Bring Back The IRL Mischief
The first of many signs that I'm growing out of touch.
Have you ever done something fun that was objectively wrong? Of course you have. We all have. The human condition encourages this because one of the fundamental building blocks of fun is risk, and what could be more risky than doing something you know is wrong and hoping you get away with it? However, it's the separation of risk from wrongdoing that determines how sustainable our fun is. Sports like skiing are risky because they're physically dangerous, which for some people adds to the fun. For them, the fun increases as the risk does, as long as they don't overdo it. So far, it's risky without being wrong. But what if every time I finished my ski run I snow-showered all the people in the lift line as I stopped? I can see how that would be fun if we were all friends and that was our thing, but if I did that to an unsuspecting cloister of small children, I'd be perma-banned from the resort.
When we go ice skating, my youngest son always asks me to do a hot lap while he sits on the bench so I can hockey-stop into the open door and cover him with snow from the chest down. The other parents are always horrified until he giggles and commands me to do it again. Even with his blessing, some might see this as the wrong and it probably is. If the rink staff has to ask me to stop and I apologize without protest, I already know it's wrong. But for the record, I've never been asked to stop.
Once when I was riding bikes with a friend, we saw something that caught our interest. It was trash day, a concept I didn't yet know existed, and the empty cans of everyone in the neighborhood were still loitering at the end of their driveways. We thought it would be fun to strafe these poor defenseless bins, kicking them to the pavement as we coasted by on our bikes. They crashed and bounced to the ground with an echoing boom. It was such a satisfying sound, we did the whole street. Halfway through, we added a twist. Let's open all these mailboxes, too. On we went, open-kick, pedal pedal, kick-open, pedal pedal, kick-kick-open (this family had two cans)...
Word got back to Mom, and she reintroduced me to the idea of the golden rule (and the back of her hand). I forgot to consider how it would feel if someone kicked something of mine that wasn't supposed to be kicked. Lesson learned, when it comes to other people and their stuff, it's risky because it's wrong.
In life before the internet, wrongdoing as a recreational activity was primarily confined to that which could be seen by any interested onlooker. Prank phone calls aside, no mischief was possible without paying the "is anybody looking" tax. The specter of someone catching us doing something wrong, on purpose and in person, was a natural barrier to entry in the playful-vandalism game. This makes the modern would-be can-kickers three times more vulnerable to mischief's allure. First, there's the inherent anonymity of the internet, shielding us from accountability. Then, there's the access. The phones in our pockets mean not only are we exempt from leaving the house, but we can even shitpost our angst upon unsuspecting strangers from the comfort of the spare bathroom. Finally, recourse from even the most attentive (and technically talented) parents is rare, since no neighbors are watching over our shoulder as we get ourselves into trouble online.
It's no wonder there seems to be an overabundance of kids with fully-scheduled calendars and not a moment to themselves. I don't know what the answer is, but I'll always yearn for times when all the neighborhood parents sent their kids outside to play together and had to tell them to be back by dinner. Right. I'm officially out of touch.