Stop the presses
– it’s a news flash! I can’t believe I made it to adulthood
without having gone through an environmental report or approval by
the thought police in a triplicate form attached to my permanent
record.
Stop the presses – it’s a news flash! I can’t believe I made it to adulthood without having gone through an environmental report or approval by the thought police in a triplicate form attached to my permanent record.
According to regulators and those official pen-pushers, those of us born during the ’40s, ’50s, ’60s or ’70s probably should not have survived, saved by the grace of God. Not only were our homes painted with lead-based paint, our baby cribs were covered with it. I played with bits of mercury under the supervision of my engineer uncle. And since when did child-proof lids on medicine bottles really stop a kid determined from getting into them?
Back in the ’50s I rode my bike in the street without a helmet and rode in cars without seat belts or air bags to protect me. Only with my parents’ judgment and discipline, along with the grace of God, did I survive.
“Sit back so I can concentrate on the road,” my mom would snap. Daddy just gave blunt words of encouragement: “Knock it off or I’m going to plant my foot up your butt.”
Today, someone would think my father insensitive, but I don’t. He was just my father and made his point – one that I could understand, ergo the grace of God.
I ate my share of junk food like ice cream, cupcakes and potato chips, and drank Coca-Cola. Yet, I don’t remember the majority of my classmates being fat because our parents made us go outside to ride bikes and do sports. We had to home when the street lights came on.
“If you don’t get out and play, you’ll get fat,” mom said.
Now society is playing the blame game, which is a double-edged sword. If you smoke cigarettes, who is responsible? Certainly not the tobacco companies, but special interest groups have twisted the law again, displacing blame.
Another environmental hazard that I found exciting was scrambling in the back yard with my dad in his U.S Army Jeep that had no doors. Just as much fun was riding in the back of a pickup truck on a warm day. These common practices were a familiar site in working families, but all these simple joys are now prohibited.
Yes, there were accidents. People got hurt or killed, but no went looking to blame someone for their actions because the honorable thing to do was to say, “I did it.”
People are being told it’s all right to blame others for whatever bad happens in their life. Today we have a gambler who walks into a casino in Las Vegas and loses $170,000. Whose fault is it? Yet, this gambler is taking another chance to get his money back by suing the casino for allowing him to gamble. Hey buddy, you knew the odds and still played your hand. Now live with it.
Blame no one but yourself for your own actions when life is in the toilet because you did something stupid, and don’t believe in the old cop-out, “The devil made me do it.” Because whose finger is on the trigger, who pulled the one-armed bandit and who’s forcing you to eat that fast food? No one. We all make our own choices, but no one wants to seem to live with them.
