I have come to the conclusion that kids today are way too soft.
I think we’ve been down this road before, but sometimes I think things just can’t be too overstated.
I’ll set the scene for you.
First grade. It wasn’t raining outside, but the grass was too wet for recess. So, where else should we go to play but in the school parking lot? Nothing there but asphalt, parked cars and traffic. What could go wrong?
One day, when those intrusive thoughts just became too strong to fight any more, and the tinfoil helmet I Origamied to repel invasive radar waves finally gave out, I was inundated with ideas for ways to ride on the coattails of this infamous Hoka Hey Challenge Harley thing.
By Sean Pearson Since I wasn’t able to squeeze all my action-packed childhood memories of vacations with the family into last week’s Spiew, I thought it only fair to further my riveting account of days spent on the road to Silver Dollar City and Astroworld in this week’s offering. You can thank me later. Now, […]
Growing up in the Pearson household consisted of yearly vacations to a variety of destinations — as long as it was someplace you could get to by car, and involved endless, mindless, dreary, droning hours of tree after tree zooming by at 75 miles per hour. (This was before the whole “55 saves lives” campaign.) Back then, I think it was pretty much acceptable to drive at whatever extremely high speed you saw fit, and an “airbag” was something you vomited in if you got airsick on a plane ride. Watching the world whiz by from the back seat as my father rocketed down the highway, I always considered those friendly little “speed limit” signs as merely friendly suggestions.
I don’t understand why I’m so anxious all the time. In fact, it’s beginning to cause me a little … well, anxiety.
Some people worry about what they eat or if their retirement portfolio is lacking. I worry about worrying too much. And since my doctor said stress isn’t good for my blood pressure, I worry that I’ll get too stressed out and my Superior Vena Cava will implode with the next sip of Diet Coke.
My original plan this week was to discuss the overall feasibility of detachable arms. I know, initially, this sounds rather odd. However, if you hear me out, I think you’ll see I had a relatively good premise for making the argument for said detachable arms in the first place.
Some 15 years ago, a very young man walked into my life.
He was kinda short, had a crooked smile and really liked wearing his Power Ranger pajamas to bed every night.
And even though he really didn’t talk at all, it didn’t take long for us to get to know each other. He was a very trusting soul looking for a family.
Certainly this is no epiphany to anyone. I know some of you have seen me walking aimlessly around the Safeway parking lot trying desperately to find where I parked my car. That’s not really the kind of “confused” I’m talking about. (Still, would it kill you to point me in the right direction every now and then?)
These were not the shock-absorbent, urethane, cadillac-style wheels of today. Today’s wheel manufacturers obviously combine some kind of high-tech chemistry and old-world magic to create wheels that can literally roll over a puppy without so much as a bump
What some people call fishing I find truly amazing.
I can’t remember the first time I went fishing with my dad. He wasn’t so much the fishing type. He was always much more comfortable with numbers than with live animals. And campfires. And mosquitoes. And sunshine.
The first memorable experience I had fishing with my father was on a deep-water fishing charter somewhere off the coast of Florida. I was set. No problem with holding a fish, baiting a hook, or even wrestling with slimy, bloody things. No … my nemesis that fateful day was the roiling, raging sea herself.