In Praise of Skinned Knees and Grubby Faces

In Praise of Skinned Knees and Grubby Faces

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn...le/2007/06/22/
AR2007062201668.html
http://tinyurl.com/2plywp

By Conn Iggulden
Sunday, June 24, 2007; B01

LONDON When I was 10, I founded an international organization known as
the Black Cat Club. My friend Richard was the only other member. My
younger brother, Hal, had "provisional status," which meant that he
had to try out for full membership every other week. We told him we
would consider his application if he jumped off the garage roof --
about eight feet from the ground. He had a moment of doubt as he
looked over the edge, but we said it wouldn't hurt if he shouted the
words "Fly like an eagle!" When he jumped, his knees came up so fast
that he knocked himself out. I think the lesson he learned that day
was not to trust his brother, which is a pretty valuable one for a
growing lad.

I wrote "The Dangerous Book for Boys" as a handbook for boys with
scenes like that from my childhood in mind. I wasn't trying to please
anyone else. I was just trying to free boys to be themselves again,
the way we were when my brother and I were growing up.

Back in the 1970s, our father was a schoolmaster and part of his job
was caning boys. He was prepared to do this on the job, but the only
time he ever brought his work home was when I stole money from him and
somewhat naively put it in my moneybox. Perhaps because that
punishment was a unique event, I've never stolen anything from anyone
since that day.

Looking back, I realize now that my father was an incredibly patient
man. He loved wood, and whenever a school threw out an oak table or
mahogany benches, he would rescue them and bring them home. One day,
my brother and I took all that wood and nailed it to the tree in the
front garden. It was perhaps the ugliest treehouse ever built, and my
father was not impressed. In fact, I think he was close to tears for a
moment.

He was born in 1923. He has seen a different world -- one before
television, before mobile phones and before the Internet. He flew in
Bomber Command during World War II, and when he tells stories, they're
always grim, but funny at the same time. He lost half a finger in one
bad crash, and at various times in our childhood, he told us that he'd
worked in a sausage factory and pushed the meat too far into the
grinder, resulting in the best sales the factory had known; that a
German sniper had recognized him flying overhead and thought, "That's
Mr. Iggulden, I'll just fire a warning shot"; or that he was the new
Bionic Man, but the British government could afford to replace him
only a bit at a time.

His generation understood the cars they drove, could hang wallpaper
and fix just about anything. In his 80s, he is still an immensely
practical man, but at the same time, he still quotes poems he learned
as a boy, demonstrating that a man can love a good line as much as a
good dovetail joint.

Of course, my mother was important to our childhood. An Irish
Catholic, she gave us a faith that endures today, as well as an
appreciation for literature that made me want to be a writer from a
young age. She kept chickens in a garden no more than 30 feet square
in a suburb of London, and the neighbors complained about the
cockerels waking them up.

When she gave birth to me, the nurse walked down a line of babies
saying, "This one will be a policeman and this one will be a
footballer." When the nurse came to me, she said "Ah, but this one has
the face of a poet."

My father, though, made me the man I am. He was playing bridge on the
night I was born. When he saw me the following morning, he said, "I
hope he never has to kill anyone."

We had books in the house with titles such as "The Wonder Book of
Wonders" or "Chemical Amusements and Experiments," showing their age
with instructions directing you to buy "a shilling paper of Potassium
Permanganate." I read them all, and I'm lucky to have all my fingers.
We made bows and arrows every summer, cutting them green and hunting
in the local woods. We managed to trap a raven, though I think it must
have been ill. I had an idea about training it to attack so that I
would be the terror of the local park. Sadly, we found it cold and
stiff one morning in the chicken run.

The Black Cat Club gathered in the garden to give it a warrior's
cremation. We used my father's lighter fluid and poured it over the
bird where it lay in a nest of bricks. We lit it and stood back with
our hands clasped in prayer. The flames roared, and I think we wept
until the flames died back down again and the bird was still there. We
poured more lighter fluid, and eventually realized we'd cooked the
bird instead of cremating it.

