored. I’ve never been there. I’ll bet North Dakota’s roadways are a whole lot safer than California’s or Florida’s. The reasons for that are obvious. There are way fewer motorists on North Dakota’s roads. People tend to be more civilized in North Dakota. As you wander the Northern Plains, it’s challenging to find anyone. It gets lonely up there and there’s always some poor slob chanting, “Where is everybody?!!!”
Just kidding… I love the great American heartland.
My travels have taken me to a lot of great—and not so great—American cities. In each place, I’ve found the roads have become more dangerous. There’s less focus on safe driving and greater attention paid to getting there fast. Plenty of distracted driving. Always someone on your back bumper, which reminds me. I have a passive-aggressive approach to tailgaters. I obstruct… I don’t jump on the brakes—nah—that can get you a bloody lip or a gunshot wound.
I slowly ease off the accelerator and let the eternally frustrated pass.
The most aggressive driving I’ve seen anywhere is Detroit and the I-90 corridor between Toledo and Cleveland. I love Detroit. However, there’s a mean spirit around Motown. People are just plain frustrated and angry. However, Detroit is slowly coming around and heading back toward being the great city it used to be. True Detroiters care about this city and are infusing new energy into the troubled community.
Quicken Loans is leading the charge.
Detroit will be great again…
Friends, seems we’ve forgotten the primary reason why we’re behind the wheel—to get there safe and alive. Baby Boomers remember Driver’s Education in high school. I’ve never forgotten what I learned in Driver’s Ed 50 years ago. We got classroom time, drove simulators, and navigated in large full-size battle wagons. We were shown the “guts in the gutter” crash films. We were educated in the proper way to operate a motor vehicle. Those basic fundamentals of driving have never left me. They’re as automatic as that waltz to the bathroom to pee at 3 a.m.
Rules of the road—traffic laws—are there for the safety and wellbeing of the citizens of any community. These laws haven’t changed much nor have the fines and points for those who’ve chosen to ignore them.
There for a reason.
The most dangerous people I’ve seen on the road are young millennials. I don’t want to sound down on young people. I’ve been a young people. I’ve also been young and stupid. However, whenever I see some crazy stunt on the freeway, like passing on the shoulder at 100 or roaring through heavy traffic like it’s a video game, it’s a millennial. The difference between a video game and the freeway is—when you crash at 100, you get dead. Game Over… Your parents, grandparents, siblings and friends get to grieve when you’ve passed all of us up.
No time to drive with civility…
However, it is time to slow down and enjoy the drive. I am preaching to the choir because boomers remember and understand the rules of the road and how to behave behind the wheel. And, as we grow older, we grow smarter and remember what we were taught a lifetime ago. We were raised by a largely responsible generation of great Americans acquainted us with the consequences of behaving irresponsibly.
We got our butts kicked.
We also remember the emotional pain of burying our dead from traffic accidents back in the day. My graduating class witnessed the deaths of two fellow students to traffic accidents. One was killed right in front of his house in a drunk driving accident. He was a passenger and the victim of a night of “hacking” with buddies.
What is it about men—and women—that makes some of us desire someone younger?
Food for thought, now isn’t it?
Whenever I hear the 1980s Steely Dan tune “Hey Nineteen” I think of this human dynamic and it is certainly not unique to the baby boomer. However, as boomers grow older this subject comes up from time to time in conversation. The established and aging business executive or the seemingly stable gent next door who divorces his wife of 35 years to marry a considerably younger woman.
When older women pursue younger men, we call them “Cougars…” implying in no uncertain terms it is an unacceptable form of behavior for a woman.
Yet—it’s acceptable from a man?
Someone please explain this lopsided thinking to me.
When I see a middle-aged guy leave his wife for a younger business associate or someone he bumped into at the grocery store, I am inclined to ask, “I bet the sex is good, but what do you talk about afterward?” That, of course, always leads to the next question, “Man—how do you keep up with her?” You know he’s going to lie about his endurance—right? Unless he’s blessed with excessive amounts of testosterone and aggressive arterial blood flow to his extremities, he isn’t telling the truth. As nature generally goes the middle-aged guy is going to disappoint a younger lady when he’s lying there snoring and completely oblivious to her sexual needs amid the night.
Reminds of of that Eagle’s song, “Lyin’ Eyes” from the mid-1970s and some of the lyrics from this time-honored song.
