Obese vs Recess? Give me a break!

Don't talk to me about taxing soda and soft drinks! New York is moving to put a tax on soft drinks to prevent obesity in children.

COME ON, PEOPLE! GIVE ME A BREAK!

Let's see?

If your child is overweight, and you are taxed on a can of soda - that would be, what? A penny a can per pound overweight? So normal weight for an average kid of 12 is 80 to 90 pounds - and if your kid of 12 weighs 120 pounds, how much is he (or she) taxed per pound overweight?

Don't get me started here!

When I grew up?

WE HAD RECESS!

WE HAD EXERCISE by playing outdoors until dinner, and even playing after dinner until dusk!

Don't talk to me about "fat" kids!

Get their ass off the couch!

Get them outdoors!

Teach them to ride a bike, not play a video game!

Don't take away their recess in school!

Let's play dodgeball! Scooter tag! Run! Jump! Be active!

Statistics say an average American kid drinks 50 cans of soda per month.

In my day, I was lucky to get 3 cans a month. (and I'm still skinny!)

Where did we go wrong?

GET THOSE KIDS OFF THEIR BUTTS !

GET THEM AWAY FROM THE TV AND VIDEO GAMES!

GET THE SCHOOLS TO BRING BACK RECESS (without the fear of a lawsuit against the school district because a parent's child skins a knee! GIVE ME A BREAK!!!!)

We rode bikes.
We built forts.

We created games and inventions like skateboards and scooters!

We had recess 2 times a day!

We played before school.

We played after school.

We walked to and from school. We weren't driven to school by some "helecoptor parent"!

Now, kids? Do me a favor . . .

GET OFF YOUR BUTTS AND GO OUT AND PLAY!

Go Figure!

As kids growing up in the 1950' & 1960's -
We ate greasy french fries smothered in catsup, Milkduds and buttered popcorn. We ate chocolate bars that melted down your hand on a hot summer day. We faced the risk of getting pimples! We suffered through not being able to finish a meal at suppertime because of earlier " sweet indulgences", even though we had to sit there at the table alone until the peas or other vegetables were finished. . . and "NO dessert, Mr., until you finish". And since we took too long to finish our meal, we always got dessert and a hug and kiss from mom.

I think we turned out pretty fine . . .With no ill effects.

But today?
Kids eat greasy fries made in unsaturated fat, chocolate with high MSG's, ultra-caffeinated "Monster" sports drinks, expensive Star-f**ks coffees and "lah-de-dah-tes", low-fat chips in a bag that is 60% air, and smoothies with more calories than a breeding cow! They have no recess or exercise in school, too many video games and less "playing outside until dark". And suddenly, everyone is worried about these kids facing the risk of cancer, heart disease, obesity, high cholesterol, and the works?

What is wrong with this picture????

GO FIGURE!

TV Oldies

Gone . . . but not forgotten!

Riverview Amusement Park

Fond Memories of Riverview Amusement Park

For the Beauty - Part 2

For the Beauty of the sky

For the Beauty of the Earth

For the Beauty of each hour . . .

For the Beauty - Part 1

For the beauty

of each flower -

God gave them to enjoy.

Photos by RKW

Lazy Summer

LAZY SUMMER

Lazy summer, hot and dry. Then hot and humid.

Grass crunching dead and dry beneath your feet. Even the birds are panting.

The sun burns through the hazy sky.

No relief . . .just uncomfortable!

Kids bake beside the warm pool while farmers pray for rain. Robins struggle to find a lone worm through hard, crusted soil. They are waiting for a meal that may never emerge. The swing sets in local parks . . . vacant. Their only movement, if any, is from the hot, stale breeze. The stagnant, limp wind slowly withers leaves that cry to God for water.

Stillness . . .

A small bird drops to the edge of a dried stream bed - hoping, that death won't be soon.

The old man is awake!

He is failing to sleep and snore!

Evidently . . .

He didn't bump his head.

Tar Bubbles

TAR BUBBLES

July.

Midsummer.