When I had a son of my own six years ago, I looked around for the sort
of books that would inspire him. I was able to find some practical
modern ones, but none with the spirit and verve of those old titles. I
wanted a single compendium of everything I'd ever wanted to know or do
as a boy, and I decided to write my own. My brother, now a theater
director in Leicester, a city in the midlands of England, was the
obvious choice as co-writer. I had dedicated my first book "To my
brother Hal, the other member of the Black Cat Club." It was official
at last. I persuaded him to come and work with me 12 hours a day for
six months in a shed.

We began with everything we had done as kids, then added things we
didn't want to see forgotten. History today is taught as a feeble
thing, with all the adventure taken out of it. We wanted stories of
courage because boys love those. We wanted stories about men like
Royal Air Force fighter pilot Douglas Bader, Scott of the Antarctic,
the Wright Brothers -- boys like to read about daring men, always with
the question: Would I be as brave or as resourceful? I sometimes
wonder why people make fun of boys going to science fiction
conventions without realizing that it shows a love of stories. Does
every high school offer a class on adventure tales? No -- and then we
complain that boys don't read anymore.

We added sections on grammar because my brother once said, "If anyone
had told me there are only nine kinds of words, I'd have damn well
learned them." Boys like to see the nuts and bolts of language. Of
course they can empathize and imagine, but they need the structure as
well. Why should the satisfaction of getting something right be denied
to those who have been educated since the '70s?

We filled our book with facts and things to do -- from hunting a
rabbit to growing crystals. As adults, we know that doors have been
closed to us. A boy, though, can be interested in anything.

Finally, we chose our title -- "The Dangerous Book for Boys." It's
about remembering a time when danger wasn't a dirty word. It's safer
to put a boy in front of a PlayStation for a while, but not in the
long run. The irony of making boys' lives too safe is that later they
take worse risks on their own. You only have to push a baby boy hard
on a swing and see his face light up. It's not learned behavior --
he's hardwired to enjoy a little risk. Ask any man for a good memory
from childhood and he'll tell you about testing his courage or getting
injured. No one wants to see a child get hurt, but we really did think
the bumps and scratches were badges of honor, once.

Since the book was published, I've discovered a vast group that cares
about exactly the same things I do. I've heard from divorced fathers
who use the book to make things with their sons instead of going out
for fast food and a movie. I've received e-mails from 10-year-olds and
a beautifully written letter from a man of 87.

I thought I was the only one sick of non-competitive sports days and
playgrounds where it's practically impossible to hurt yourself. It
turned out that the pendulum is swinging back at last. Boys are
different from girls. Teaching them as though they are girls who don't
wash as much leads to their failure in school, causing trouble all the
way. Boys don't like group work. They do better on exams than they do
in coursework, and they don't like class discussion. In history
lessons, they prefer stories of Rome and of courage to projects on the
suffragettes.

It's all a matter of balance. When I was a teacher, I asked my head of
department why every textbook seemed to have a girl achieving her
dream of being a carpenter while the boys were morons. She replied
that boys had had it their own way for too long, and now it was the
girls' turn. Ouch.

The problem with fighting adult gender battles in the classroom is
that the children always lose.

I expected a backlash. If you put the word "boys" on something,
someone will always complain. One blog even promoted the idea of
removing the words "For Boys" from the cover with an Exacto knife so
that people's sons wouldn't be introduced to any unpleasantly
masculine notions such as duty, honor, courage and competence.

The dark side of masculinity may involve gangs and aggression, but
there's another side -- self-discipline, wry humor and quiet
determination. I really thought I was the only one who cared about it,
but I've found many thousands who care just as much.

I know there are women who can lift heavier weights than I can, but on
the whole, boys are more interested in the use of urine as secret ink
than girls are. We wanted to write a book that celebrated boys -- with
all their differences and geeky love of knowledge, skills and stories.
There just isn't anything wrong with trying to do that.

We all care about our sons -- scabby knees, competitive spirits and
all. It's about time we let our schools and governments know how much
we care. Let the pendulum swing.

--
Conn Iggulden is a novelist in London.

