We live in an age of political correctness (don’t start me) and occupational health and safety, and in a social milieu of increasing litigiousness.
When I was a lad, it was the custom for boys to wear short trousers until they were thirteen years of age (give or take six months.) The big day then came when they donned their very first pair of long trousers (“long ens.”) A lad would then strut out , very self consciously, but as proud as a peacock. All who knew him and saw him would ceremoniously ask the rhetorical question, “Who pulled ya through?” This light ragging was taken in good spirit by the lad, because he knew that henceforth he would be accepted as a young adult. It was a rite of passage into probationary adulthood.
Nowadays, of course, boys (and even girls) seem to start wearing long trousers by no later than about 15 minutes of age. The old rite of passage has, itself, disappeared up some dark, forbidding passage, never to be seen again.
Now, irrespective of age, from cradle to coffin, so to speak, we are bombarded with public address system announcements and with signboards of all descriptions and materials.
If you go to catch a train, you may well find it very difficult to find a ticket-seller or to master the art of operating a ticket-selling machine, but you cannot escape the torrent of recorded announcements played at 100 decibels over the level that is guaranteed to induce industrial deafness. “Passengers are reminded to not stand in front of the yellow line.” “Passengers with prams or strollers must hold on to the pram or stroller at all times.” (How many times have these bureaucrats been on a station when hundreds of mothers or fathers gathered, replete with prammified and strollerfied babies that they had made personal sacrifice to have, waiting for the next train to arrive, only to launch a massive co-ordinated shove of all of their prams, strollers and loved babies onto the lines in front of the train?) Some intending passengers are required to climb and descend staircases to cross the lines or to get to a particular railway platform, only to be confronted on the way up and down by a repetitive sign on each step, warning them that “Steps may be slippery when wet.” In days of yore, any child who, by three years of age, did not fully realise that any surface was liable to be slippery when wet, was destined for either serious mishap or remedial class or both.
The railways are not the only organisations that bombard us in such a manner. It happens everywhere we go: on the ferries; on the busses; at the universities; at the banks; in the clubs; in the pubs; and even in modern, computerised cars. Bus drivers have to wear reflective, fluorescent vests to authenticate that the person sitting in the driver’s seat and manipulating the steering wheel, is actually a driver. Bicycle riders must wear a crash helmet because in 1973 or some other obscure year, two cyclists suffered head injuries and were no longer able to “intelligently” interpret “instructional” signs and decode blaring loud speaker announcements. If they don’t get at your ears, they get at your eyes. “Do not run on the escalators.” Give us a break; let us decide something for ourselves.
The old days may have had their faults, but at least young people were graduated into probationary and full adulthood and given credit for being alert, intelligent decision makers who learnt from parents, other adults, and from their own mistakes. In stark contrast, people are now bombarded with stimuli that serve to obviate their need and their capacity to think for themselves.
Sadly, it must be concluded that in days of yore, infants were encouraged to develop into autonomous adults, while in present times, “adults,” like everyone else, are sentenced to be infantalised for the rest of their lives.
Crankyfella
When I was a lad, it was the custom for boys to wear short trousers until they were thirteen years of age (give or take six months.) The big day then came when they donned their very first pair of long trousers (“long ens.”) A lad would then strut out , very self consciously, but as proud as a peacock. All who knew him and saw him would ceremoniously ask the rhetorical question, “Who pulled ya through?” This light ragging was taken in good spirit by the lad, because he knew that henceforth he would be accepted as a young adult. It was a rite of passage into probationary adulthood.
Nowadays, of course, boys (and even girls) seem to start wearing long trousers by no later than about 15 minutes of age. The old rite of passage has, itself, disappeared up some dark, forbidding passage, never to be seen again.
Now, irrespective of age, from cradle to coffin, so to speak, we are bombarded with public address system announcements and with signboards of all descriptions and materials.
If you go to catch a train, you may well find it very difficult to find a ticket-seller or to master the art of operating a ticket-selling machine, but you cannot escape the torrent of recorded announcements played at 100 decibels over the level that is guaranteed to induce industrial deafness. “Passengers are reminded to not stand in front of the yellow line.” “Passengers with prams or strollers must hold on to the pram or stroller at all times.” (How many times have these bureaucrats been on a station when hundreds of mothers or fathers gathered, replete with prammified and strollerfied babies that they had made personal sacrifice to have, waiting for the next train to arrive, only to launch a massive co-ordinated shove of all of their prams, strollers and loved babies onto the lines in front of the train?) Some intending passengers are required to climb and descend staircases to cross the lines or to get to a particular railway platform, only to be confronted on the way up and down by a repetitive sign on each step, warning them that “Steps may be slippery when wet.” In days of yore, any child who, by three years of age, did not fully realise that any surface was liable to be slippery when wet, was destined for either serious mishap or remedial class or both.
The railways are not the only organisations that bombard us in such a manner. It happens everywhere we go: on the ferries; on the busses; at the universities; at the banks; in the clubs; in the pubs; and even in modern, computerised cars. Bus drivers have to wear reflective, fluorescent vests to authenticate that the person sitting in the driver’s seat and manipulating the steering wheel, is actually a driver. Bicycle riders must wear a crash helmet because in 1973 or some other obscure year, two cyclists suffered head injuries and were no longer able to “intelligently” interpret “instructional” signs and decode blaring loud speaker announcements. If they don’t get at your ears, they get at your eyes. “Do not run on the escalators.” Give us a break; let us decide something for ourselves.
The old days may have had their faults, but at least young people were graduated into probationary and full adulthood and given credit for being alert, intelligent decision makers who learnt from parents, other adults, and from their own mistakes. In stark contrast, people are now bombarded with stimuli that serve to obviate their need and their capacity to think for themselves.
Sadly, it must be concluded that in days of yore, infants were encouraged to develop into autonomous adults, while in present times, “adults,” like everyone else, are sentenced to be infantalised for the rest of their lives.
Crankyfella
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