Hot and sticky, especially under your feet when you walk across the street. Those tiny little tar bubbles were everywhere! Shining in the hot sun of afternoon. Soft to the touch of a finger. Sticky and deflating when they were disturbed, leaving a dark, black dot on your fingertip that lasted for days, despite your hard scrubbing. The twelve foot walk across the street left the bottom of your shoes polka-dotted with tar spots that wouldn't allow you in the house until your shoes were left on the back stoop.

Riding your bike down the center of the street on a hot, still, and humid day - you could hear the tiny tar bubbles popping under the tires.

Soft pops . . .

Gooey pops . . .

Slow motion "pup - pup - pups".

Tar bubbles on every street of my childhood. Don't be caught walking barefoot across those streets! Little tender feet with black dotted bottoms and black spotting, wiggling toes. No matter how hard one scrubbed or soaked in the tub, the spots remained for a long time.

But it was fun while it lasted, wasn't it? Feeling those gooey, sticky "pup - pup - pups" beneath your tiny feet.

"Pup - pup - pup - pup - pup. . ."

Rubber Trees

Rubber Trees

We were "swingers of birches" . . .

I didn't realize it until seventh or eighth grade. That's when I read the poem by Robert Frost. Of course, I didn't know those trees were birches. I don't think any of us knew they were birches. To us? There were rubber trees!

Not all birches are white, you know. Some look like normal-colored trees. Our rubber trees sure looked normal! The only difference was they could bend. They could bend real far! The lighter you were, the farther up the trunk you had to climb. As high as those tender tree-tops could hold you. That way, you could swing all the way down to the ground. But before you started swinging, you just couldn't help but look around . . . Perched so high in the sky, you could see for miles! The pond looked like a puddle from our "perch on high". Of course, we were small then, but you couldn't help but sigh with excitement at the view of the entire countryside spanned below.

Then one of us started the motion, and we all joined in! Giving our small bodies their all - we grunted and groaned in an attempt to swing that tall tree top all the way to the ground. Our squeals of delightful laughter drifted with the breeze over the empty cornfields. We were flying! When our feet finally touched the ground, we could barely catch our breath before starting up the tree again! And if the one we just dismounted grew limp? There was always another. In fact, I remember rows and rows of those trees . . . those rubber trees.

It was different in the winter, though. Especially after a heavy snow . . . or an ice storm. We had to be more careful climbing up those slippery branches. The ride down was also a little slower, too. I'm sure those rubber trees suffered under our light-weight bodies. Their trunks were stiff with the cold of winter - crackling and moaning as we clung tightly to the branches. But they still bowed us down ever so gently. And after an ice storm . . . we crunched across the broken glass that had splintered from the now flaccid trunks to another rubber tree ripe for riding. We thought we could last forever, until our noses and fingers and toes told us they were too cold to continue any more.

Yes, Mr. Frost, we're glad you were a lot like we used to be. I'm glad you were a swinger of rubber trees, too.

Ode To An Old Oak

Ode To An Old Oak

The tree swayed in

the summer breeze.

Lofty winds

whipped through

strong branches,

Twisting the

leaves like

whirling dervish.

Atop the mighty oak, a forgotten tree house withheld the test of time.

Cold winters and blowing snow.

The rushing of hot summer winds - The baking of the sun.

The lightening of fall tipping the branch tops.

The warm-cold weather of springs gone by.

Those all were factors of the greying and rotting of the wooden house perched high above ground. The huge nails hammered by little hands are the reminders of the toil that went into the secret house on high.

Young sweat lingers no more.

Wood splinters in adolescent fingers have long been forgotten.

The partially broken ladder still hangs firm against the thick spine of the tree's trunk.

Have those dreams faded? What are young boys up to now-a-days? Have they grown too old for tree houses and shimmying up tall oaks? Have they outgrown sitting lazily on a hot summer day with their bare feet dangling from a swaying branch?

Are those days really gone?

Or does our youth have to be taught the experiences of days gone by?

I had a tree house once. It's gone now, but my memory of it is as vivid as the blazen sunset settling into the horizon as I watched the sun sink into the earth from my majestic perch.

Those days I will never forget!

Don't let our youth of today dwindle away in front of some video game . . .