"Fred Goodwin, CMA" wrote in message
oups.com...
In Praise of Skinned Knees and Grubby Faces

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn...le/2007/06/22/
AR2007062201668.html
http://tinyurl.com/2plywp


yeah yeah that's all very nice. But the only skinned knees I want to see are
on an 18yo Ho sucking my cock on her knees )





By Conn Iggulden
Sunday, June 24, 2007; B01

LONDON When I was 10, I founded an international organization known as
the Black Cat Club. My friend Richard was the only other member. My
younger brother, Hal, had "provisional status," which meant that he
had to try out for full membership every other week. We told him we
would consider his application if he jumped off the garage roof --
about eight feet from the ground. He had a moment of doubt as he
looked over the edge, but we said it wouldn't hurt if he shouted the
words "Fly like an eagle!" When he jumped, his knees came up so fast
that he knocked himself out. I think the lesson he learned that day
was not to trust his brother, which is a pretty valuable one for a
growing lad.

I wrote "The Dangerous Book for Boys" as a handbook for boys with
scenes like that from my childhood in mind. I wasn't trying to please
anyone else. I was just trying to free boys to be themselves again,
the way we were when my brother and I were growing up.

Back in the 1970s, our father was a schoolmaster and part of his job
was caning boys. He was prepared to do this on the job, but the only
time he ever brought his work home was when I stole money from him and
somewhat naively put it in my moneybox. Perhaps because that
punishment was a unique event, I've never stolen anything from anyone
since that day.

Looking back, I realize now that my father was an incredibly patient
man. He loved wood, and whenever a school threw out an oak table or
mahogany benches, he would rescue them and bring them home. One day,
my brother and I took all that wood and nailed it to the tree in the
front garden. It was perhaps the ugliest treehouse ever built, and my
father was not impressed. In fact, I think he was close to tears for a
moment.

He was born in 1923. He has seen a different world -- one before
television, before mobile phones and before the Internet. He flew in
Bomber Command during World War II, and when he tells stories, they're
always grim, but funny at the same time. He lost half a finger in one
bad crash, and at various times in our childhood, he told us that he'd
worked in a sausage factory and pushed the meat too far into the
grinder, resulting in the best sales the factory had known; that a
German sniper had recognized him flying overhead and thought, "That's
Mr. Iggulden, I'll just fire a warning shot"; or that he was the new
Bionic Man, but the British government could afford to replace him
only a bit at a time.

His generation understood the cars they drove, could hang wallpaper
and fix just about anything. In his 80s, he is still an immensely
practical man, but at the same time, he still quotes poems he learned
as a boy, demonstrating that a man can love a good line as much as a
good dovetail joint.

Of course, my mother was important to our childhood. An Irish
Catholic, she gave us a faith that endures today, as well as an
appreciation for literature that made me want to be a writer from a
young age. She kept chickens in a garden no more than 30 feet square
in a suburb of London, and the neighbors complained about the
cockerels waking them up.

When she gave birth to me, the nurse walked down a line of babies
saying, "This one will be a policeman and this one will be a
footballer." When the nurse came to me, she said "Ah, but this one has
the face of a poet."

My father, though, made me the man I am. He was playing bridge on the
night I was born. When he saw me the following morning, he said, "I
hope he never has to kill anyone."

We had books in the house with titles such as "The Wonder Book of
Wonders" or "Chemical Amusements and Experiments," showing their age
with instructions directing you to buy "a shilling paper of Potassium
Permanganate." I read them all, and I'm lucky to have all my fingers.
We made bows and arrows every summer, cutting them green and hunting
in the local woods. We managed to trap a raven, though I think it must
have been ill. I had an idea about training it to attack so that I
would be the terror of the local park. Sadly, we found it cold and
stiff one morning in the chicken run.

The Black Cat Club gathered in the garden to give it a warrior's
cremation. We used my father's lighter fluid and poured it over the
bird where it lay in a nest of bricks. We lit it and stood back with
our hands clasped in prayer. The flames roared, and I think we wept
until the flames died back down again and the bird was still there. We
poured more lighter fluid, and eventually realized we'd cooked the
bird instead of cremating it.

