Free ranged children
- Tero
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Free ranged children
What used to be nornal, is now illegal. Eventually we will be so dumb...due to no survival of the fittest...that all functions will collapse. There will be nobody to walk us across the street.
http://www.cnn.com/2015/04/13/living/fe ... ion-again/
http://www.cnn.com/2015/04/13/living/fe ... ion-again/
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Re: Free ranged children
Firstly, the prevalence of stranger-danger meme when it comes to our children's safety at large depends very much on their cultural circumstances, but generally children are far more at risk of harm from people they know, and particularly from their own kith and kin, than they are from strangers. And thirdly, what's done for UK kids playing out in the street or going to the park is not TV, rap music, or video games, but the systematic selling off of public green spaces for private development and the ubiquitous requirements of the car.
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Clinton Huxley » 21 Jun 2012 » 14:10:36 GMT
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"It isn't necessary to imagine the world ending in fire or ice.
There are two other possibilities: one is paperwork, and the other is nostalgia."
Frank Zappa
"This is how humanity ends; bickering over the irrelevant."
Clinton Huxley » 21 Jun 2012 » 14:10:36 GMT
- cronus
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Re: Free ranged children
The final destination for humans following the path of least intelligence. This is not a vat, it's a think tank say your cannibal masters The 0.2%

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Re: Free ranged children
It's ridiculous, they were in their own neighborhood, walking home knowing where they were going and how to get there.
When I was a kid we were given a bit more freedom, and a bit wider of a distance we could go each year as we got older. If we weren't home by dinner time we were grounded. If a younger kid went with a older sibling they were allowed the same rules, but the older sibling had to take full responsibility. At 11 or 12 the distance restrictions came off all together and me and my brother would regularly take long couple mile walks. In the summer we were pretty much locked outside between lunch and dinner, full-stop
When I was a kid we were given a bit more freedom, and a bit wider of a distance we could go each year as we got older. If we weren't home by dinner time we were grounded. If a younger kid went with a older sibling they were allowed the same rules, but the older sibling had to take full responsibility. At 11 or 12 the distance restrictions came off all together and me and my brother would regularly take long couple mile walks. In the summer we were pretty much locked outside between lunch and dinner, full-stop

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Re: Free ranged children
Grew up in a garden with a high wall and few bricks to play with. Got ingenious with model aircraft carriers and ants. Sealed them in their lonely tombs - a kid got no moral compass, and plenty of vendetta fuel. The ant war had begun. Used boiling water in the end. 

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Re: Free ranged children
Children should free to do as they wish, lest they become enslaved later on as adults.
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Re: Free ranged children
The singularity is really out there then? Prove it?Milton von Rothbard wrote:Children should free to do as they wish, lest they become enslaved later on as adults.

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Re: Free ranged children
Free range children are tastier and meatier than cage raised ones, if a bit more expensive. I think it's worth the extra dosh.
Yeah well that's just, like, your opinion, man.
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Re: Free ranged children
Avoid the brain - it's immortal.laklak wrote:Free range children are tastier and meatier than cage raised ones, if a bit more expensive. I think it's worth the extra dosh.

