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Oscar Handlin, the historian, had only contempt for the radicals he encountered at Harvard, because he knew that among the immigrants he studied , a fifteen year old was already a man or a woman. That was before the invention of that pampered creature known as the adolescent.

Interesting. I came from (what was for that area) a small family of five (two sisters). When my Dad hurt his back, I had to take charge of the family farm at the age of 13. After that year, I no longer could interact with my peers at school like I had before. In short, because I had to grow up, and they didn't. I no longer cared what type of jeans I wore, because there were about twenty sows getting ready to farrow at home and they had to be moved either before or after school. When you have to deal with reality, all the popularity games seem very stupid.

Contrast that with my little sister, who is still a child at 26. This culture is so odd in that it glorifies having no responsibilities and yet every one wants to be treated with total respect. We as a nation have reared up three generations of barbarian children who think mainly of themselves, and now we wonder why western society is committing mass suicide.

I was thinking of my Dad, who as the eldest son of a large family, had to drop out of school at age 12 to do most of the work on the farm his folks had acquired. He was big and strong ofr his age, thankfully, for his Dad was not cut out to be a farmer. An immigrant from a German city, "Dad" had grudgingly given up his job as an engineer at brewery and bought the farm at the insistence of his farmer's daughter's wife. You know what running a dairy entails and grandpop was not up to it. He stayed in the house and had coffee while my Dad handled the cows. For more than ten years my Dad was in charge, and learned be jack of all trades. This served him well and went into the oil field, where he helped support the family by sending half his pay home, Ironically, the person left in charge was his younger sister who could outwork almost any man, except my Dad, the hardest working man I ever knew. Eventually he became the superintedent of a drilling company. Forgive me if I wave lyrical about my hero, my Dad. Kudos to you.