When I had a son of my own six years ago, I looked around for the sort
of books that would inspire him. I was able to find some practical
modern ones, but none with the spirit and verve of those old titles. I
wanted a single compendium of everything I'd ever wanted to know or do
as a boy, and I decided to write my own. My brother, now a theater
director in Leicester, a city in the midlands of England, was the
obvious choice as co-writer. I had dedicated my first book "To my
brother Hal, the other member of the Black Cat Club." It was official
at last. I persuaded him to come and work with me 12 hours a day for
six months in a shed.

We began with everything we had done as kids, then added things we
didn't want to see forgotten. History today is taught as a feeble
thing, with all the adventure taken out of it. We wanted stories of
courage because boys love those. We wanted stories about men like
Royal Air Force fighter pilot Douglas Bader, Scott of the Antarctic,
the Wright Brothers -- boys like to read about daring men, always with
the question: Would I be as brave or as resourceful? I sometimes
wonder why people make fun of boys going to science fiction
conventions without realizing that it shows a love of stories. Does
every high school offer a class on adventure tales? No -- and then we
complain that boys don't read anymore.

We added sections on grammar because my brother once said, "If anyone
had told me there are only nine kinds of words, I'd have damn well
learned them." Boys like to see the nuts and bolts of language. Of
course they can empathize and imagine, but they need the structure as
well. Why should the satisfaction of getting something right be denied
to those who have been educated since the '70s?

We filled our book with facts and things to do -- from hunting a
rabbit to growing crystals. As adults, we know that doors have been
closed to us. A boy, though, can be interested in anything.

Finally, we chose our title -- "The Dangerous Book for Boys." It's
about remembering a time when danger wasn't a dirty word. It's safer
to put a boy in front of a PlayStation for a while, but not in the
long run. The irony of making boys' lives too safe is that later they
take worse risks on their own. You only have to push a baby boy hard
on a swing and see his face light up. It's not learned behavior --
he's hardwired to enjoy a little risk. Ask any man for a good memory
from childhood and he'll tell you about testing his courage or getting
injured. No one wants to see a child get hurt, but we really did think
the bumps and scratches were badges of honor, once.

Since the book was published, I've discovered a vast group that cares
about exactly the same things I do. I've heard from divorced fathers
who use the book to make things with their sons instead of going out
for fast food and a movie. I've received e-mails from 10-year-olds and
a beautifully written letter from a man of 87.

I thought I was the only one sick of non-competitive sports days and
playgrounds where it's practically impossible to hurt yourself. It
turned out that the pendulum is swinging back at last. Boys are
different from girls. Teaching them as though they are girls who don't
wash as much leads to their failure in school, causing trouble all the
way. Boys don't like group work. They do better on exams than they do
in coursework, and they don't like class discussion. In history
lessons, they prefer stories of Rome and of courage to projects on the
suffragettes.

It's all a matter of balance. When I was a teacher, I asked my head of
department why every textbook seemed to have a girl achieving her
dream of being a carpenter while the boys were morons. She replied
that boys had had it their own way for too long, and now it was the
girls' turn. Ouch.

The problem with fighting adult gender battles in the classroom is
that the children always lose.

I expected a backlash. If you put the word "boys" on something,
someone will always complain. One blog even promoted the idea of
removing the words "For Boys" from the cover with an Exacto knife so
that people's sons wouldn't be introduced to any unpleasantly
masculine notions such as duty, honor, courage and competence.

The dark side of masculinity may involve gangs and aggression, but
there's another side -- self-discipline, wry humor and quiet
determination. I really thought I was the only one who cared about it,
but I've found many thousands who care just as much.

I know there are women who can lift heavier weights than I can, but on
the whole, boys are more interested in the use of urine as secret ink
than girls are. We wanted to write a book that celebrated boys -- with
all their differences and geeky love of knowledge, skills and stories.
There just isn't anything wrong with trying to do that.

We all care about our sons -- scabby knees, competitive spirits and
all. It's about time we let our schools and governments know how much
we care. Let the pendulum swing.

--
Conn Iggulden is a novelist in London.

