Send me your photos
Maybe you know that someone named Garbage Guru's Wife who writes understanding comments and tells funny stories succinctly wrote this a few days ago: "As you titled this the Last American Childhood, I assume you are trying to connect everything either to your youth or raising your son, kind of a parallal universe thing."
She is right that I had some vague intention of connecting things. But for now, separate from me, and separate from Wally (although those have been by-in-large the dominant subjects of this blog, "It's all about me folks!") what do you picture when you hear the phrase, "Last American Childhood"? Does it conjure up anything for you? Climbing trees? Making forts? Having tea parties? Kids not doing those things anymore? Lakes that aren't safe to swim in? Forests that we imagine aren't safe to wander in? Little kids who aren't allowed to get dirty, who have to learn Mandarin by the time they're 3? Maybe it’s little girls catching giant bubbles. Scrappy, Tom Sawyer boys covered in paint. (Or the other way around.) Abandoned bikes by the side of the road. Hulu hoops and hopscotch. Your grandfather fishing. A sled named Rosebud. Hopi children playing with dolls. Your mom on a backyard swing. Your kids eating ice cream on a blistering hot day. Or an empty playground.
I'm hereby requesting you send in something visual--a photo, painting, sketch, collage--to illustrate what that phrase means to you. You could take a brand new photo today or scan in a disintegrating one you peel out of an old album. Send credit info with permission for it to be posted on this site. We can use a fake name if you'd prefer.
You can send it here: email@example.com