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Re: Free ranged children
Free ranged 2 year old caused owner to shoot driver:
http://www.latimes.com/nation/nationnow ... story.html
http://www.latimes.com/nation/nationnow ... story.html
Re: Free ranged children
There's scientific evidence that not allowing children to roam permanently impairs their ability remember the cues and information associated with navigation. In other words, if kids are not sent out to learn how to find their way home, they are far more likely to be unable to navigate by reference to landmarks and other information that us older folks take for granted.Tero wrote:What used to be nornal, is now illegal. Eventually we will be so dumb...due to no survival of the fittest...that all functions will collapse. There will be nobody to walk us across the street.
http://www.cnn.com/2015/04/13/living/fe ... ion-again/
I saw this in my ex's kids, who were quite sheltered and were literally never allowed to go out and roam the neighborhood because their mother (not entirely unjustifiably) feared for their safety. When they moved in with me, it took a year for her to allow the kids to ride their bikes around the block by themselves, and they twice got lost walking to a park three blocks away.
When I was a kid, I used to roam the ranch, with it's inherent dangers like cliffs and rivers, all day every day in the summer...armed with my .22 semi-automatic Remington Nylon 66 rifle and a pocket full of ammunition to shoot at rocks and prairie dogs. I'm really good at technology-free land navigation. I know how to determine true north using either sun, moon or stars, and can determine north, south, east and west from biological markers and evidence, and I have a very good navigational memory.
It's a real shame that more parents don't "free range" their kids. Their kids will indeed suffer physically for it. Were I those kid's parents, I'd make a complaint against CPS and the police for causing actual, identifiable brain damage by demanding that kids be monitored 24/7.
But that's how the Marxist ass-hats at CPS want things. They want good little proletarians raised up as helpless as possible so that they will be dependent on the government for their very survival.
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"All that is required for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing." Edmund Burke
"Those who support denying anyone the right to keep and bear arms for personal defense are fully complicit in every crime that might have been prevented had the victim been effectively armed." Seth
© 2013/2014/2015/2016 Seth, all rights reserved. No reuse, republication, duplication, or derivative work is authorized.
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Re: Free ranged children
Explain Israel then?Seth wrote:There's scientific evidence that not allowing children to roam permanently impairs their ability remember the cues and information associated with navigation. In other words, if kids are not sent out to learn how to find their way home, they are far more likely to be unable to navigate by reference to landmarks and other information that us older folks take for granted.Tero wrote:What used to be nornal, is now illegal. Eventually we will be so dumb...due to no survival of the fittest...that all functions will collapse. There will be nobody to walk us across the street.
http://www.cnn.com/2015/04/13/living/fe ... ion-again/
I saw this in my ex's kids, who were quite sheltered and were literally never allowed to go out and roam the neighborhood because their mother (not entirely unjustifiably) feared for their safety. When they moved in with me, it took a year for her to allow the kids to ride their bikes around the block by themselves, and they twice got lost walking to a park three blocks away.
When I was a kid, I used to roam the ranch, with it's inherent dangers like cliffs and rivers, all day every day in the summer...armed with my .22 semi-automatic Remington Nylon 66 rifle and a pocket full of ammunition to shoot at rocks and prairie dogs. I'm really good at technology-free land navigation. I know how to determine true north using either sun, moon or stars, and can determine north, south, east and west from biological markers and evidence, and I have a very good navigational memory.
It's a real shame that more parents don't "free range" their kids. Their kids will indeed suffer physically for it. Were I those kid's parents, I'd make a complaint against CPS and the police for causing actual, identifiable brain damage by demanding that kids be monitored 24/7.
But that's how the Marxist ass-hats at CPS want things. They want good little proletarians raised up as helpless as possible so that they will be dependent on the government for their very survival.

