The State (i.e. governments large and small) can always find ways to stifle individuality, especially when that individuality manifests itself in young people. Here’s a recent example:
Bored and looking for something to do this summer, Danny Doherty hatched a plan to raise money for his brother’s hockey team by selling homemade ice cream.
But a few days after setting up a stand and serving up vanilla, shaved chocolate and fluffernutter to about 20 people, Danny’s family received a letter from the Norwood Board of Health ordering it shut down. Town officials had received a complaint and said that the 12-year-old’s scheme violated the Massachusetts Food Code, a state regulation.
No surprises there, this being Massachusetts. (My only question: who complained? Some goody-goody, or someone fronting for the local ice cream shop? Either way, they need a swift slap.)
Back in the late 1980s/early 1990s, I lived in in one of the Chicagoland suburbs — Palatine, a modest middle-class neighborhood of the kind that’s so Norman Rockwell it’s almost a caricature. And while my house itself was small, it sat on just over a quarter-acre, which meant a large lawn in the backyard. Said lawn took well over two hour to cut and edge, and in the short but warm, fecund Chicago summers, the grass grew quickly, meaning it had to be cut at least weekly; actually, I would cut it about five times a month. And it was a hot, sweaty business: Chicago’s summers can be sticky, especially when contrasted with its icy winters.
At that point I was working from home (long before it became the cool thing to do) because the company was based near Fort Lauderdale. And I really couldn’t afford to spend the time doing the lawn. Anyway, one afternoon I was just about to go out and cut the thing when the doorbell rang. When I opened it, there were two boys standing there, aged about ten.
“Cut your lawn for ten bucks?”
Hell, yes.
Whereupon these two little buggers (each had their own, okay, most likely Dad’s lawnmower) cut the lawn — good grief, they ran behind the mowers, and the grass was cut to almost professional standard in just about fifteen minutes. They didn’t do edging (“Our Dads won’t let us because they say it’s dangerous”) but that was really just a half-hour job, and easily done after 5 o’clock.
“See you again next week, boys?”
They actually sounded surprised. “You want us to come back?”
Hell, yes. And over the next couple years, I never cut my own lawn again. And nor did a lot of my neighbors, once I told them about these kids at the next block party. These boys made an absolute fortune, and worked their tails off.
And if the local council gauleiters had ever tried to stop these kids from earning some money from good, honest hard work, I do believe that the neighborhood dads would have burned down their offices. They didn’t interfere, of course, either because they never learned about these budding entrepreneurs or because they just ignored them (as they should).
Now I’m not suggesting that whenever Gummint does what they did to young Danny Doherty above, the neighborhood dads should torch their offices or tar and feather the bastards. That would be incitement, and I’m never going to do that no sirree not me not ever.
But I sure as hell wouldn’t try to stop those irate folks if they did. I would offer to hold their coats, however, just as a good neighbor should.