So she tells him she must go out for the evening To comfort an old friend who’s feelin’ down But he knows where she’s goin’ as she’s leavin’ She is headed for the cheatin’ side of town…
This is where men must be mindful of the needs of a younger partner because it can get dicey if you’re not attentive and on the ball.
Big old house gets lonely.
When young and older get together, each has to stay thoughtful of the differences and keep up to date on each needs. It’s important. It is also important for a woman to remember too. Men are more inclined to comfort that old friend.
Without regular care, feeding and watering – relationships expire…
It is interesting how men and women interact and what they expect of one another. It was the Baby Boom generation, and perhaps “The Greatest Generation” that began studying the differences between men and women. The informative book “Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus” by John Grey, PhD does a good job of defining the genders and how different we are—and how to better understand one another. Although a whole lot of us have read that book, I suspect a lot of us did not believe it applied to us – right? In truth, men and women are very different in how we think and what we are emotionally. I believe women try very hard to understand men. However, I don’t think men believe it is their responsibility to understand women.
I am just as guilty of this as anyone else. I am a poor listener.
Time for an attitude adjustment.
I believe men and women would get along better were men inclined to really listen to and understand women. This has been an issue for centuries between the sexes. Sounds crazy, but I don’t think some men have ever recovered from women getting the vote a century ago. Guys, you know this is true. There’s still that ridiculous glass ceiling in America where women can advance only so far, then level off at what men perceive is acceptable when, in fact, there’s a lot of room for improvement.
Young men who want older women—Cougars—understand the value of an older woman. By the same token, younger women see the great assets of tying their lives to an older man. Those who want older partners can looking forward to the wisdom and experience that goes with being with someone older. Older people are more established. They’ve made most of the mistakes younger people make and are on more stable ground emotionally and financially. Older partners are a good gamble. Tying your heart to a younger person also keeps you young at heart too.
Mixing up the ages can also have its hazards. If you’re too far apart age wise, there comes the challenge of what to talk about and the sharing of mutual interests. Sometimes, it’s just the sex that bonds and keeps you together. That alone gives you both something to look forward to once the sun goes down—and even when it’s rising. If nothing else holds a relationship together, sex always does.
Food for thought in any case…
Hey Nineteen
Steely Dan 1980
Way back when in ’67 I was the dandy of Gamma Chi Sweet things from Boston So young and willing Moved down to Scarsdale Where the hell am I?
Hey, nineteen No, we can’t dance together (We can’t dance together) No, we can’t talk at all Please take me along when you slide on down
Hey, nineteen That’s ‘Retha Franklin She don’t remember the Queen of Soul It’s hard times befallen The sole survivors She thinks I’m crazy But I’m just growin’ old
Hey, nineteen No, we got nothin’ common No, we can’t dance together No, we can’t talk at all Please take me along when you slide on down
Adolescence is something that comes twice in life.
Yes, I said twice.
I remember adolescence—the heat, humidity and sweat of Maryland summer and discovering that stinky aroma reminding me to take a shower. We enter adolescence and begin to smell. It is true. Men think of adolescence as the onset of youth— peach fuzz on our chins, hair in our armpits, the thickening of our vocal chords and the deepening of our voices – wanting to spread our wings and not be told what to do by the parents – and the corresponding depression associated with youth.
The tedious process of becoming a man.
For women, the long-awaited arrival of adolescence is the arrival of that dreaded and cursed monthly menstrual cycle every 28 days (for the rest of your lives), a training bra, learning how to apply makeup, developing a circle of friends, fitting in, and high emotion. Seems everything is emotional for a teen. Becoming a woman isn’t any easier than it is for a man.
If anything, it’s harder.
As teens, we become goofy, clunky, awkward creatures. We can be clumsy and reckless. We sometimes make foolish decisions. We want to fit in—even if it’s with a bad crowd. We want to be liked. Acceptance. Our bodies grow at different rates. Irregular bone and soft tissue growth issues cause muscle cramps our parents used to identify as growing pains. I remember getting shin splints whenever I ran. I’d get nauseous for no apparent reason.
Hormones were changing fast and we were along for the ride.
I recall my mother and the school principal wanting to know why I didn’t want to go to school. I was sick to my stomach a lot—nothing more, nothing less. Being stupid clueless adults, they suspected I was trying to cut school. The principal came up with a school project she thought would interest me – which didn’t fix the nausea.
