When we were kids, we used to drink
water straight from the garden hose. We used to ride bikes without helmets, and
try to jump bike ramps that were poorly constructed of plywood and concrete
blocks. We addressed our elders as “Sir,” “Ma’am,” or “Grand Inquisitor.” And
we didn’t spend afternoons sitting in the house playing Xbox or PlayStation. We
created our own weapons out of baseball bats and motorcycle chains, and we
engaged in life-or-death battles with the Macleod clan, with whom we had been
at war since time immemorial. And we didn’t hide under the covers in bed
playing with our iPhones. We spent most nights on the roof of the house or in
the attic, fending off attacks from eldritch squamous horrors that craved the
flesh of our youngest. Instead of learning “common core” at schools, we were versed
in practical matters: haruspicy, the
making of Greek Fire, and the curing of raw hides and skins.
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