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- Tero
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Re: Free ranged children
I'm pretty good at navigation and guessing distances. The only place that fools me is a forest with no hills. When about 8-12 I was free ranged all summers on a large island. You walked clockwise or counterclockwise and you would eventually end up at the only bridge.
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Re: Free ranged children
Hehe, 'free range kid'. That reminds me. I did have a problem once as a free range kid. There was going to be a formula two race down the road a couple of months before I turned 14. My hero, two time formula one world champion Jim Clark, was going to be there. I had to go. When I say the race was down the road, I mean about 80 kilometres down the road. For someone without a drivers license that might look like it would present a bit of a difficulty, but not for me. I had a pushbike, so ner ner. I'm going.
I told mum of my plan to go to Hockenheim on Saturday and be back on Monday. Since the Easter holidays started on Friday afternoon that wouldn't be a problem at all. Mum just said "NO!!!" I went to my room in a huff, determined to never ever speak to her again. Ever! Half an hour later my parents entered and announced they had decided I could go after all. Yahooo.
With pannier bags packed, water bottle clipped to the belt and protected by my anorak against the somewhat chilly breeze I set off somewhat later than intended in the afternoon. The headwind made the going a little tough, but I was determined. Before the halfway mark things got a little worse. I've never travelled more than maybe ten or 20 kilometres at a time before, so it came as a bit of a surprise that bike saddles are not the best thing to sit on for a great amount of time. My bum got rather sore. Eventually I relieved some of the discomfort by pedalling standing up from time to time. That of course increased wind resistance, but as I said, I was determined.
By the time I trundled through Mannheim, about the three quarter way mark, it was getting dark. Being German, my bike was equipped to handle that. Front and rear lights were standard, and so was the fact that the electricity for them was supplied by a dynamo one could engage with a flick of the foot switch. On I went until I got to the outskirts of Hockenheim. This is where my plan was not so clear. In fact, there was no plan beyond getting to Hockenheim. I didn't even know where the racecourse was, nobody had come up with Google maps yet, and the map I had showed all the roads but no racecourse. There was some garagey looking thing with lots of lights on a few hundred metres to the side of the road. Might ask for directions there. It turned out to be a workshop the Ferrari team had rented for the occasion. Half a dozen mechanics were casually milling about two incredibly small cars. So that's what they look like in real life. Unfortunately nobody there spoke German or English and I did not speak Italian. Nevertheless, we "talked" for a while, though I can't remember what about. The only detail of our chat remaining was one of the mechanics pointing at my field flask and asking "Vino?" They let me sit in the cockpit of one of the racers and gave me the previous year's Ferrari yearbook when I left an hour or so later.
Quite a treasure it turned out to be, as I discovered when I pulled up at a milk bar in the town itself. 130 pages with lots and lots of photos, some of them in colour, boasting of last year's racing achievements, the chief of which was Ferraris's win of the constructor's sports racing car world championship featuring a 1-2-3 win at the 24 hour race in Daytona. The bloke behind the counter told me how to get to the racecourse. Nice, that. Not so nice was when he put a rubber stamp of his business on the cover of my treasure while I was on the toilet.
So, on I went, but then the light went out all of a sudden. The wire connecting the dynamo with the bulb had somehow snapped or chafe apart. I melted a bit of insulation off each end with matches I brought along, but the remaining wire was not long enough any more. Every time I turned the handlebar to the left the ends separated again. While I stood there scratching my head and wondering what to do next a car pulled up right next to me. What a stroke of luck. Police patrol. Their motto was "Your friend and helper" at the time. So I explained my predicament. They loaded my bike into their boot, which would of course not shut. Heh. So what. They'll take me to someone who'll fix the wire. A few minutes later we stopped. Outside the police station. I was led into a cell. And locked up. And then one drunk after another was added to my company. Well, the town was gradually filling up with 120,000 people who have come for entertainment.
After an hour or so I was brought out again. Into the car again. The bike was in the boot again. We took off again. Well, progress at last. Pig's arse. They were going completely the wrong way. "Stop. Stop You're going the wrong way. The racecourse is back thataway." They bloody ignored me and half an hour later I was back in fucking Mannheim. Pricks! Not only Mannheim, but a fucking prison for juvenile delinquents with glossy toilet-green corridors, glossy toilet-green cells secured by glossy toilet-green steel doors and chunky, rusty steel bars on windows. Covered by two rough felt blankets I fell asleep almost immediately. It was well past midnight by then after all, and I had a fairly exhausting day.
The following morning a warden wordlessly brought me two slices of stale black bread with margarine and jam on a tin plate and a tin mug containing lukewarm, weak instant coffee with lots of milk in it. I asked him when I'll be let out. He shrugged his shoulders and left. Half an hour later I was escorted to an office. There I was told that I was an Ausreisser and would remain here until my parents picked me up. And by the way what's your father's phone number? Luckily, my parents convinced my captors that I was not truant at all, and that they are preventing me to watch the races. Before I knew it, the bike was back in a car's boot, which would not shut, and we were on our way to Hockenheim. The guys dropped me off at a bike stand right next to the main gate which also sold tickets. So, all forgiven then.
In later trips I always took the precaution of carrying a dated, signed and hand written not of permission from my parents with me. High tech laminated photo documents were not required nor expected in those days.
The races were a blast, especially since I discovered a hole in a chainlink fence which enabled me to get into the drivers' compound and the pit area. I managed to chat with my hero as well as his team mate, Graham Hill, who also was a a formula one world champion and would be one again at the end of the year. While they could understand my questions, spoken in school-boy English, I could not understand most of their answers. They spoke too fast. Way too fast for someone for whom English was a second language and at that stage only ever used in English lessons. Still, it was a thrill.
Until it all turned to disaster. After a few laps into the first heat Clark failed to appear at the entrance of the Sachs Kurve at the expected time. The public announcement informed us that he had an off. A few minutes later it said that he is being airlifted to hospital. What had happened in fact was that he crashed into the forest at 240 km/h or more and hit a tree. It split his car in half and killed him on the spot. My way back was filled with sadness and incredulity. The sore bum was almost a welcome distraction, but my parents were relieved to see me safely returned and probably a little proud that their son had the courage, persistence and sufficient nous to get through a somewhat challenging adventure of his own devising.