No one in the adult world believed I had a sick stomach.
It’s not easy being a misunderstood teenager…
Adolescence is also about the arrival of our sexuality—the euphoria of sexual desire and trying to understand why we have sexual feelings. Steamy passion and desires we’ve never had before. And – the never-ending frustration of having to control these desires.
Yet, we were scared to death of them.
We all remember because we grew up during the sexual revolution and all that free love though very little of it was free. Much of that depending upon when you came of age. Seems like the late 1960s was the peak of the sexual revolution. Woodstock, aside from incredible music and phenomenal performers, was a huge love fest for those who were daring and excited. Some found their lifelong mates there. One couple comes to mind. Their name escapes me. Woodstock was their first date and a union that would last a lifetime. That was 51 years ago.
Many a marriage began with Woodstock.
Sex Education just didn’t spell it all out clearly enough to where we could understand why our bodies and desires were changing. It was all just so clinical as it was presented by educators and parents. Sex was never discussed in any capacity in most households unless there happened to be a Dr. Spock book lying around. It was impossible to believe our parents actually did it. I began to wonder as a teen if I had crawled out from under a rock.
Our generation still believes it invented sex.
For a teen, raw emotions are always just under the surface. You’re not a child anymore, but you’re not an adult either. You want your independence, yet you still want to be a kid. It’s the realization that you’re not a child anymore. Adolescence was a time when we struggled to understand who we were and where we were going. We were seeking some sort of identity and an understanding of where we fit in. For more popular teens—the cheerleaders, jocks, and honor students—those emotional struggles got buried in the madness of popularity, the demands of a busy social life, and having to have your ego stroked.
Under the surface, the more popular teens struggled from the same emotions most of us did. They had all of the same insecurities. They often segued into adulthood and discovered being an adult was a lot tougher than they ever imagined. Some committed suicide after high school and college or escaped into an unsettling world of drug and alcohol abuse to numb feelings.
Some recovered. Some have not.
Depression is something we go through very much alone even when we’re young, and surrounded by family and people who love and need us. Those who come from troubled homes and abuse as children haven’t always escaped the emotional turmoil of growing up in dysfunctional homes. They’ve repeatedly gotten sucked back into the insanity or turned tail and ran for their lives.
Some never looked back.
If your journey has been anything like my own, you’ve found life has been a tapestry of experiences both good and bad that have molded who you are now. When we are so very young, we’re at climb power as we grow into a career and gain experience. Sometimes, there’s no career at all—just a job we go to year after year. With an ounce of luck and raw tenacity, we begin to level off at cruise altitude by the time we are 40 and can finally appreciate the ride. If you’ve chosen a very competitive career field, the pressure never ends.
You just have to keep pressing on and carving out a path.
Perhaps, your career has been the time-honored profession of raising your kids and making a home, which really is the most important career there is because you’re shaping young lives and keeping a home for your family. Being a homemaker is surely the most thankless profession there is short of being a police officer or career military. Rarely are you thanked for anything—especially when you have to say no. If you’re raising kids alone or married to someone who’s gone a lot, you have the enormous challenge of doing nature’s toughest job alone. And, God help you if they’re all sick at the same time and you’re not feeling so well yourself.
Young people coming of age have long been pressured to go to college and seek “honorable” professions to make their parents proud and maintain status in the community. Such is an unfair expectation because this is not always what young people want. I pen this wondering whatever happened to honorable trades and the teaching of trades—which don’t call for a college degree. Why aren’t high schools teaching trades anymore? Whatever happened to teaching young people professions that will serve them well in life? Not every person born to this apple has to have a college degree. Have you ever found yourself seeking a good plumber, electrician, carpenter, landscaper, brick layer, roofer, concrete finisher, construction contractor, siding installer, appliance technician, or heating and air conditioning specialist?
They’re becoming harder to find in this college-bound society.
These are many honorable trades that have always paid well and are virtually recession proof because things always break. Toilets stop up. Refrigerators quit. Furnaces break down when it’s 20 below outside. Air conditioning quits when it’s 97 degrees with 80% humidity. Cars quit in the middle of busy intersections. I’ve never heard of a layoff at a plumbing and heating business or an auto repair shop. There’s always a need for good tradesmen—people who know how to fix things.
