I liked it when kids could go outside and play barefoot all day at the park, around the neighborhood, or down at their friend’s house. They could ride bikes all over the place as long as they came home by dark. No play dates needed, no supervision, no structured agenda. Just kids being kids, free and spontaneous. Sure they got hurt, they missed lunch, they forgot to head home sometimes in time for dinner, they got in trouble, got grounded, and then they’d do the same things all over again when they got off restriction. Kind of a natural cycle of being a kid. Too much to worry about now.
Things have changed.
I liked it when we could work on our own cars, in our own garages, or in the driveway out front of the house. Cars are too complicated now. They’re all highly specialized, computer synched, and even if you’re savvy enough to understand how all of that works, you still would need the specialized machines and tools. It’s not like when you could just go down to the auto-parts store and pick up a different sized wrench. It’s all being taken out of our hands now.
Things have changed.
I liked it when you could drop by somebody’s house unannounced, or when they could drop by yours. Before everybody got so busy, before our time became so precious and guarded. Before our personal space became more precious than gold.
Things have changed.
I liked it when friendships were formed around what we had in common, the differences were not quite so important. Seems like today our resistance to friendship is more profound than our embracing of it, and the process is, more likely than not, defined by counting the number of differences and measuring them against an ever-diminishing list of what we do have in common. Consequently, fewer friendships are formed, and of those that are, fewer still will last beyond the honeymoon phase.
Things have changed.
I liked it when we were more inclined to trust somebody from early on, and then they had to earn your mistrust. Seems like nowadays we mistrust everyone until they earn our trust. I don’t know, maybe that’s how it should be. But I do know that. . . .
Things have changed.
I liked it when you could jump in the car and take off for a little spontaneous adventure, maybe visit an out-of-town friend, or do some car-camping, or whatever. Drive as long as you wanted, pull over and jump in a lake, or rock-hop up a river or creek, stop when you felt like it, sleep where you wanted. Now it all has to be well planned. Have I made my reservations? Have I left emergency numbers with friends or family? Have I put the newspaper delivery on hold? Do I have my night-light timers set at home? Has my car been serviced recently? Is my auto insurance current? Is my AAA roadside service up to date? What about my GPS? Do I have my cell phone, charger, computer, credit cards, maps? Something to read? My CD’s? My IPod? Do I have some light clothes, some warm clothes, a jacket for any occasion, some shoes, sandals, boots, gloves, hats? Have I remembered to reschedule the appointment with my therapist? Or should I wait and leave after the session?
Things have changed.
I liked it when people acknowledged gifts with a thank you note, or at least a phone call. And when they actually let you know that they appreciated something nice you may have done for them. There’s a lot of silence today around those kinds of things. People seem to feel like acknowledgement of something somehow creates a personal indebtedness of sorts, even if it doesn’t. And people don’t want to feel any kind of indebtedness to anybody. It’s pretty common. I’ve experienced it quite often. As an example, I’ve given, or sent, many of my new CD’s as gifts to people I know, or have known. I would say that 85 to 90 percent of those people have never even acknowledged having received them, let alone acknowledged having listened to, or appreciated them. Even writing an email only takes a minute. It’s not even about whether or not they liked the music. It’s about common courtesy. Fortunately, I don’t give gifts for reciprocity. I give them because I want to. But the silence never seems healthy, and it doesn’t seem right.
Things have changed.
I liked it when we didn’t have so much stuff. When we enjoyed what we had, when we used what we had, repaired things if they got broken, and eventually passed things down to our siblings, or friends, saved them for our children, or even donated them to the Goodwill. Our stuff was a part of us. We had an investment in the things that gave enjoyment to us. Today we acquire so much, and use so little of it, that it has no meaning for us. It has no connection to us, and it has no lasting value. Everything is buried in the closet, lost in the garage, tucked away in some storage facility, or left to rust in the back yard. Eventually we just throw it all away. But the thing is, we keep getting more and more new stuff. We don’t repair what gets broken, cost too much to repair, and there’s always a bigger, better, brighter, newer model of just about everything constantly calling to us from the TV like a Muslim call to worship from a loudspeaker in the center of town. We just have too much stuff.
Things have changed.
