Sometimes I worry about what the hell is going to happen when the current crop of children, raised almost exclusively in hydroponic sensory isolation, reach adulthood.
Then I see something that gives me hope.
A while back on a street near my house, two kids were on their bikes, facing each other from a distance. They each wore hockey helmets and catcher's chest pads, were holding hockey sticks (butt end out) with hockey gloves stuck on the end and were preparing to charge each other.
They were JOUSTING.
I was relatively sober and am not making this up.
It's the kind of thing that gives me hope. Even with all the life-endangering crazy crap we used to do as kids, none of us thought of that.
To make things even sweeter, there was an observer/referee who, one arm in a sling, had obviously been a combatant before.
I wish I was 12 again.
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