This goes for both male and female. There’s not a darned thing a man can do that a woman cannot do even better.
When I graduated from high school, the last thing I wanted to see was another classroom. I hated school. I went into the Air Force to learn how to repair jet aircraft. My college was the United States Air Force where I was taught a trade—aircraft maintenance—and even attended college. I got out of the USAF with visions of a high-paying airline mechanic career. There were no jobs to be had. The house was full. Ironically, I got out of the Air Force and became an automotive journalist—and without a college degree. It was the training I received in the Air Force and via hands on experience that qualified me to be an automotive technical writer. I’ve been mentored by great editorial types who showed me how to be a writer.
You never know where life experiences will take you.
Earlier, I mentioned adolescence comes but twice in life and here’s why. Our adolescence in youth is where we transition from being a child to being an adult. Adolescence returns when you crest the age of 60 and your mind and body begin to change again. Our senior years are a return to adolescence.
The intense sexual desire we had at 16 doesn’t have the luster it had a half century ago. It has a very humbling effect on what we think of ourselves. For men, it is especially difficult because our libido has always been a measure of our manhood. For women, menopause brings issues that make sex more challenging than it was in youth. And, damned those stinking hot flashes and sweats in the middle of the night. At our age, sexual moments are fewer and seemingly more special because they become so rare. And, so goes nature.
Many of those same emotions and feelings associated with adolescence in our youth seem to return in our advancing years. We were getting hair. Now, we’re losing hair. We were growing stronger. Now, it’s challenging to get out of a chair. We were looking forward to the future. Today, we’re reflecting upon the past. Time used to drag on when we were in school or in church. These days, time seems to roar by at dizzying speed. Back in the day, we wondered where we were going. Today, we know where we’ve been. Back then, we couldn’t get enough sex. And now, we’d sooner go bowling or watch old sitcoms. When we were coming of age, we were afraid of dying. These days, dying is less of a concern—we’ve lived our lives and it’s all good. Thank God for our longevity.
As we enter our twilight years, feelings we remember from long ago manifest themselves with startling reality. It’s all so familiar. It was never easy being a teenager. And now, it isn’t easy morphing into our twilight years.
It isn’t easy being a senior citizen despite that token 20% discount at Denny’s.
If you’re 60 and beyond, the best advice I can impart is to find new purpose. Never Lift…always seek something new. There’s plenty of need for volunteers with civic organizations who could use your experience. Mentor those going through adolescence who seek direction just like you did a lifetime ago. Hanging with young people keeps you young.
Perhaps you seeking something that will line your pockets. Go do it. Don’t go do something you dread going to go each day. Go do something you’re going to be passionate about.
Whatever you decide to do, never back off the throttle. Continue reaching.
Ego is a survival tool. It keeps us safe and alive.
Ego can be your worst enemy. It can get you maimed or killed.
Ego also helps you to do better—to excel.
Ego is what has inspired great things throughout history.
What happens when ego arrives in the middle of a heated discussion? When two or more parties fail to respectfully disagree? Arguments become heated when ego takes over and we can’t stand someone not agreeing with us.
What about that?
What are we afraid of?
A healthy way to live your life is to be okay with a differing opinion. Differing opinions—viewpoints—are what make the world go around and that’s okay. This means different cultures and traditions. Different beliefs. Varying opinions. Conservative versus Liberal. Left versus Right. Western versus Eastern culture. Ginger versus Mary Ann. Peanut butter and chocolate versus Chocolate and Peanut Butter. Right Twix versus Left Twix. Stock versus Modified cars and trucks.
So many debates—so little time.
Conservatism and liberalism work well together if you experience a healthy balance of power where both political parties find common ground and a level of compromise. One counterbalances the other though some will grind their teeth because it doesn’t go exactly the way they’d planned. It is when the balance of power becomes decidedly tipped to either side that it becomes very unpleasant. We’ve become so polarized by political events in recent years that we’ve forgotten how to be civil to one another—to disagree and be civil about it.
Why must we always agree?
When did it become unfashionable to disagree?
Maybe, it always was—and no one ever talked about it.
In my humble opinion—the polarization of society began with the changing political environment in the first decade of the new millennium. The sharp divide began with hanging chads and the bitter battle over who won the 2000 election between Al Gore and George W. Bush. Weeks later, Bush was the apparent victor. Bush faced baptism by fire with the horrifying events of September 11th. It looked like we were on track for real unity, with a brief display of togetherness exhibited by Congress and the masses when we perceived we were under threat in the wake of 9/11/01.