My only addition to this is that there are many, many more girls out there
who are interested in this sort of exploration than he's giving credit for.
Maybe not as intently, or for as many years, but it's there. I will be
keeping his book on the shelf, so that, should my daughter wish for danger,
exploration, and discovery, she'll have a place to start.

On Jun 24, 4:45 pm, "Donna Metler" wrote:
My only addition to this is that there are many, many more girls out there
who are interested in this sort of exploration than he's giving credit for.
Maybe not as intently, or for as many years, but it's there. I will be
keeping his book on the shelf, so that, should my daughter wish for danger,
exploration, and discovery, she'll have a place to start.

I agree, when I was little I was your classical tomboy, climbing
trees, making up chemistry experiments, playing football. In fact I
even remember an incident exactly like the one described where my
brother and I dared each other to jump off an 8 foot wall into a
distant pile of sand and my brother missed and sprained his ankle. We
were very lucky to have a huge back yard with lots of tall trees and
secret dens. I wish my sons had the same free outdoor experience I
had, but it is much more difficult to provide it, largely because we
live in an apartment, and I don't feel they are old enough yet to play
out unsupervised. I do however make it a priority to take them out as
often as possible (generally twice a week) to places where they can
experience the free outdoor experience, and make dams in streams,
climb trees e.t.c I also try and give the older two (7 years and 5
years) the freedom to not stay too close to me but to wander and
explore and do their own thing. I feel this sort of experience is
important to all children, not just boys. There is too much TV,
computer nowadays, but it is partly because it is more dangerous (more
traffic,drugs), I wish it was as safe for my children to play outside
as it was for me

On Jun 24, 6:45 am, "Donna Metler" wrote:


My only addition to this is that there are many, many more girls out there who are interested in this sort of exploration than he's giving credit for.

Yes indeed. Even scouting today is just as much for girls as for
boys, and the badges earned can be for those kinds of things he thinks
specific to boys.

Maybe not as intently, or for as many years, but it's there.

Well, if girls are taught by sexists, to be "ladylike" they will not
tend toward the exuberance boys may show toward the things he
mentions. I remember ...one day...in the car when my male cousin was
speaking of peeing on a person if they stepped on a jelly fish.
Everyone laughed, but when my sister said the same thing, my father
asked her to use the word
"tinkle". :-)

I will be keeping his book on the shelf, so that, should my daughter
wish for danger,
exploration, and discovery, she'll have a place to start.

Indeed. Never let the *******s get you down; they're only blowing
smoke and selling mirrors with it.

Donna Metler wrote:

My only addition to this is that there are many, many more girls out there
who are interested in this sort of exploration than he's giving credit for.
Maybe not as intently, or for as many years, but it's there. I will be
keeping his book on the shelf, so that, should my daughter wish for danger,
exploration, and discovery, she'll have a place to start.
---------------------
My best experience of "woodcraft" was going out into our adjacent 800
acre hardwood forest and hollowing out an overgrown hedgerow in which
to take the several horny girls in the neighborhood for some oral sex
(mutual), which we pursued because we couldn't obtain condoms. Our
little sex-club persisted in the woods or our parents basements and
rec-rooms when they were in town or shopping for several years. We
also used some large conifers once in cold weather, because they had
a bed of soft needles underneath which piled up around the base, and
the lowest level of fronds hung low around the whole tree, leaving room
for kids to hide and suck on each other. I was 11 when we started,
and 14 when key members relocated, and the girls ranged from 8 to 16.

The most important part of kids together in the woods was the sexual
opportunity!!
Steve

"Hyerdahl" wrote in message
oups.com...
On Jun 24, 6:45 am, "Donna Metler" wrote:


My only addition to this is that there are many, many more girls out
there who are interested in this sort of exploration than he's giving
credit for.

Yes indeed. Even scouting today is just as much for girls as for
boys, and the badges earned can be for those kinds of things he thinks
specific to boys.

Maybe not as intently, or for as many years, but it's there.

