The Rational Rambler™

By MARSHALL E. HIWATT, Opinionist

Growing up Gen X was an experience unlike any other. We were the last feral generation, the original free-range kids. Our childhoods were spent outdoors until the street lights flickered on or some variation of a dinner bell summoned us home. If you were lucky, your mom had an actual bell. If you were me, it was a loud, exasperated yell from the porch that carried across the neighborhood. Either way, it was epic.

We built ramps from scavenged cinder blocks and plywood, launching ourselves into the air (at least 3 to 4 feet mind you) dreaming of being Evel Knievel, with a reckless disregard for physics. We climbed trees until the branches cracked beneath us, played tackle football in the street with no pads, skied without helmets, fired bottle rockets at each other and engaged in backyard battles with homemade wood swords and water balloon “funnelators.” And somehow, most of us survived 

Natural selection was alive and well in the ‘80s. If you gripped a Roman Candle too long or jumped into the wrong part of a river, well, those were learning opportunities for everyone. No one shielded us from the consequences of our own idiocy, and we were better for it.

Fast-forward to today, I find myself caught in the ultimate Gen X paradox: watching today’s kids on motorized scooters and mini-bikes ripping around our neighborhoods like suburban Sons of Anarchy. And I get it. The noise is annoying. The risks make us cringe. Getting flipped off by some Gen Z suburban “punk” or “punkette” is aggravating. And yet, my Gen X brain kicks in, reminding me: They are outside expending energy and not indoors glued to devices.

But here’s the deal: Fun is fun, but actions have consequences. If your kid wrecks a neighbor’s mailbox with a mini-bike, they should fix it. If they shave the bark off a tree with an electric scooter, they should apologize and plant a new one. That’s just how it works. Either kids learn respect within the safe confines of their homes and neighborhood, or life will teach them the hard way when they cross the wrong person later.

Truth is, life has a way of teaching respect, either the easy way or the hard way. We all remember the relentless paperboy from the film Better Off Dead, chasing Lane Meyer through the streets, demanding “I want my two dollars!” Annoying? Sure. But at least he was out there grinding, earning his money, working hard and (to paraphrase Wooderson from Dazed and Confused) putting a little change in his pocket. That’s a far cry from some kid flipping off and dropping F-bombs to adults while tearing through neighborhoods on a motorbike. Because one day, they’re going to flip off, F-bomb and disrespect the wrong person.  It may be a future boss, law enforcement officer, or more likely someone who just doesn’t take that kind of attitude and blatant disrespect lightly. Unfortunately, that’s when life will come collecting and not for two bucks. The wrong person disrespected may demand and even inflict a much steeper price.

And for the HOA types who flood social media with pearl-clutching outrage whenever a kid zips by at 12 mph? Take a breath. Unless laws are broken or lives endangered, maybe let them enjoy their fleeting childhoods. They aren’t committing crimes or glued to screens, they are outside, making memories and giving their parents minor heart attacks – a Gen X tradition we should all appreciate and embrace.

Still, reckless behavior can have real consequences. I learned this firsthand when two of my childhood friends, who loved riding their motorcycle way too fast through town, didn’t see a pickup truck backing out of a driveway in time. That lesson wasn’t just theirs; it was one for all of us. And sadly, it was their last lesson in this life.

So, where do I land? Let the kids be kids. They’re noisy. They’re a little obnoxious. So were we. And if your childhood was anything like mine, the alternative was watching daytime soap operas or wandering aimlessly around a mall. Given that choice, outdoor chaos wins every time. And my Gen X brain envies them.  

So, my Gen X friends, let them build ramps, take spills, and learn firsthand that gravel rash is a forever memory and badge of honor. But also, parents of today’s rebels looking for a cause, hold them accountable when they screw up. That’s the Gen X way.  It worked for us, and it’ll work for them. Freedom comes with responsibility. Privileges are earned, not guaranteed. 

And if you find yourself about to yell at some kid to “get off my lawn,” channel your inner Lloyd Dobler (“You must chill!”), throw on some AC/DC Back in Black or Rush 2112, crack open a cold one, and maybe, just maybe, build a properly engineered mountain bike jump of your own to show today’s kids how it’s done. And while you are at it, invite the rest of us!

If nothing else, take comfort in this: Everything we did as Gen X kids was never documented. Kids these days, however, put every moment of stupidity online. So, if their parents fail to teach them, karma and social media most certainly will.

Because at the end of the day, karma is a…well…you know the saying.

Email me at marshall.e.hiwatt@gmail.com with your stellar ramblings, digital fist-shaking, or just to say howdy.