…so penned Bob Dylan in 1963.  That song struck a chord with listeners of Dylan’s era as an anthem of sorts, calling those in power to heed their actions and adjust to a changing culture by amending unjust decisions of the past.  As one looks out over the socio political landscape of today’s era much hasn’t changed since Dylan’s time (in the sense that governments still are looked at as in  need of reform) but much, much has changed and is everyday…and it bugs me.

I actually thought of Dylan’s original composition as I read a recent article in the Wall Street Journal bemoaning the lost art of beer can collecting.  The article begins by heralding the story of a young ten year old, Randy Langenbach, with an affinity for beer cans.  In fact, the young man’s bedroom walls are lined with over 200 different cans.  Apparently Randy “just likes the way they look.”

I was thrilled at this point in the article, as youthful anomalies with a beer connection always warm my heart.  But reading forward I was disheartened to learn that years ago, Randy was hardly the exception, and beer can collecting was normative among children:

The problem for the once-thriving hobby of beer-can collecting is that Randy is a rarity: a collector under the age of 30.

As the beer can nears its 75th birthday in January, many hobbyists are crying in their brew over their inability to lure young people to a pastime that hooked many of them when they were youngsters in the 1970s.

“We’d ride bikes to each other’s houses and start trading cans,” says Dan Baker, 47, an Illinois collector who started when he was 10.

Wow. Allow  me to vent, for a moment:  So what do kids do these days?  Beats me.  Nothing?  When I was boy, the moment the sun came up in the summer, mom shooed me outdoors.  I guess that’s considered child abuse these days.  This past summer I noted to myself that, though the weather was pleasant, not a young sole was to be seen outdoor:  No kids playing, riding their bikes, no jump roping, the city’s pool was closed, and there was certainly no trading of any kind going on, let alone beer can trading!  Where were the kids?  I suppose indoors playing video games, because they weren’t reading.  Trust me…I’ve seen the performance of the kids at my sons public school…they can hardly spell their names.  Why aren’t they riding their bikes?  Well, I

"this ignorant contraption"

"this ignorant contraption"

guess because they have this ignorant contraption.

The point is, our society is killing imagination.  It takes way more imagination to find joy in the colorful design of a vintage beer can than it does to steal a car and rape a hooker in a video game.  But my frustration doesn’t end here.  The article states:

And many parents don’t want their children anywhere near a beer can, even an empty.”Alcohol is not as acceptable as it was 30 years ago,” says hobbyist Gary Zimmerman, 49, of Rochester, Ill. He says his two teenage sons show no interest in collecting.

The myriad of neo-prohibitionist organizations, alcohol laws, and recent events are a testimony to this statement.  My son recently told me that he told his friends at school that he, “loves to help his dad brew beer.”  Alongside the feelings of love and pride that welled up inside of me in that instant, feelings of fear did as well…fear that a teacher or one of the many counselors at the school might get the wrong idea and suggest that I am doing something unethical.  Far be it!  In all objectivity, would collecting empty beer cans lend a child to think of beer as a means to drunkenness or as an art/product of creativity.  The latter, of course.

If it has become socially taboo for a child to collect empty beer cans, while at the same time it is normative parenting to throw your kid in front of the tube all day with violent and dehumanizing video games while their muscles atrophy and bellies grow to obscene sizes, then our culture is out of balance and the times are a changin’ for the worse.

A day after reading the article in the Wall Street Journal, my almost seven year old son approached me in the kitchen.  He was holding three craft beer bottle caps in his hand.  Having snagged them at some point from the kitchen counter, he asked if he could add them to my collection of thousands of beer caps.  He beamed with pride as he threw them in.  He then dug his hands though the bucket and pointed out a few that he enjoyed.  Before he left the room he said, “Dad, that’s OUR beer bottle collection now.”  Gulp.  Lump in throat. He’s right…it is ours!

Moms, dads…unplug the TV and give your kid an empty beer can.

<!–adsensestart–>