Maybe I’m getting old. I’m against young men’s pants sinking below their arse, then below their knees. In protest, as their pants are coming down, mine are going up! Really, they’re not pants now; they’re more like conjoined denim socks. I was seated on a tram and a kid was standing with his underpants pressed into my face. I queried the point of his low-slung display and he explained it was a status thing so other kids see he can afford expensive underpants. I can’t afford them so what I did was go out and bought no-name undies, and got “CALVIN KLEIN” tattooed ’round my waist.
These days there’s so much safety going on with the raising of kids. I remember the first time I put my hand in fire, which I did because I’d been told not to do it… so I assumed it must have been good. I burnt my hand, and screamed “Ouch!” Immediately I said to my sister, “Put your hand in that.” She did and straightaway, she screamed, “Ouch!” To which I replied, “I know!” One time my brother wanted to put a fork into the toaster. Nothing kills you faster than some sibling encouragement. He asks me if he should do it, and I said, “Shit yeah!” I was thinking, I’m gonna get my own room!
These days, I am particularly distressed by the decline of firecrackers. Because there’s nothing better than when you are nine years old and your dad says, “Right son, here’s five dollars… go get some explosives!” You spot the mortal enemy of a firecracker... the letterbox. You light the cracker and drop it in (putting a small friend between you and the letterbox) and BANG! Well, that’s the normal way, except for where I grew up, as we had a terrorist family living next door. The kid there used to tape his crackers to his body, then ride his bike into the letterbox.