the oh boys of summer

I’m not the biggest fan of children. They require constant supervision, they stink, often they’re unable to deal with their own excrement but occasionally they’re fun. For 20 minutes or so. OK, I might be exaggerating. I’d say I’m more indifferent to children. But when I read articles like this, I’m suddenly an advocate.

Living in a city means noise. Cars, businesses, large vehicles, sirens, parades, the occasional party the spills into the streets because major event has happened, like winning a World Series game. But urban living means convenience, selection and people. It also means compromise. The more densely populated a city the greater the need for politeness, and the big problem with a city like Toronto is that we’re just not dense enough to not act stupidly from time to time.

I grew up on a street in transition. Of the 40 odd houses on our little stretch of street, there were 5 kids. Four of us hung out together for several years. We played ‘Star Wars’ (a sort of intergalactic yelling and hitting each other with sticks), we rode bikes, roller skates (back in the metal wheels days), skateboards and other noisy things with wheels, we yelled for no good reason and no one ever complained we made noise. Looking back it really seemed like we were the ipso facto grandchildren of the street.

Also, we always had access to freezies! Beat that.

Going back to Mr. Noisy Complaints Neighbour; why can’t kids be kids? I get it. Noise travels differently over water, But. If you’re that noise sensitive there is a place where you can exist almost silently. It’s called the country.

I live near a hospital, which does mean sirens. But it also means an emergency ward within walking distance. A couple times a week a refrigerator truck sits outside my window to deliver goods to the local convenience stores. Yes they’re loud but having not 1 but 2 convenience stores steps outside my house are worth so much more than complaining. But who do you think delivers this stuff? It’s not delivered by fairies.

I’m with the kids on this one. Summer is short. Yelling is fun. And if we’d had access to a backyard pool as kids, we would have been in there until we were pruney and mostly made of chlorine. Screaming and hitting each other with sticks all the live long day.