Remember when we were kids… (there is more than a dollop of era assumption here) and we rode our bikes, and the only real guideline from our parents was, be back before dark. But for hours and hours they had no idea where you were. Exploring storm water drains, climbing precarious trees over to treacherous ravines to attach a rope so you could swing across the aforementioned chasm, catching crabs (actual crustaceans, eh… not the venereal disease) in the river. Being reckless with fireworks and NEVER wearing sunscreen…
… and we turned out fine. The ones of us who survived I mean. I also presume like 99.9% of us did survive this laissez faire approach to parenting.
Of course now we bubble wrap our kids. As do I, obviously… because I don’t want to go to prison and have the structural integrity of my sphincter stress tested by my room-mate. Which is quite a weird thing (when you think about it), that the state might send people with guns to arrest you for trying to give your kid a good childhood experience. One generations freedom is another generations abuse.
I have no idea what the middle ground is of course. Maybe giving them butter-knives to play with? I mean… you can’t really injure yourself with a butter-knife… eh… can you? (in the context of the comic)
*slurps his almond-milk cappuccino*
I could probably injure myself with a butter knife.
*looks down at the Elsa band-aid on his toe*
I injure myself walking these days. Also Frozen band-aids are (apparently) the only brand we stock in this house… it probably subtracts from my general manliness. (which is already quite a low-ball figure)