The Buckets by Greg Cravens for August 20, 2016

With me: The 1960’s.

The 50’s. A fabulous time to have grown up; truth be known, a good time to be from. But even with the bad, I’m grateful not to have come along later. Poor kids. Poor, poor kids.

The past was a different world.

Not to be overly-dramatic, but the evil has closed in since then. In the 50s, curling up under a desk was considered adequate protection against the worst case scenario. It wasn’t, of course, but it was never tested. Kids played freely, roaming at will at arriving home in one piece; doors could go unlocked; daylight crime was the stuff of headlines. Now those same-aged children are being escorted to school through so-called safe zones, AFTER the fact of shootings and kidnappings; college students are being given self-defense classes AFTER the fact of rampant campus rapes; and citizens are arming themselves, pathetically AFTER, and before, the fact of unparalleled gun violence. No more kick the can after dark now unless your street is secured at all entrance points by heavily armed neighbors.

I see.

Me too!

I’m from the 90’s.

xxx

This would have been funny except for one thing…I’m from the 50s too. Ooops! Two things. I look just like Grandpa…

Ouch. That hurts. I’m from the 60’s

My oldest son will be 60 next year. Great granddaughter will be 10 in a couple of months.

I was born in the 1950s and I sure don’t act like Grandad, there…

I’m from 1961. Nice to meet you.