Just call me Gramps

You've reached the next level of "old" when you start perpetually worrying about the state of the future youth catching yourself thinking "When I was young we...". Short of the long: I've been riding the bus becoming to the new old school. With the frequency of these occurrences, I can only conclude this bus is traveling far faster than I originally anticipated.

It was little more than a week ago, playing on my old school play ground (how is that for a blogging paradox), that I become appalled to find the ditches of my youth had been culvert. Emotions surged through my veins unsure of which it was I began a logical analysis as to what was going on.

Here is how it broke down on the spectro-emotio-scanner.

Shock: How could they?
Fear: What is this world coming to? I hope I don't cry in front of these people.
Lost: Where did my childhood go?
Concern: Won't somebody please think of the children!
Love: I loved those ditches they will always have a place in my heart. (may also have been a heart attack cause by initial shock)
Action: Grab a shovel, we are digging our water way to freedom.

*aside* Many of you reading at home may be confused or more likely ready to take me straight to a nursing home. After all, I'm spilling the beans over a hundred odd feet of aluminum pipe, this stuff hapends everyday. Well, go start your cars because I'm just getting warmed up.

You see, when I was young those ditches were my classroom. As the relentless Vancouver rain dropped down buckets of liquid sunshine Cameron, Derek, Graham L and Graham M and I were engineering the finest of dams for our cheese spreadstick regattas. We quickly discover the importance of pre loading, using sustainable materials and precession digging to achieve the optimum blockage. After a lunch hour of diligent labour we lined-up our plastic red-stick boats and awaited the stomp of a yellow gumboot to kick off the race. "Gusherrrrrrrr!!!!" opening the flood gates, we smurfs followed the water streaming down the hill to the finishing stick in hopes of wining the bragging rights for today's lunch and thus a peace of fruit rollup from your friends next recess.

Perhaps, the teachers got tired of dealing with muddy boots, wet hair and soggy underwear or maybe the school board thought someone might drown in one of our damned lakes. Regardless, the poor children of today are undoubtedly unable to cheer their cheese sticks down the mighty ditches of school district 43. That isn't acceptable in our modern civilized world of regulation.

Instead, they sit eyes glazed over a computer monitor in attempts to feed a bunny by solving the single digit math equations which appear of the sides of the organically grown carrots like a corporate add campaign for seasame street. All because that is safe, low maintenance and non-threatenning.

Goodness knows they have probably barred Oregon Trail from the school as well. You never know Kids might start bringing hunting rifles to school to shoot buffalo. How will anyone learn about typhoid fever or bartering with the Indians? How will they survive in the wild?

You see the problem with the kids these days is like Jello pudding. Essentially, we so effectively removed the adventure and Hazard from their lives and replaced it with a simulated form of adrenaline and experience through a 17" screen. This grows kids with the physical stamia, social skills and orevall imagination of a Jello pudding cup.

ya, I'm getting old.