Kids only Once

It is the best of times, the worst of times. It usually is. And this is particularly true for our kids. On the positive side, they look forward to life spans that, having doubled in the past century, promise to stretch beyond the horizon. If it weren't for a few small problems like global warming, global dimming and global terrorism, the globe would be aglow with optimism.But with the evolutionary apocalypse upon us, not to mention a few score wars, with more in the offing, you'd have to be wildly optimistic not to be a pessimist. Fortunately, our children have a smorgasbord of narcotics to intensify their pleasures and dull their pains, whereas the only drugs at our place were Grandma's laxatives and a stale packet of Aspro. Of course, if you were totally delinquent you could try a ciggie behind the shelter shed or a furtive sip of the family's flagon of special-occasion sweet sherry.
Today kids enjoy a legal autonomy and a freedom from adult control that permit them to enjoy and/or wreck their lives without much interference, or parental interest. In my era, such freedoms from constraint would have made Utopia seem derelict. Moreover, they know all sorts of things that we couldn't have imagined.
Then there are the corporate paedophiles who mass-market the pornographies found in movies, on television or, interactively, in video games. Truly, the cup of today's child runneth over with muck reminiscent of the broken sewer. So much so that childhood has all but disappeared and kids, force-fed on the mix'n'match pornographies of sex and violence, become kidults at ever-earlier ages. Some miraculously survive the war against childhood, like the kids hauled from the rubble of a tsunami or earthquake days after all hope is lost. But few escape unscathed.

Instead of doggies in the window, they've got rock, rap, hip-hop and crap - more idioms than we had hot breakfasts. Not that they get hot breakfasts, unless they go to that plastic place, Macs. In our day, a plastic Mac meant a rainproof coat, not an entire politico-cultural package, which also provides about 25 per cent of Australia?s teenage employment. Come to think of it, we didn't get hot brekkies either. But we did have a choice of truly indigenous forms of nutrition. The Rice Bubble or the Cornflake.
And this reminds us that it is no longer necessary or desirable or even possible to have an Australian cultural identity. At school we had a vocabulary full of words like wanker and wacker, whereas today's kids speak fluent US ghetto, the lingos of Los Angeles and Silicone Valley. US movies get 95 per cent of Australia's cinema box-office - a situation echoed in pay TV, DVD sales and video rentals. Yet we can feel really, really proud, because most of the American characters are now played by Australians, whereas when I was a kid, you had Australians played by Americans. Like Robert Mitchum in The Sundowners. Believe it or not, that made us feel proud too.
Today's kids enjoy high-tech toys with IQs higher than their parents'. Giant companies produce and retail a cornucopia of kiddie clobber, whereas we had hand-me-downs. Entire industries are predicated on the induced desires of the mini-consumers previously known as children. And, knowing things of which we were totally or mercifully ignorant, our kids have an unprecedented familiarity with death.
This is a consequence of violent entertainments and increasingly candid news coverage. We were protected by a mighty armada of censorship that has long since been scuppered. Trouble is, five-year-olds see the scattered body parts from a suicide bombing on the telly news while having their dinner.
Every kid, given half a chance, wants to be a kid. At least some of the time. There's still an innocence and, equally precious, a sense of wonderment. We should fight to protect them. The kids, the innocence, the wonderment.

till next time, Michelle.