Unbelievable. We don’t let our kids cross the street unaccompanied!
I agree with the comments on THE SITE THIS VIDEO’S on, too.
Z
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William Booth“I should like to see any power of the world destroy this race, this small tribe of unimportant people, whose wars have all been fought and lost, whose structures have crumbled, literature is unread, music is unheard, and prayers are no more answered. Go ahead, destroy Armenia . See if you can do it. Send them into the desert without bread or water. Burn their homes and churches. Then see if they will not laugh, sing and pray again. For when two of them meet anywhere in the world, see if they will not create a New Armenia.”
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geeez2014
GeeeZ .... 
Well . . . methinks summadem guys in comments are ‘zaggeratin just a smidge.
But a lot of the guys I grew up with in the 40s were operatin tractors and trucks and augurs and spreaders and other machinery before they had fuzz on their chins.
I can remember one job, balin hay, around 1954 or so when in a crew of 7 (one drivin the bailer, one drivin the truck, two slingin bales onto the bed, one stackin ’em, and two workin the loft), nobody was over 15. The guy drivin the baler was about 13, and the oldest guys were the ones heftin the bales from the ground to the truck bed.
In those days, you got about 3 cents a bale which you split amongst all of you when the job was over. Great chow from the farmers’ wives, tho, and even greater jumpin in the ponds after the last load was stacked in the loft. ‘Course in those days, the movies cost a quarter, the popcorn was a dime, and the Baby Ruth was a nickel. Too young to be worryin ’bout spendin’ money on girls.
I had a limited license to drive farm vehicles (including cars if connected to farm work) when I was 15. Lotta guys in the boonies did in those days. No interstates back then, and I couldn’t drive on state roads or city streets, only county or farm roads, often gravel. Drove a feed truck behind the man with the augur truck when I was 15, too — special license, mostly ’cause my grandfather was the city police radio dispatcher.
Also had my own .22 rifle (with a cut-down stock) when I was 5. My USMC uncle came back from the Pacific and said I needed to learn to operate and care for weapons. ‘Nuther uncle gave me an under-and-over two-shot .25 pistol he got somewhere in Europe, but my grandfather took it away from me when I shot at some owls outside through bedroom window one night. Never saw it again.
Oh, and when I was about 6, I unjammed coal. When trains came in to unload and had been rained on in wintertime, the water would freeze and the coal wouldn’t come out of the chutes into the trucks. So workers would hire a kid to go stomp it loose. They had a harness and a rope for me. I’d walk out with this big piece of pipe and stand over the chute, jammin the pipe down into the mass. More often than not, I’d slide down into the chute when it broke loose and the guys would haul me back up.
V-E-R-Y dirty. Didn’t make my grandmother happy a’tall, but usually I’d get a quarter and maybe a candy bar for doin half a dozen cars. Not bad for a li’l kid in 1946.
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Farm kids were driving tractors by the time they were ten or eleven in the “old” days. Now they need safe spaces in college. We’ve done them no favors.
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Looks to me as if adolescence has been extended by various laws to 26. Usedta end when you successfully navigated high school, turned 18, and got a job.
In a reasonable world where young men are eligible to vote and wear uniforms and die for their country, seems to me that those guys whose rights they’re fighting for should start payin their own way by learnin a trade on the job insteada gettin their education from Comedy Central and MTV.
When I was 18, there was this quaint custom called “The Draft,” and employers didn’t like to hire 1A guys and spend money trainin ’em just to lose ’em to the Army. That hesitation has evaporated, and there’s no reason why guys can’t hire on as apprentice to a welder, or carpenter, or electrician, or mechanic, or stonemason . . . or ANYthing that’ll eventually lead to a reg’lar paycheck.
And sumboddy needs to tell the babies who keep havin babies on Welfare, Food Stamps, Unemployment, and Gummint Subsidized housing that they ain’t s’posed to do that ’til they’re self-sufficient . . . ain’t fair to the next generation, OR the taxpayers.
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Mr B’s experience much as bocopro. He was about 14 lifting hay bales (80 lbs) and alfalfa bales 120 lbs) onto the truck. Nowadays, the truck has a side lift that picks up the bales onto the bed then later onto the conveyor belt to the hay loft. Farm boys got strong bones – good wrestlers all.
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Have any here read Diana West’s The Death of the Grown-Up: How America’s Arrested Development Is Bringing Down Western Civilization (2007)? I found a copy at my public library.
