Not every change is for the better

Almost every day, I’m reminded of just how much times have changed.

Now I’m by no means an old man; in fact, some would probably argue my maturity level is sometimes on par with a below-average middle-schooler. But I’m old enough to remember a simpler, safer time right here in our own small town ‘ and I’ll bet you are, too.

So I ask you: What has happened to us?

Remember going to the ballparks when you were a kid? It was no big deal at all, on any given summer night, for mom or dad to drop the kids off with a couple of dollars, and let them roam the city fields worry-free until that evening’s schedule of games was complete.

If it started raining, or you called them from the pay phone (remember those?), your folks would come back to pick you up early, and you would actually be where they told you to be, waiting for them to arrive.

These days, I wouldn’t feel safe letting a kid younger than 15 wander around the ball fields, or fairgrounds, or even the mall for that matter. There are just too many crazy people around.

Fortunately, the amount of nut-jobs wandering the streets has been directly proportional to the amount of security measures now in place. The ballparks, for example, are much safer these days, thanks to the city’s efforts. They even have their own police officer on constant patrol each night of the season.

That is a great idea. But isn’t it a shame that someone had to come up with it?

But even if a parent felt safe enough to leave their kids to their own devices these days, they’d still have to be close enough to keep their wallet handy.

Twenty-five years ago, a kid didn’t need a fist full of money to have a good time. They’d maybe have a dollar for some nachos or a hot dog, and if they needed a drink, they’d just wait for the next foul ball and join the chase.

You see, back in the good old days, a foul ball meant a free drink at the concession stand. And it also meant a certified rugby scrum was going to break out when that ball came flying out of the field of play. So you didn’t need cash if you had the speed to beat your buddies to the ball, and some batters with good connection but bad direction.

But you don’t see that these days.

Instead, it’s constant running back to mom and dad with the hand out ‘ that is, unless the kid is currently playing. If that’s the case, mom or dad has now become their personal valet, bringing water or Gatorade straight to the dugout.

And as for foul balls? You still see the occasional 6-year-old sprinting after one, but it’s rare. Just this week at a high school game, I watched a foul land 20 yards or so from where a group of kids were standing. But instead of dashing after the ball, they literally turned, watched it land, decided it was too far away, and went back to whatever they were doing ‘ which was probably texting mom and dad to tell them they needed more money.

What a shame. Is this what our kids have become ‘ pampered, lazy and money-hungry? And is this what our society has become ‘ a minefield of predators, waiting to snatch up the first innocent child who happens to wander through their field of vision?

Good grief, I hope not. But the evidence is sure pointing in that direction.

I guess 25 years from now, when I’m old and gray and some new generation of writer is filling these pages, things will have gotten even worse. They’ll probably have to write about the virtual game played between the Cyber-Pioneers and Cyber-Broncos, who played via an online bluetooth system from the safety of their ergonomically-engineered easy chairs.

Well, at least mom won’t have far to walk when she brings the Gatorade.