It may just be my imagination (or possibly the voices in my head), but are parents getting soft with their kids?
Maybe I am old (that’s a yes if you are keeping score at home) and I am only able to remember how tough parents where when I was a kid.
If memory serves me correct, we had it rough in regards to how our parents treated us.
I distinctly remember living in a cave. We had no money. No cars (unless you count the 85 foot station wagon with fake wood paneling on the side). Four television stations, if you count PBS. No electricity or food and we certainly didn’t eat out, go on vacation, or visit a doctor.
My parents had a theory on doctors. They felt they were expensive. You have to admit, while their theory is very basic, there is some genius hidden in its simplicity.
As parents, they made the difficult decision that it was cheaper for their children to die, than it was to take them to the doctor. Actually, as I recall, they really didn’t struggle with this decision that long.
A shallow grave near the family pets’ graveyard can make a lovely resting place for a teenage boy.
You may be thinking, what about the funeral? You can’t be serious. Do the math. Too expensive, plus they had three kids just in case one was damaged beyond repair.
One kid goes down and they would still have two more than when they started. Again, simple- but genius.
Since we were not allowed to go to the doctor, we were encouraged not to get hurt.
If we were hurt, there was one basic rule that had to be followed. No exceptions and no excuses. The rule was “Don’t bleed in the house.”
If you were bleeding, you were quickly ushered (pushed) outside in the yard.
How my parents were not elected King and Queen of the United States Association of Parents, I will never understand.
These days it seems like kids go to the nurse’s office and the emergency room for any reason. A good school nurse does more business on a Monday morning than four overpriced Starbucks.
Students are just looking for a reason to go see her. Cough, running nose, head hurts, broken bones, loss of an eye in PE, etc. are all reasons to run to a paid, very expensive medical professional. Not in my day.
When I was a kid, I could have come home with a shiv stuck directly in my heart and I would have gotten yelled at for bleeding out in the living room.
After the screaming died down, my parents would have pointed out (if I could still hear them before I crossed over to the other side) how I just ruined my family’s evening.
I can hear my dad now, “Quit crying, it is a long way from your heart.” Which I would have replied, “Actually the shiv is in my heart.”
“Don’t be a baby and don’t bleed in the house.”
It takes longer than you think to dig a shallow grave.
My wife found this entry disturbing. She wants everyone to know that parts of this blog were embellished. I must admit that she is correct. The station wagon wasn’t really that long and I wouldn’t have been allowed to pass on until I dug my own grave.