Does this look like the picture of a juvenile delinquent?
I almost feel bad for kids today. They can’t get away with anything. If I was a youth today and I did the things I did as a kid, I would have been put so far back in jail they would have had to pump oxygen to me.
When I was a kid, a BB gun war was a great way to spend a summer day with friends. All the guys in the neighborhood would get together with their BB Guns. It was awesome idea to bring your younger brothers so they could be used as target practice. It was smart (but not mandatory) to wear your heaviest winter coat, gloves, and stocking cap. Safety goggles were okay (if you had them) but not a requirement. You would expect to be called a pansy if you wore safety glasses, but most of us were smart enough to value our eye sight so we wore them even knowing we’d receive verbal abuse. The rules of the game were simple: first, don’t let any adults know what you are doing (“Johnny, why are you wearing your winter coat, gloves and stocking cap in the middle of the summer during a record heat wave?” “I was thinking about the penguins in the Antarctica and it made me feel a little cold, Mom.”); second, shot anyone with a BB gun but below the neck (Head shots were liable to get you pummeled by everyone else that was playing); and third, never let anyone know how bad it stung when you were hit. Can you imagine what would happen today if a group of kids were having a BB gun war? A concerned adult would call the police, the police would call the FBI, and the FBI would call in an international swat team to take down the youthful rebellion (Put your weapons down, terrorists, and come out with your hands up!) All of the BB gun war veterans would have been hauled into the juvenile court system and assigned community service. (You mean I have to umpire Little Leagues baseball games for the next two months rather than work 12 hours a day on the farm, DARN!” Now days, kids just set around blowing things up on their various game stations instead of enjoying the thrill of actual war and taking a BB in the one spot that was not covered by layers of clothing.
When I was a kid, throwing apples at 18-wheelers was the preferred activity of a sleep-over party. All you need was an apple tree that was close to the main highway and a good place to hide when a pissed-off trucker came to kick your butt. It was especially fun when you had a group of kids so that you could really pummel an 18-wheeler when it drove by the apple tree. The rules of the game were simple: first, don’t throw at the cab of the 18-wheeler (that really gets the trucker peeved); second, surprise attack was the only acceptable way to ambush an 18-wheeler (no standing by the road acting nonchalant at 1:00 am in the morning); and third, everyone must have his own hiding place so when a 18-wheeler screeched to a stop and a 6’8” 300 lb trucker came barreling out of the cab with vengeance in his heart, they can hide. Can you imagine what would happen today if a group of kids were throwing apples at an 18 wheeler? A pissed-off trucker would use his cell phone to call the police, the police would have called the FBI, and the FBI would have called in an international swat team, including a helicopter with a million-candle searchlight, to take down the youthful insurrection (Put your apples down, rebels, and come out with your throwing arm at your side!) All of the apple chucking gang would have been hauled into juvenile court system and assigned community service. (You mean I have to work at the public swimming pool for the next two months rather than work 12 hours a day on the farm, DARN!” Now kids just set around throwing grenades at the enemy on their various game stations instead of enjoying the thrill of having a ticked-off trucker, screaming that if he catches you little maggots he will kick your sorry butts.
So take a look at the picture again, does that top-button on his shirt buttoned dork look like a juvenile delinquent? If he were a kid today he would surely be one.
I almost feel bad for kids today. They can’t get away with anything. If I was a youth today and I did the things I did as a kid, I would have been put so far back in jail they would have had to pump oxygen to me.
When I was a kid, a BB gun war was a great way to spend a summer day with friends. All the guys in the neighborhood would get together with their BB Guns. It was awesome idea to bring your younger brothers so they could be used as target practice. It was smart (but not mandatory) to wear your heaviest winter coat, gloves, and stocking cap. Safety goggles were okay (if you had them) but not a requirement. You would expect to be called a pansy if you wore safety glasses, but most of us were smart enough to value our eye sight so we wore them even knowing we’d receive verbal abuse. The rules of the game were simple: first, don’t let any adults know what you are doing (“Johnny, why are you wearing your winter coat, gloves and stocking cap in the middle of the summer during a record heat wave?” “I was thinking about the penguins in the Antarctica and it made me feel a little cold, Mom.”); second, shot anyone with a BB gun but below the neck (Head shots were liable to get you pummeled by everyone else that was playing); and third, never let anyone know how bad it stung when you were hit. Can you imagine what would happen today if a group of kids were having a BB gun war? A concerned adult would call the police, the police would call the FBI, and the FBI would call in an international swat team to take down the youthful rebellion (Put your weapons down, terrorists, and come out with your hands up!) All of the BB gun war veterans would have been hauled into the juvenile court system and assigned community service. (You mean I have to umpire Little Leagues baseball games for the next two months rather than work 12 hours a day on the farm, DARN!” Now days, kids just set around blowing things up on their various game stations instead of enjoying the thrill of actual war and taking a BB in the one spot that was not covered by layers of clothing.
When I was a kid, throwing apples at 18-wheelers was the preferred activity of a sleep-over party. All you need was an apple tree that was close to the main highway and a good place to hide when a pissed-off trucker came to kick your butt. It was especially fun when you had a group of kids so that you could really pummel an 18-wheeler when it drove by the apple tree. The rules of the game were simple: first, don’t throw at the cab of the 18-wheeler (that really gets the trucker peeved); second, surprise attack was the only acceptable way to ambush an 18-wheeler (no standing by the road acting nonchalant at 1:00 am in the morning); and third, everyone must have his own hiding place so when a 18-wheeler screeched to a stop and a 6’8” 300 lb trucker came barreling out of the cab with vengeance in his heart, they can hide. Can you imagine what would happen today if a group of kids were throwing apples at an 18 wheeler? A pissed-off trucker would use his cell phone to call the police, the police would have called the FBI, and the FBI would have called in an international swat team, including a helicopter with a million-candle searchlight, to take down the youthful insurrection (Put your apples down, rebels, and come out with your throwing arm at your side!) All of the apple chucking gang would have been hauled into juvenile court system and assigned community service. (You mean I have to work at the public swimming pool for the next two months rather than work 12 hours a day on the farm, DARN!” Now kids just set around throwing grenades at the enemy on their various game stations instead of enjoying the thrill of having a ticked-off trucker, screaming that if he catches you little maggots he will kick your sorry butts.
So take a look at the picture again, does that top-button on his shirt buttoned dork look like a juvenile delinquent? If he were a kid today he would surely be one.
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