When I was about 10 years old, I was in the midst of my finest baseball season ever. I was hitting about .500* as a member of the Brewers in the Franklin Continental Baseball League. I remember an early cool and wet Saturday morning in the second-to-last game and we were playing the Red Sox. I was taking BP and ripping line drive after line drive. My coach wanted to challenge me and decided to start throwing a little bit harder, and I did my best to adjust to a speed I had never seen before. I was doing okay, a few foul balls or foul tips here and there, the occasional grounder up the middle, and bunch of pop ups. I was told to run the last one out before the pitch, so I dug into the batters box with every single intention of putting the ball into play. Unfortunately, I never even had the chance to run it out, as the ball got away from my coach and being that I never had the ball come that fast at me, my reaction was a tad slow….BAM! I took a shot to my right eye. As a 10-year-old, I rolled around on the ground screaming bloody murder and crying like a baby.
The ensuing moments were a blur, but I remember a teammates father putting me in his car and taking me to Beaumont Hospital as he contacted my parents from his car phone. No, not a cell phone, a car phone…first time I ever was able to talk on a phone from the car. It was way cool, even though my head was throbbing, blood was streaming down my face, and I had slightly blurred vision. My dad eventually met me at the hospital and I went through a battery of tests. I had a nice shiner with a nice cut, but no facial bone damage. We hurried back to the field with intention of getting back into the lineup only to find out that it was postponed. That was about the only thing we were upset about, not getting to play baseball that day.
It didn’t even cross my parents mind to ask the coach what the hell happened. Or blame the league for not providing a helmet with that annoying face guard they had on the helmets at the batting cage. It was just something that happens when sports are played at any level. Injuries. My parents didn’t complain or tell anyone a thing. Well, except me. I was told to hit the dirt next time.
But why do I even bring this up? Because the state of NY is actually battling over whether or not wiffle ball, dodgeball, kickball, freeze tag and even arts and crafts (ARTS AND F’N CRAFTS!!!!!) are safe.
Since this story first went public, state officials actually backed off their stance because the public pretty much lost its collective mind over it. They pathetically blamed it on former Governor David Paterson’s administrations policies.
“After a review spurred by a lawmaker’s questions Friday and subsequent news reports, they’ve been judged too detailed and amount to micromanagement,” a statement read.
Micromanagement? No no no no, this is wussification to the fullest. First, we started handing out trophies to every single kid. Then, we started handing out big trophies to every single kid. Then, we stopped keeping score at some events. Now, we are calling common gym activities and inexpensive sports dangers? I would absolutely love to know what arts and crafts are considered dangerous. I would assume it would be one where the kids use the scissors that don’t cut through construction paper. Heck, don’t kids use paste and elmers glue in school because it is non-toxic? There really is no rationalization for this. It is mindless.
We hear our First Lady out there promoting healthy living for kids. Eating healthy and exercising. I am not one to knock her for that, I think it is the right idea. But, here his an opportunity for kids to do just that and we have people wanting to put restrictions on it? I don’t know about you, but this puts a lot of fear in me. We are overprotecting our children and taking away fun and competition away from them little by little.
If you actually agree one bit with supporters of these policies, you really to need to stick a bink into your kids’ mouths, and your own as well.
*might be a slight exaggeration