Skinned Knees
by John O. Andersen

I'm looking at a picture from about 1925 of my Aunt Beverly and Uncle Glen. At the time Aunt Beverly was around seven years old and Uncle Glen perhaps four. What's unique about this photo is Aunt Beverly's skinned knee which features prominently between her white play dress with bloomers and knee-high socks.

As a child, Aunt Beverly had more than her share of scrapes and bruises. I 'm told that she was very adventuresome, full of energy and always in the thick of action.

Back in 1925, the Andersen children spent many hours playing in the streets. There was hardly any car traffic in the neighborhood, so the children were free to play capture-the-flag, kick-the-can, hide-and-go-seek, and a variety of other running games--the makings of many a skinned knee. Without television and only limited radio programs, outdoor play was a major part of their lives.

Skinned knees were no more desirable in those days than they are today. They are painful and to be avoided. However, avoiding them at the expense of losing a sense of adventure is perhaps more damaging than a cut or bruise.

There are adult versions of skinned knees or, in other words, temporary setbacks as a result of living adventurously. This could be financial struggles in order to get a fledgling business off the ground. It could be a season of Spartan living while learning a skill to enter a new field of work. It could mean loss of friends and community status as a result of switching from a boring job to one which may not pay as much, but is a gold mine by every other measure.

Many adults have such an overwhelming fear of such "scrapes and bruises" that they find it easier to just put their spirit of adventure in cold storage, and plod through life taking the safe route, never daring to try anything which could potentially skin their knees.

What is it about adulthood which causes so many to retreat to the presumed safety of following the herd? What happens to that certainty of childhood when we knew exactly what made us happy, and were able to create that happiness for ourselves? Why do so many adults so easily accept what others tell them will make them happy instead of trusting their instincts?

Maybe the answer lies in the fact that as we grow up, many of us accept the notion that happiness is less a state of being than a state of having and achieving. Getting straight A's, earning a college degree, landing a high-paying job, buying the dream home, or retiring early to a comfy and carefree existence-- all compete as candidates to supplant the uncontrived happiness we felt as children in our street games; happiness free of self-consciousness; the kind which makes the spine tingle, which entertains for hours on end, and makes almost no demands on how we dress, think, or present ourselves.

Immediately following college I became a military officer. On the whole it was a good choice for that stage in my life. Nevertheless, during my five years of active duty, I clearly recall many times feeling uneasy about the prospect of letting the military script my life for the next twenty to thirty years.

The group of officers to which I belonged often held meetings on the subject of career progression. One book we used had a cartoon depicting a young officer on the road to career success. Along the way there were milestones to pass, and signposted requirements to meet. The gist was that if you went through the steps as outlined, you too would be rewarded with regular promotions and ever increasing status (happiness?).

It was all so seamless, orderly, and pre-scripted. I just needed to put myself in the driver seat, step on the gas, and one day I too would partake in the promised rewards.

That formulaic script was a big part of what turned me off. And later, I tried again (this time in academia) to follow the pre-scripted road to success. Once again, it didn't feel right. It required me to give up too much of me, to suppress that spirit of adventure which I hoped still burned in my heart; that spirit which could drive me and keep me relatively oblivious to minor "scrapes and bruises."

Now as a husband and a father of two and as the sole breadwinner for my family, I know that adult responsibilities aren't to be taken lightly. And I don't go looking for scrapes and bruises either. But I like to believe that adult responsibility can coexist with an adventurous spirit. Just because I need to act like a grown-up at least some of the time, doesn't mean I need to be obsessed with safety and security all of the time.

Skinned knees on children are unavoidable by-products of living spontaneously, of exploring relentlessly, of believing in their creative abilities without being self-conscious, of having an innate sense of what is truly fun and following that sense without hesitation.

Adults who want to have that childlike approach to life will, no doubt, be required to pay with "skinned knees" as well. However, they may find that the price of an occasional "scrape" or "bruise" is a bargain when compared with the joy they will gain from being fully alive.

Copyright 1999, John O. Andersen. All communication should be sent to: editor at unconventionalideas dot com