That didn’t last long…
We swiftly lost our way and what we are about – again…
The election of 2008 polarized us, with the division between left and right becoming wider with time and with efforts to unseat the winner. There were Americans who didn’t care for the changing political landscape. Then—when nearly everyone was so sure the left would retain power and we were about to elect the first woman president of the United States, Election Night results made monkeys out of the pollsters and the news media. Americans, so desperate for an answer and feeling like they actually mattered in Washington, threw Pennsylvania Avenue a curve ball – and looked to a very outspoken New Yorker who was going to shake up Washington.
He did…
Americans had had enough of the status quo from both sides of the aisle.
Career politicians had forgotten them.
Here we are again in a volatile election year promising to be the most polarized ever. Both parties see this election as a fight for the country and the kind of life each wants. What has been long lost over time is compromise—the ability to see another person’s point of view in any capacity.
Both sides are unwilling to listen.
I’ve always believed I can learn something useful from someone with whom I disagree. It’s so easy if you try. You should go at a discussion with an open mind. When both parties in a discussion keep open minds, and without conflict, the discussion becomes as smooth as sour cream mashed potatoes.
For one thing, you each must keep a sense of humor—the ability to laugh with each other and, more importantly, the ability to laugh at yourselves. A good belly laugh softens any tension amid disagreement. The discussion becomes easier when you’re able to laugh.
Place your ego carefully on the shelf.
I have close friends—brothers in arms—with whom I disagree politically. Yet—we volley our thoughts back and forth, digest what we’ve heard each other say, and wind up the discussion in a spirit of mutual respect even when we don’t agree. We don’t have to agree on everything, and that’s okay. I’ve learned the dangers of volatile disagreement through the years, and lost friends I’ve known for the better part of a lifetime. These were friends who will never speak to me again. They were unable to accept a differing opinion and chose to end our friendship. It was easier to walk away than it was to try to comprehend a differing opinion.
Some just can’t.
I have a friend whose son is gay. When he learned she voted for Donald Trump, he never spoke to her again. I feel great empathy for both of them because, innocently, she told her son who she voted for. Her son threw away the love of his mother. She wasn’t prepared for his response and will forever be heartbroken. Her attempts to reach out to him have been unsuccessful.
Today’s polarized environment can be compared to the Civil War where families battled against one another. It was brother against brother, family against family in the bloodiest war in American history. Scars and sensitivity remain 155 years later. In light of recent events across the country where memorials symbolic of the Confederacy have been removed, the scars run deep and the pain from so long ago unforgivable.
I tend to be a moderate—with no particular bond with either party. However, I try to listen to each party and understand its beliefs. I know what I like about each party—and what I don’t. I am liberal about some things and conservative about others. I’ve had one friend who feels if you are a centrist, moderate, or a progressive, you don’t have an opinion. It’s either right or left, with the middle being no man’s land. I am afraid I don’t agree. Being a centrist, moderate, or progressive means keep your mind open to different ideas and opinions—willing to hear each side out while forming an opinion of your own without being too vocal about it.
Being in a free society has never been easy or simple. Freedom is a great thing. Our tolerance with each other is where it gets tricky. To borrow a quote from the 1995 movie, “The American President,” and Andrew Sheperd’s (actor Michael Douglas) immortal words, “America isn’t easy…you gotta want it bad…” He goes on to address the challenges of differing opinions and how—as much as you’d like to squelch an opposing opinion, the opponent has the same rights you do and are free to speak.
Peaceful disagreement and mutual respect are goals each of us should be searching for in our relationships. I value friendship more than I do anyone agreeing with me. Good solid everlasting friendships that last despite differing opinions are hard to find. Best advice is to find the value in a differing opinion, shake hands, and play another round.
Steel dashboards. No seat belts. Those big Mercury sedans with the power “guillotine” rear window. Power windows in general. Lincolns with suicide doors. Huge finger-smashing car doors. Hot stoves. Blistering hot light bulbs. Outlets without child guard caps. Bicycles without helmets. Drinking out of a garden hose. Huge stainless steel slides and Mom’s box of wax paper. See-Saws. Monkey bars. Skateboards. Running down the stairs. And—wandering the neighborhood all by yourself.
