It was recently discussed on my local terrestrial radio stations, and amongst other adults I know (most of them parents), that there seems to be a trend developing in teens. One that I find interesting on any number of levels that, as contrasted to my generation, flies in the face of what I consider to be an extremely important goal in growing up.
And that is independence.
I was listening to parents in their 30s indicate that their teens tended to pass on taking driver training classes and were disinterested in acquiring a car of their own.
For a first stunning few seconds, I was shocked. Following those scant seconds, I began to assemble an understanding rather rapidly.
But let me digress for a moment.
When I was in my single digits, I couldn’t wait to learn to ride a bicycle. I learned with training wheels (Anyone remember those?) as Dad initially insisted on my riding over the thick grass of our back yard. I can only guess that he placed the thick grass friction obstacle in my way in lieu of my bailing off and smacking my dome.
I quickly learned that it was a lot more fun to ride on our concrete back yard patio, our side walkway and the front driveway. From there I graduated to my brother Don’s red-and-black Schwinn with the broken frame, Truxel seat and huge balloon tires.
A bicycle yielded my first true bit of semi-independence. It also yielded my second job as a paperboy, after my first job of mowing lawns. I can remember riding miles and miles on my bicycle, with my friend Rick Back to an aquarium store in Foothill Farms. I also rode to Ancil Hoffman Park, where we played solider in the park with plastic guns, rifles, machine guns and WWII surplus equipment to include helmet liners, canteens, web belts, suspenders and ammo pouches, purchased from the Metropolitan Army& Navy store at Marconi and Fair Oaks Boulevard.
The bicycle was my first key to independence.
I learned to drive in Ohio, in high school. We had ancient and huge Ford Galaxy driver training cars. They were brand new then, spotless, but cut roadway paths like massive, wave-ploughing battleships on soft springs and much body lean. I wore a special set of sneakers for driver training; I secretly called them my Ford Shoes. I only wore them when I would drive the big green Galaxy. I was very strange that way.
My first car was a very clean white 1966 Ford Fairlane four-door sedan, with a blue cloth interior, a loud and scrunchy set of front shocks, and the fuel-inefficient 289 V8. Dad helped me buy the car, used. Its original factory price was $2,385. We paid a lot less. I had to promise to continue to work at Chatham Village (mowing lawns, painting, general maintenance), in order to pay my father. Gas, incidentally, was 35-cents a gallon. I could buy a lot of gas, then.
The car, however, was my badge of independence. It was earned and I had won it. I also had a succession of mini-bikes, starting with the Honda Mini-Trail 50 and step-through Trail 90 with conversion kit.
I absolutely thirsted for independence and, at the same time, cars allowed me to work various jobs all over.
Bicycles and cars: actual independence. And, of course, a lot of chicks.
Fast forward to the original discussion: why is it that teens eschew cars?
Moreover: do they really?
There is evidence to indicate this is true:
I have some very salient theories.
What are yours?
BZ
P.S.
I don’t “do” public transportation. As I wrote here, regarding my last new car purchase (a Toyota RAV4):
I’ve budgeted for $7-a-gallon gas and, until it reaches that point, I’m not much concerned. I’m getting a pay raise in June. My retirement system is stuffed. I’ve planned well. I’m sufficiently old that I shall NEVER be riding “public” transport. Far as I’m thinking, “public systems” are for nothing but losers, drunks, druggies and those sucking from the welfare teat. I don’t “do” buses or “light rail” or “The El” or “the subway” or any of that low-class crap.