Well, if girls are taught by sexists, to be "ladylike" they will not
tend toward the exuberance

Females should save their energy for ****ing and doing the dishes )



boys may show toward the things he
mentions. I remember ...one day...in the car when my male cousin

Was that your cousin Goober, the smart one?



was
speaking of peeing on a person if they stepped on a jelly fish.
Everyone laughed, but when my sister said the same thing, my father
asked her to use the word
"tinkle". :-)

I will be keeping his book on the shelf, so that, should my daughter
wish for danger,
exploration, and discovery, she'll have a place to start.

Indeed. Never let the *******s get you down; they're only blowing
smoke and selling mirrors with it.

"R. Steve Walz" wrote in message
...
Donna Metler wrote:

My only addition to this is that there are many, many more girls out there
who are interested in this sort of exploration than he's giving credit for.
Maybe not as intently, or for as many years, but it's there. I will be
keeping his book on the shelf, so that, should my daughter wish for danger,
exploration, and discovery, she'll have a place to start.
---------------------
My best experience of "woodcraft" was going out into our adjacent 800
acre hardwood forest and hollowing out an overgrown hedgerow in which
to take the several horny girls in the neighborhood for some oral sex
(mutual), which we pursued because we couldn't obtain condoms. Our
little sex-club persisted in the woods or our parents basements and
rec-rooms when they were in town or shopping for several years. We
also used some large conifers once in cold weather, because they had
a bed of soft needles underneath which piled up around the base, and
the lowest level of fronds hung low around the whole tree, leaving room
for kids to hide and suck on each other. I was 11 when we started,
and 14 when key members relocated, and the girls ranged from 8 to 16.

The most important part of kids together in the woods was the sexual
opportunity!!
Steve
So you admit your a pedo?

MCP wrote:

"R. Steve Walz" wrote in message
...
Donna Metler wrote:

My only addition to this is that there are many, many more girls out there
who are interested in this sort of exploration than he's giving credit for.
Maybe not as intently, or for as many years, but it's there. I will be
keeping his book on the shelf, so that, should my daughter wish for danger,
exploration, and discovery, she'll have a place to start.
---------------------
My best experience of "woodcraft" was going out into our adjacent 800
acre hardwood forest and hollowing out an overgrown hedgerow in which
to take the several horny girls in the neighborhood for some oral sex
(mutual), which we pursued because we couldn't obtain condoms. Our
little sex-club persisted in the woods or our parents basements and
rec-rooms when they were in town or shopping for several years. We
also used some large conifers once in cold weather, because they had
a bed of soft needles underneath which piled up around the base, and
the lowest level of fronds hung low around the whole tree, leaving room
for kids to hide and suck on each other. I was 11 when we started,
and 14 when key members relocated, and the girls ranged from 8 to 16.

The most important part of kids together in the woods was the sexual
opportunity!!
Steve
So you admit your a pedo?
-----------------------
You're a dishonest Liar. I'm not a pedo.

All kids want sex with other kids.
Steve

"R. Steve Walz" wrote in message
...
MCP wrote:

"R. Steve Walz" wrote in message
...
Donna Metler wrote:

My only addition to this is that there are many, many more girls out there
who are interested in this sort of exploration than he's giving credit
for.
Maybe not as intently, or for as many years, but it's there. I will be
keeping his book on the shelf, so that, should my daughter wish for
danger,
exploration, and discovery, she'll have a place to start.
---------------------
My best experience of "woodcraft" was going out into our adjacent 800
acre hardwood forest and hollowing out an overgrown hedgerow in which
to take the several horny girls in the neighborhood for some oral sex
(mutual), which we pursued because we couldn't obtain condoms. Our
little sex-club persisted in the woods or our parents basements and
rec-rooms when they were in town or shopping for several years. We
also used some large conifers once in cold weather, because they had
a bed of soft needles underneath which piled up around the base, and
the lowest level of fronds hung low around the whole tree, leaving room
for kids to hide and suck on each other. I was 11 when we started,
and 14 when key members relocated, and the girls ranged from 8 to 16.

The most important part of kids together in the woods was the sexual
opportunity!!
Steve
So you admit your a pedo?
-----------------------
You're a dishonest Liar. I'm not a pedo.

All kids want sex with other kids.
Steve
We DON'T LIKE people like you talking about kiddie sex on soc.men!!