When did all that change and why?
What has made parents so darned protective?
Have we become so overprotective as parents or has this been a logical path toward a safer world for our children? Seems over the top, doesn’t it? My sister went off a bicycle at age 8 on a hill, whacked her head, and walked back up the hill in tears with a huge goose egg on her forehead and a concussion. She had to be rushed to the emergency room. The concussion and goose egg both went away—and she has led a perfectly normal life ever since.
Aren’t we just a bit overprotective today?
Perhaps…
Skinned knees and elbows. Wasn’t that standard childhood abrasion a right of passage? Just to be a kid you had to have skinned knees and elbows. Scar tissue is something we earn growing up. You can review your collection of scars and remember how you got every one of them. I look at my hands and arms—and even my face—observe the scar tissues, and remember how I managed to injure myself as a child.
My knees are a study in how badly you can fall and hurt yourself.
Seems we’re most vulnerable when we are teenagers—especially boys—where we are inclined to demonstrate our masculinity beginning with “Hey! Watch this!!!” I recall working in shipping and receiving at a local department store and slashing my hand to pieces with a box cutter clowning around. As blood poured out of my right hand, I had to wonder how I could have been so foolish.
There was the time—age 12—I thought it appropriate to startle a sleeping cat and learned quickly why you never startle a sleeping cat. I still have a scar on my face as a reminder of why you never startle a sleeping animal. I always tell people I got that scar in a bar fight in Bangkok when I was in the service.
“You should have seen the other guy…”
Probably not a good idea to come down a hill at a high rate of speed standing on your bicycle seat— especially when you’re not familiar with irregularities in the pavement. Gravity and kinetic energy prevail, and we generally get more scar tissue.
The same laws of bicycling and common sense apply to wheelies, burnouts, hand stands on the handlebars, jumping a huge hill, and just about any other act on a bicycle that can get you maimed or killed.
And then, there’s that first motorcycle…
Observing what can be flushed down a toilet may not be hazardous in itself—but can get you killed by an irate parent who had to pay for the plumber. I think of that whenever I remember flushing popsicle sticks down the toilet at the age of 5. My parents never forgot. John Dorsey Plumbing had to come to the house, pull the toilet up, and retrieve the popsicle sticks.
It was an expense my parents could have done without.
Has anyone ever been poisoned or sickened from drinking out of a garden hose or putting a discarded cigar butt in their mouth? Perhaps—a little-known phenomenon known as “Discarded Cigar Butt Syndrome.” Waiting for one of these law firms to come up with a class action lawsuit again garden hose manufacturers, claiming baby boomers drinking from a garden hose as children causes cancer.
Perhaps…
Did sitting too close to the TV in a dark living room mess up your eyesight? At 64, seems like it did. I can’t see anything without my glasses.
Mom was right…
Have you ever seen anyone with their eyes permanently crossed? I haven’t either. Yet, Mom always told me that if I didn’t stop crossing my eyes, they’d get stuck that way.
Ever seen a broken toilet? Me either. Yet Mom always said if I kept slamming the seat down, we’d wind up with a broken toilet.
There were days when I hung around her feet while she was cooking, she lamented if I didn’t go away, I was going to get burned. She was right…
I’ve always thought sticking your finger in a light socket was educational.
It was…
You never forget the intense tingle of alternating current.
Did you ever play in the heavy rain of an intense thunderstorm? I wouldn’t know because my mother was terrified of lightning. She had us come in the house and take our places on the foam rubber coach (yeah…she really believed you were safe on a foam rubber sofa).
Today—I sit outside and watch lightning.
I am still here…
Growing up, I always had an overwhelming fear of being hit by a car. As a small child, I saw cars as the enemy. They might run over me. Ironic is my career as an automotive writer—for four decades.
Guess I got over my fear of automobiles.
All those things parents worry about today have merit. They’re legitimate concerns, and a whole lot of safety equipment has come to pass as a result. However, I’ve also found you’ve got to let a kid fall and be hurt from time to time to toughen them up. It helps them learn to cope with physical and mental anguish.
As tough old boomers who had to trudge to school uphill in the snow – both ways – we tend to laugh at snowflake millennials for such overwhelming drama over seemingly little things. We’re guilty of the same thing our parents were guilty of—wanting them to have a better time of it than we had.