I told mum of my plan to go to Hockenheim on Saturday and be back on Monday. Since the Easter holidays started on Friday afternoon that wouldn't be a problem at all. Mum just said "NO!!!" I went to my room in a huff, determined to never ever speak to her again. Ever! Half an hour later my parents entered and announced they had decided I could go after all. Yahooo.
With pannier bags packed, water bottle clipped to the belt and protected by my anorak against the somewhat chilly breeze I set off somewhat later than intended in the afternoon. The headwind made the going a little tough, but I was determined. Before the halfway mark things got a little worse. I've never travelled more than maybe ten or 20 kilometres at a time before, so it came as a bit of a surprise that bike saddles are not the best thing to sit on for a great amount of time. My bum got rather sore. Eventually I relieved some of the discomfort by pedalling standing up from time to time. That of course increased wind resistance, but as I said, I was determined.
By the time I trundled through Mannheim, about the three quarter way mark, it was getting dark. Being German, my bike was equipped to handle that. Front and rear lights were standard, and so was the fact that the electricity for them was supplied by a dynamo one could engage with a flick of the foot switch. On I went until I got to the outskirts of Hockenheim. This is where my plan was not so clear. In fact, there was no plan beyond getting to Hockenheim. I didn't even know where the racecourse was, nobody had come up with Google maps yet, and the map I had showed all the roads but no racecourse. There was some garagey looking thing with lots of lights on a few hundred metres to the side of the road. Might ask for directions there. It turned out to be a workshop the Ferrari team had rented for the occasion. Half a dozen mechanics were casually milling about two incredibly small cars. So that's what they look like in real life. Unfortunately nobody there spoke German or English and I did not speak Italian. Nevertheless, we "talked" for a while, though I can't remember what about. The only detail of our chat remaining was one of the mechanics pointing at my field flask and asking "Vino?" They let me sit in the cockpit of one of the racers and gave me the previous year's Ferrari yearbook when I left an hour or so later.
Quite a treasure it turned out to be, as I discovered when I pulled up at a milk bar in the town itself. 130 pages with lots and lots of photos, some of them in colour, boasting of last year's racing achievements, the chief of which was Ferraris's win of the constructor's sports racing car world championship featuring a 1-2-3 win at the 24 hour race in Daytona. The bloke behind the counter told me how to get to the racecourse. Nice, that. Not so nice was when he put a rubber stamp of his business on the cover of my treasure while I was on the toilet.
So, on I went, but then the light went out all of a sudden. The wire connecting the dynamo with the bulb had somehow snapped or chafe apart. I melted a bit of insulation off each end with matches I brought along, but the remaining wire was not long enough any more. Every time I turned the handlebar to the left the ends separated again. While I stood there scratching my head and wondering what to do next a car pulled up right next to me. What a stroke of luck. Police patrol. Their motto was "Your friend and helper" at the time. So I explained my predicament. They loaded my bike into their boot, which would of course not shut. Heh. So what. They'll take me to someone who'll fix the wire. A few minutes later we stopped. Outside the police station. I was led into a cell. And locked up. And then one drunk after another was added to my company. Well, the town was gradually filling up with 120,000 people who have come for entertainment.
After an hour or so I was brought out again. Into the car again. The bike was in the boot again. We took off again. Well, progress at last. Pig's arse. They were going completely the wrong way. "Stop. Stop You're going the wrong way. The racecourse is back thataway." They bloody ignored me and half an hour later I was back in fucking Mannheim. Pricks! Not only Mannheim, but a fucking prison for juvenile delinquents with glossy toilet-green corridors, glossy toilet-green cells secured by glossy toilet-green steel doors and chunky, rusty steel bars on windows. Covered by two rough felt blankets I fell asleep almost immediately. It was well past midnight by then after all, and I had a fairly exhausting day.
The following morning a warden wordlessly brought me two slices of stale black bread with margarine and jam on a tin plate and a tin mug containing lukewarm, weak instant coffee with lots of milk in it. I asked him when I'll be let out. He shrugged his shoulders and left. Half an hour later I was escorted to an office. There I was told that I was an Ausreisser and would remain here until my parents picked me up. And by the way what's your father's phone number? Luckily, my parents convinced my captors that I was not truant at all, and that they are preventing me to watch the races. Before I knew it, the bike was back in a car's boot, which would not shut, and we were on our way to Hockenheim. The guys dropped me off at a bike stand right next to the main gate which also sold tickets. So, all forgiven then.
In later trips I always took the precaution of carrying a dated, signed and hand written not of permission from my parents with me. High tech laminated photo documents were not required nor expected in those days.
The races were a blast, especially since I discovered a hole in a chainlink fence which enabled me to get into the drivers' compound and the pit area. I managed to chat with my hero as well as his team mate, Graham Hill, who also was a a formula one world champion and would be one again at the end of the year. While they could understand my questions, spoken in school-boy English, I could not understand most of their answers. They spoke too fast. Way too fast for someone for whom English was a second language and at that stage only ever used in English lessons. Still, it was a thrill.
Until it all turned to disaster. After a few laps into the first heat Clark failed to appear at the entrance of the Sachs Kurve at the expected time. The public announcement informed us that he had an off. A few minutes later it said that he is being airlifted to hospital. What had happened in fact was that he crashed into the forest at 240 km/h or more and hit a tree. It split his car in half and killed him on the spot. My way back was filled with sadness and incredulity. The sore bum was almost a welcome distraction, but my parents were relieved to see me safely returned and probably a little proud that their son had the courage, persistence and sufficient nous to get through a somewhat challenging adventure of his own devising.
I am, somehow, less interested in the weight and convolutions of Einstein’s brain than in the near certainty that people of equal talent have lived and died in cotton fields and sweatshops. - Stephen J. Gould
- cronus
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Re: Free ranged children
Got a Bible as my final toy. Why I'm a nihilist now. You can spend years studying a meaningless book based on someones smarter logic. (all your bases belong to thee...) 

What will the world be like after its ruler is removed?
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