I'll just wait here until the bombs stop dropping.
According to an article in The Globe And Mail, youth anxiety is on the rise (http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/health-and-fitness/health/youth-anxiety-on-the-rise-amid-changing-climate/article18372258/). They attribute this to global warming.
Well then . . .
LET'S STOP FILLING KIDS HEADS WITH BULLS**T!
I grew up at the end of the Cold War and the beginning of "Global Ice Age". When I entered first grade I participated in nuclear bomb drills and hid under my desk. Two nice ladies came to our class and explained there was an bomb shelter in the basement and our teachers would stay with us until our parents came to pick us up. We were told we'd be okay as there was food (a highly nutritious, 800-calorie cracker) and water. We were given the survival crackers to try and explained how we'd be able to play with our friends.
Of course, why this was going on the USSR would be dropping mega-tons of warheads upon Salt Lake as we were home to several companies vital to the U.S. missile programs. I knew this information -- it freaked me the hell out!
In second grade, it was never mentioned again. Although the Cold War was still on-going, our bomb drills stopped. In 1973 we dismissed drills and Dick and Jane books. They were replaced by the Scott Foreman Reading Systems and the Arab Oil Embargo.
Oil embargo you ask? This was the Arab states retaliation against the United States for supporting Israel after the Arab states attacked during Yom Kippur. You know, like Mexico and Canada attacking the U.S. on Christmas. Suddenly gas prices jumped and you could only fill your car based upon your license plate and odd-and-even days. No stress at all.
A plot to make me wet the bed.
Then CBS (God bless'em) decided children couldn't simply spend Saturday mornings watching cartoons and eating Cap'n Crunch. We had to spend our weekends being freaked out about the end of the World.
Ark-II was brilliant program about an intelligent, talking chimpanzee guiding three teenagers through a wasteland that had been the United States in a tricked-out Winnebago. This group, armed with a jet-pack and a Tandy computer were going to save us from a complete Road Warrior horror show. Thanks kids . . . and monkey!
This started my active hobby of collecting pocket knives. Of all kinds. Any I could get. Because society was going to breakdown and anyone with a knife could hunt, fish, build a shelter, and stab random hobos who wanted to steal your shit. A pocket knife meant life.
Thanks Time. I had run out of reasons to piss my pants.
So Time Magazine decided to continue the pig-pile of making people bat-shit crazy by running the above headlines. The disco-era adults got to dance, drink, do drugs, and screw to alleviate their stress. We pre-pubescents had to suck it up.
We played tag, hide-and-seek, rode our bikes and walked to the drug store for penny candy. Our activity was the only escape. Of course, we still built our "forts" as a place to hide. Actually, we dug a deep hole in a vacant field and covered it with stolen lumber. We hid with copies of Playboy and tried not to think about all the crap that would kill us. No wonder some of my most vivid nightmares occurred before I was twelve. I can still remember them -- and they still freak me out.
Fortunately, this was before the "Stranger Danger" era. They would have been pumping me full of Ritalin and Thorazine.
Do kids a favor . . .
AND SHUT THE HELL UP!
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