When I was A Boy
As mentioned in my reply to Bevan’s post. When I was a kid I was free to break any bone in my body, lacerate any skin or muscle, and largely free to report any such damage to my parents….only if we ‘really’ needed to. But the damage had to be pretty bad before we brought the ‘oldies’ into it.
We were even kind’ve boy-racers in those days. The cars we had suffered serious mechanical problems which we would fix till the next occurred. We were driving at age 13 years!!! Where did we get the cars? Easy, they were cars our parents couldn’t fix, so we did.
We all did Sea Cadets and got whacked around the ears when we got stroppy. Went to school and got caned when we got stroppy.
I was the Takapuna Grammar School caning champion by the end of 1964. :–)) Man but I had a sore arse, but man, was I a hero or what?
Some of us got beaten by our parents, others got screwed by one or other of them. But we survived all this and have left it all where it properly belongs…in our yesterdays.
But we kids rarely stepped across the line of law….Yeah, yeah, I know, driving at 13 was illegal…..But in those days nobody really cared that much, so long as we weren’t creating mayhem.
In 1962 I signed on as crew with a solo male, on a small keel boat. He and I spent several years exploring the Hauraki gulf. Well, fair to say, I explored, he knew it like the back of his hand.
But he was a solo male. I was a kid. We often spent a week or more on his boat. Imagine the tattle such would garner now, when every male is a sexual predator and every female and CYFS operative live in fear of anal integrity.
BTW: Sid never had the slightest inclination. I was just his crew.
This man’s yacht had no motor. In those days a sailor could sail. You wanted to get into a bay, or onto a mooring, or into a wharf or marina, you sailed. You didn’t turn on a convenient motor. In fact, if you owned a sail-boat with a motor you would never have been allowed to enter the yacht club.
Consquently, old Sid taught me all he knew; and that was heaps. I got out of line then a whack around the ears was the solution. Did I complain? Nope. I just made sure I got less out of line because old Sid had a fearsome backhand.:–))
Today, as a result of just that man’s teachings, there is not one bay in the entire Hauraki Gulf which I cannot sail into, bereft of motor, lights, radar, or any other fancy device, and safely anchor.
I was in the process of teaching my grand-daughter these same arts till those vile women from the CYFSterhood stepped in to tell all who will listen that I am actually a danger to her.
But there is so much more practicality which the men and women taught us all when we were kids. Even today I can sew my own clothes, I can darn a sock, I can cook as well as most ‘average’ chefs.
Before the CYFSterhood stepped in to ruin things, many of my girl’s contemporaries would ask her, ‘How can he (me) let you do those things? They are so dangerous!’
Her answer? ‘It’s fun.’
The last expedition saw us (she’s coming up 13) leaping off a 300ft West Coast cliff, on single ropes, to go look for ancient Maori burial caves. And if you think that’s ho hum, then any of you are free to come try it out some day.
But my girl just sucks up the fear and does it, because she, like me, is an adrenalin junkie; high on life and free to die if that is her fate.
Dangerous my arse. Life is dangerous. That’s what makes it fun. These are things to which every kid should be exposed, to lay the foundations for dealing with life as it comes at us.
But, you see, the ‘danger’ they(The CYFSterhood) worry so much about is the ‘sexual’ danger a single male repreesents. Apparently, I do all I do for my grand-daughter because I am grooming her for nefarious sexual desires.
Oh yes, that all makes sense. ‘Jane! (not her real name) Please jump off this cliff so you will feel more prepared to allow me to have sex with you.’
‘Jane, I want you to have a go at flying a glider so that you will feel so beholding to me that I will be able to have my evil way with you.’
‘Jane. I think it’s time for you to start piano lessons, competition swimming lessons, art classes, flying tuition, motor-bike riding…and it’s about time you learned to drive my car, cook, sew, and generally get on. I’m sorry my dear. But you also must understand I am doing all this for you so that you will become my sexual tool.’
That all makes sense? Doesn’t it?
And these idiots at CYFS believe their own machinations!!! Sick bitches!
It’s no wonder that so few men want to get involved with children.
Footnote: How will you twist the foregoing, Lizzie Curtis of the CYsterhood, West Auckland? What about you, sad little Wendy Hardinge? And you, Anna Palmer. Will you cull the bits which advance your case, and bring these to court, as you have done so far? Will you loathesome little trio have the courage? I hope you do.
And what about you, Shona de Luen? Will you also take parts of the foregoing, as you have taken so much and twisted it to suit your own sick requirements, and attempt to twist this as well?
Will you further repudiate you fiduciary responsibility to your client (my Jane) by demanding what you think is right for her?
Will you destroy her just to win?
We all know that you and your sick sisters monitor this site.
Fill your boots. There are many more moves before this chess game is over and you all get Kinged. You vile crones.