Pansies, Candy Asses and Wusses

A few months back, I drove past a local elementary school and a curiosity caught my eye. The trees, which edged the ball field there, had mats wrapped around their trunks. Gym mats. Someone, for some reason, decided that the tree trunks needed padding so as to… protect the children from menacing maples?

There are (at least) two major issues here, the second being that if a kid is goofy enough to run into a tree, he’ll be more careful next time. Of course the primary issue is: what kind of spastic kids are running into trees all the time? The trees don’t move, not from the trunk end at least. And they’re big trees, not skinny little saplings that one might not notice.

My sister, having played soccer on that field as a kid, said in defense of the tree swaddlers: “Those trees are really close to the field.”

“Did you ever run into one of those trees?”

“No, of course not.”

My sister, being 11 years my junior, is a member of the bike helmet generation. This might explain her open-mindedness to such coddling. The way I see it, while I wouldn’t have been (and still won’t be) caught dead in a bike helmet, I will make my future children wear them. Now that I know it’s a possibility, I will worry that they will crack their future curly-mopped heads open. This will be a do as I say, not as I do kind of rule. Of course, I am of a generation of kids who relished ‘riding bikes’ as the ultimate outdoor activity (only, possibly, tied with a good game of Manhunt.)

“What are you doing today?”

“We’re gonna ride bikes.” That’s it. Activity and hours of entertainment: done. Not a helmet or a knee pad in sight.

Yet, my sister, as one of those kids who grew up wearing a bike helmet, doesn’t give the helmet a second thought. And while she didn’t grow up going to a school with padded trees, perhaps it won’t seem so unreasonable to expect that whatever school her future children go to, it be made of pillows*.

You may note that in the background of one of the photos, there are children playing Little League. In the time I was there taking the photos, they all did an admirable job of not running into any trees.

*Disclaimer: My sister is not a pansy, candy ass or wuss. She is a bad ass. She plays rugby and she can kick my ass, my brother’s ass and the ass of most of the people I know, likely including you.