I'm pulling out of my driveway the other day and see a group of kids at the bus stop. Maybe six kids. Around ten parents. TEN. Who knew waiting for a bus had become a spectator sport? The kids are doing their thing - laughing, joking, kicking imaginary goals - while the adults hover like they're coaching a World Cup team. Chairs, snacks, pep talks... probably someone handing out gold stars for "best standing still."

And winter mornings? Forget standing outside. Kids are parked in the car like it's a VIP lounge, phones in hand, scrolling TikTok while the parents cheer from the curb like it's halftime at the Super Bowl. Meanwhile, actual outdoor chaos - running, yelling, inventing entire worlds in five minutes - is apparently too risky now. Someone might get a scrape. Horrors.

Playtime is even better. Kids go outside? Only if a multi-step parental approval process has been completed. Want to play tag? That requires a formal "play date" negotiation, snack approval, and possibly notarized consent forms. Imagination is now a carefully regulated activity. Want to turn a stick into a sword? Sorry, you need to clear it with the parent council.

And then there was my nephew's football game a few weeks ago. They were getting obliterated. At one point, the scoreboard read 38-6. Then the other team scored again - and the scoreboard didn't change. I asked my brother-in-law if he noticed. "Yeah," he said, "they don't add points to the winning team during a blowout. Don't want to hurt anyone's feelings."

Wait... what? The scoreboard has feelings? Amazing. Somehow, the thrill of competition has been replaced with emotional sensitivity for every possible outcome. Losing gracefully is now a mandatory life skill, apparently enforced by a digital display.

So yes, I'm noticing all this stuff. I notice the absurdity. I notice that kids can't even go outside without a logistics team, and that scoreboards are now official mediators of feelings. And you know what? I can't stop laughing. Because while the kids today have curated playdates, climate-controlled bus stops, and emotionally-aware sports scores, I have memories of real chaos, real adventure, and real consequences.

And honestly? That's the secret to getting old with style: watch the world become ridiculous, roll your eyes so hard it's practically a workout, and write a newsletter about it.

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Until next time -
Donny @ Gopher Update