Here’s the review at Amazon:
“WHERE HAVE ALL THE GROWN-UPS GONE?” That is the provocative question Washington Times syndicated columnist Diana West asks as she looks at America today. Sadly, here’s what she finds: It’s difficult to tell the grown-ups from the children in a landscape littered with Baby Britneys, Moms Who Mosh, and Dads too “young” to call themselves “mister.” Surveying this sorry scene, West makes a much larger statement about our place in the world: “No wonder we can’t stop Islamic terrorism. We haven’t put away our toys!” As far as West is concerned, grown-ups are extinct. The disease that killed them emerged in the fifties, was incubated in the sixties, and became an epidemic in the seventies, leaving behind a nation of eternal adolescents who can’t say “no,” a politically correct population that doesn’t know right from wrong. The result of such indecisiveness is, ultimately, the end of Western civilization as we know it. This is because the inability to take on the grown-up role of gatekeeper influences more than whether a sixteen-year-old should attend a Marilyn Manson concert. It also fosters the dithering cultural relativism that arose from the “culture wars” in the eighties and which now undermines our efforts in the “real” culture war of the 21st century―the war on terror. With insightful wit, Diana West takes readers on an odyssey through culture and politics, from the rise of rock ‘n’ roll to the rise of multiculturalism, from the loss of identity to the discovery of “diversity,” from the emasculation of the heroic ideal to the “PC”-ing of “Mary Poppins,” all the while building a compelling case against the childishness that is subverting the struggle against jihadist Islam in a mixed-up, post-9/11 world. With a new foreword for the paperback edition, “The Death of the Grown-up,” is a bracing read from one of the most original voices on the American cultural scene.
The book is worth reading!
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Another 100 years and Americans will speaking in the Han dialect.
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When I was 14, I was a certified member of a County Search & Rescue team. Missing persons, dead hikers, etc. I’m not sure that happens much any more, but I can’t think that its common.
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Nah . . . muerte a los infieles y allahu akbar.
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Bocopro…I wish our kids today had a bit of that…maybe some do, but the LAWS prohibit most everything these days.
Adrienne “we do them no favors”….bingo
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AOW…EXCELLENT input..and yes, “No wonder we can’t stop Islamic terrorism. We haven’t put away our toys!”
CI, I can imagine you’d feel responsibility and great worth for working like that…I salute whoever got you doing that.
Mustang; I think a lot of Americans think the Chinese are WAY smarter than we are….I thought so, too, until I had my dear Chinese boy living here all year and doing ZIP to further his learning…Mom didn’t want “too much stress” put on him as far as school…or anything. it’s amazing he’s such a good kid.
I found in my research, and that of our ESL teacher at the school, that Chinese kids PAY AMERICAN KIDS TO TAKE THEIR SAT, THEIR ACT, THEIR TESTS, WRITE THEIR PAPERS, ETC ETC ETC.
OUR kids are the smart ones…theirs are the rich ones…not to suggest they’re not every bit as smart as most of our smarter kids, of course.
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C.I. — We weren’t certified, but when we were late teenagers back in the 50s in my li’l Midwest home town, certain pranks and misdemeanors caused certain judges to impose certain “community service” duties on us. (And I often went hunting & fishing with a couple of those judges.)
One of my duties in reward for a particularly complex and sophisticated prank which tied up the entire city police force for several hours was riding the “meatwagon” for 2 weeks after school ’til bedtime, which meant accompanying a county ambulance on calls to a particularly dangerous stretch of highway outside town where bloody collisions were common.
One afternoon we answered a call involving an 18-wheeler which jackknifed and laid its box down on a motorcycler who had wiped out in front of him. Very messy, literally requiring a scoop shovel. Judge’s logic was to scare us into being safer drivers.
Other assignments involved mowing the grass on the courthouse lawn, shoveling snow from the walks around the courthouse and police station, cleaning windows in city buildings, mopping city restrooms, mowing municipal lawns in summer, and washing police cars and ambulances.
Often we’d be sent to the “Old Folks’ Home” on the edge of town to scrape and paint, trim shrubs, take care of the lawn, and other manual-labor jobs. Lotta peer pressure, bein out there where all your friends could see you, workin off your tomfoolery, especially on “The Square” in the center of town where the courthouse sits.
Kept us from havin permanent juvenile records, tho. Most often any recorded offenses not listed as crimes were kept in a special folder and destroyed when a guy joined the military or turned 21. Unless, of course, he had actual official adjudications, and then the misdeameanor juvenile file was appended to the criminal record for anyone to see when he got into bigger trouble.
None of that happens any more. Too many opportunities for insurance and favoritism litigation.
Ahhh . . . ou sont les decisions de bon sens d’antan.
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