I see the bright young faces marred with pudding and soot from the earth. I take in these faces, the beacon lights of young children, before coming to a chilling realization: These kids are the best of the best. I'm not saying that they are actually the "best of the best" but on the sliding scale of childhood, these silver spoon fed spawns are the advantaged, privileged, and sole owner's of that all elusive leg up.
The past two weeks of my life have been spent around children in various age groups ranging from 7-16 (not to mention the slew of college kids serving as my co-counselors). There are some great kids out there, some spirit-sparked young ones that infuse the daily routine with undue amounts of imagination and creativity. Of course I am speaking of the seven year old who wears an inflatable duck around his waist who asked "are sex changes possible?" before poking me in the eye. I also speak of the Mexican Brotherhood that has trouble distinguishing the difference between a six foot three caucasian male and a horse.
These kids are the stuff of movies, believe me, I go to film school. I see all the shitty movies that could have been so easily prevented if the author/auteur had the simplest grasp of what childhood was actually like.
They aren't magical creatures, they're human beings but a little rawer. Do they not understand the role of urine? Are they confused and confounded by the concept of hooking up? OF COURSE THEY ARE! That's why they're just like you and me.
It had been a while since I had anything close to close contact with a child (restraining orders...:( )and in their absence I forgot what kids are actually like. They watch too much television, some are selfish to the point that they should be banned from playing nine square, and I've even heard rumors that a certain cabin at my camp felt a hike to the woods to watch fireworks was unnecessary because they could "just watch it on youtube".
I was given an hour off for the same fireworks display. I ran through the woods, hopped in a canoe with friends, and paddled mightily across the lake. The sky was flecked colors of patriotic red, white, and blue. If I had a wedding ring, there's a chance I might have proposed marriage to my friend, Brock. (He'd have said no on the technicalities of his girlfriend and my lack of a vagina).
We got to the middle of the lake just in time to see the grand finale. It was perfect, wonderful, the stuff dreams are made of. The air was crisp and cool. My sweater dragged in the water. I smoked a terrible cigarette that made my lungs seize up.
You can't see that on youtube, but the thing about this younger generation, the one coming up behind us sprouting cell phones as an eleventh finger, is that they don't care. Perfection is in convenience. Social esteem hinges not on your stories and self but on the entertainment quality of the youtube videos they show.
Whither the loss of wanderlust youth.
Here's hoping Senior Citizens stay cool.
