“Things are different today, I hear every mother say.”
- Mother’s Little Helper, Rolling Stones, 1966

Mick Jagger’s words ring as true today as they did forty years ago: things are much different now than they were when we were younger.  Skip a generation and these changes become even more evident.  The only thing that remains constant is every adult complaining about how much things have changed since they were young.

Well, things certainly have changed a lot since I was young.  Gasoline was only $0.70 per gallon when I started driving and I know it was only a third that when my own parents first got behind the wheel.  When I picked up the nasty habit of smoking cigarettes, I spent only $0.55 per pack – today cigarette prices are tickling $5.00 per pack.  It’s an unbelievably expensive and slow way to kill yourself. A bullet is much quicker and only costs about $0.50.

I’ve heard my mother tell many stories of her youth.  Her description of the world and the people in it seems almost alien when compared to my own experiences.  She grew up in Lowell, Massachusetts, and it was commonplace for her to walk to and from school, church, the grocery store, anywhere – without fear of being mugged, raped or killed.  This is Lowell we’re talking about, not Newton, NH.  But that was in the 1950’s, a seemingly more naïve and perhaps more compassionate time in our history.  I’d say I wouldn’t be caught dead walking the streets of Lowell today, but that’s the only way I’d be caught on those streets – complete with chalk outline.

When Mom was young, she’d spend much of her time at the movie theater on weekends.  “Going to the movies” was a different animal back in the 50’s.  Mom could head down to the Bijou on Saturday morning with only a quarter in her pocket and return twelve hours later, still rubbing coins.  The theater allowed you in all day for one price: a nickel.  This gave you all-day access to several movies interspersed with the classic cartoons that kids in the 70’s thought were specifically created for their Saturday morning enjoyment.  The old Warner Brothers animations were originally drawn to fill the time slots between loading reels in the projection room of the theater, not entertain a generation of Booberry-eating rugrats.

Soda and popcorn were on the cheap as well.  Two nickels bought you a soda and a bag of popcorn – both with endless refills.  That meant that for a measly fifteen cents you could be “fed” and entertained for an entire day.  FIFTEEN CENTS!  You know what fifteen cents buys you in 2008?  Half a cigarette or half a cup of gasoline.  At the movie theater, fifteen cents will buy you a boot in the ass.

As you’re well aware, money isn’t the only thing that’s changed in the past sixty years – our attitudes have taken a dive too.  There was a time when children respected, or at least had a healthy fear of, authority figures.  Today, kids will openly mock the police, their teachers, their own parents, with no fear of repercussion.  It used to be different.

Returning to my mother’s childhood, she rode her bike to school when the weather permitted.  On one day in particular, she returned to the bike rack after school only to find her tires had been deflated.  Standing around her bike was a group of boys who, upon seeing her, started giving her grief about something they thought she had done to someone else.  She had no idea about what they were accusing her of and she broke down in tears proclaiming her innocence.  They razzed her as she removed her bike and started pushing it home.

Upon reaching her house, her father asked her what happened and she told him that some boys from her class had flattened her tires.  He filled the tires with air and the next morning she rode again to school.  That day, however, the class had a guest speaker coming in to explain fire safety and prevention.  The speaker was my mother’s father, the Deputy Fire Chief of Lowell.  Standing over six feet tall, he showed up in his dress uniform and spoke to the class in a booming voice, making sure everyone was paying proper attention.  When he finished and was about to leave, he turned back and addressed the class one final time:

“By the way, Marcia is my daughter and it came to my attention that some of you let the air out of her bicycle tires yesterday because you thought she did something to one of your friends.  Marcia did nothing to anyone because she is not that kind of person and the next time something like this happens those involved will have to answer to me.”

The class sat in stunned silence and at the end of the day, my mother went out to bike rack only to find the same group of boys who had been there the day before.  This time, her tires were still inflated and the boys looked a bit more subdued.  As a group, they admitted their mistake and apologized to her.

That was then, this is now.  The president, the pope, or God Himself could stand before a class today and not receive the same respect my grandfather got from that class of kids fifty-plus years ago.  Kids today would laugh at the Deputy Chief and after school his daughter could expect her bike to be stolen, not just immobilized.  The respect for authority that used to be, is no more.  Can we ever get it back?

Yes, we can, but it would involve parents stepping up and our justice system getting its head of out from under its robe.  I’ll say it out loud for all to hear: “Most kids need a good smack once in a while to keep them in line.”  The problem is, who defines a “good smack” or “once in a while”?  If my 16 year-old son curses at his mother in my presence, he’s going down.  If I have to spend time in prison for teaching my son to respect his mother, so be it.  I will not be a party to the constantly declining respect for authority that we have in this country.  Too many bad apples (a.k.a. rotten parents) have ruined our ability to punish our children because they’ve been abusing theirs.  There’s a big difference between disciplining your child and using them as a punching bag.  A well-deserved spanking or slap in the face is very motivational – and I have yet to come across a child who responds well to mommy and daddy pleading with them to behave.  Kids need to have boundaries and it’s the parents’ job to set those boundaries and enforce the rules of their home and of society.  It’s the kids’ job to push those limits and test our resolve.  I, for one, will not falter at my post.

You?