The older I get the more I’m tempted to look at the younger generation with a certain amount of befuddlement.  The clothes they wear look a little goofy to me.  The music they listen to sounds like a sad facsimile of the music I like.  The tattoos, the piercings, and the general lack of real world knowledge irritates me somewhat.  I must take into consideration that the world they are coming of age in is much different than the one I came of age in.  I actually milked a cow in my youth.  My dad could fix any part of our vehicle  himself.  We entertained ourselves with games we made up and we generally stayed outdoors whenever the weather would permit.  A computer was an abstract concept in sci-fi movies and a phone was a box with a bell in it that was tethered to the wall.  All this happened in the last century.  It doesn’t seem like that long ago but the calendar doesn’t lie.  We kids of the last century made our own fun and when we left the house no one, and I mean no one, knew what we were up to.  Until this past weekend I thought the next generation was going to be a bunch of house bound wieners.  I think I’m wrong about that.
My son is almost nine.  He’s a good boy but he lives on the computer and he plays video games constantly.  He plays outside some but he’s an only child so having someone to play with is a problem.  We had two of his friends over for this past weekend.  They are twin brothers.  Both of them are full of energy and go non-stop until they pass out in their tracks.  I was happy to have them stay a few days with us, as were their parents.  I was prepared to clean up messes and be in the middle of the tornado that was to ensue.  We picked them up early on a Friday night.  They, along with my son, played video games, wrestled, and messed about on the computer until one in the morning.  This is how I thought it would go.  The boys running about in the house and confirming my worst fears: that kids are house bound these days unless they are involved in some kind of organized sporting event.  I let them sleep in Saturday morning and I fixed them breakfast which was actually served around lunch time.  They gobbled up a pound of sausage, a pound of bacon, a dozen eggs and numerous buttered pieces of toast.  That’s the one thing that hasn’t changed much.  Kids will still eat ridiculous amounts of food.
I was very happy on Saturday when I found the boys outside.  They had been out to the barn and had discovered an old go cart in the weeds.  I had forgotten that it was out there.  It has no motor but the roll cage is still intact and the tires held air.  One boy would sit in the seat and make the engine sound and steer while the other two pushed as mightily as they could.  I thought this would make them tired so I went into the shop and happily cleaned up things that needed cleaning up.  I was in there a little while when I heard the first crash and the laughter that came after.  I sneaked to the door of the shop and peeped out.  I had to see what was going on.  One of the twins had strapped himself firmly into the seat while the other two boys would pick up the side of the go cart until it flipped over on it’s top leaving the boy in the seat hanging upside down.   After a spell of laughter they would exclaim how cool that particular crash had been and would argue over who’s turn it was to belt in and be flipped.  I loved this.  This is what I’ve been looking for in the younger generation.  A totally made up game that combined danger and hard work.  I watched them take turns flipping the cart for a while.  Then they came up with another idea.  The boys would pick up the front of the cart and make it do an end over end.  I had to step in at this point.  Maybe I’m one of those helicopter parents who hovers over the children but this seemed a little too dangerous.  I made them stop.  They were unhappy and begged me to let them do it.  We did a test run and the crash was rather violent.  This made them want to try it more.  I just couldn’t allow it.  I feel bad about it but I didn’t want to see anyone get hurt.  Damn.  Maybe I’m part of the problem.  The next generation will be just fine.  It’s my generation that’s getting in the way of having real fun.