Whatever happened to those wonderful days when naptime was mandatory, juice and crackers were a classroom staples and going to school required only a lunchbox? Where went the homework that was really crossword puzzles, word searches and "new math"? At the risk of sounding Barney-esque, when did we begin to exist outside of our imaginations? When did it become a stigma to have invisible friends, or to believe in cooties? Worst of all, when did what-I-did-for-my-summer-vacation "essays" cease to exist? Well, I am reviving that timeless tradition, with a twist.This summer, I was a counselor for incoming ninth graders at a sleep-away camp. I had the pleasure of observing the kids' rambunctious ways, and the unfortunate duty of reprimanding them when they crossed the lines put in place by The Man, as personified by my fellow counselors and me. It was a horrible way to make a living. This was the campers' last summer before the burdens of high school slap the unsuspecting lads across the face.

My experiences with the kids led me to one conclusion. Structured education is the killer of childhood. Grades move forward numerically; nine is a higher number than four. Therefore, in the flawed system we all conform to, ninth grade must be better than fourth. In seventh grade, I couldn't wait to get into eighth; instead of enjoying the year (as much as one can enjoy junior high), I concentrated on the ever elusive future. Yet you can never reach that future, as once you reach it, it turns into the present, and slips out of your fingers like a greased pig.

My job made me realize something extremely important: our society is overly obsessive about the future. Since ninth grade, tenth for the lucky ones, we have been bombarded with questions about our future: "Where do you want to go to college?" Once we reach these institutions of higher education: "What do you want to major in?" Once answered: "What can you do with it?" or, "What do you want to do for a living?" To those of you concerned for my future, I must say this: Why should I worry? Why should I care? It's just bebopulation, and I got street savoir-faire.

That's right, I just quoted a Disney song. Fortunately, I emerged from the cocoon of summer as a butterfly with the mind of a caterpillar. Youthful in mind, youthful in energy, youthful in body. I am advocating for the cessation of preoccupation with the future. Concentrate on the present, and look fondly on the past. Be excited about the future, by all means, but don't worry about it. Que ser* ser*.

How can we ensure the success of my correct-temporal-thinking revolution, besides thinking of a better name? Everything comes down to you, the individual. It may sound absurd, but we must each force ourselves to think differently. Tell your family, friends, professors and guidance counselors to think of another topic for conversation. Spend about five minutes per day evaluating your life-not where you're going, but who you are as a person. Be spontaneous.

It is when we care too much about the future that we forget about the present. We work at jobs we do not enjoy, so we can earn more money, so we can buy more stuff. Yet at some point down the road to "success,", we lose track of what success actually is. I have yet to encounter a "wise man" whose basic tenets include something along the lines of "the happier man has more things than you."

If I get all bent up about what job I will have after college, or who my wife will be, or how many rooms my house will have, and then spend my life concentrating only on these goals, I will miss the random events and people life throws us. To paraphrase the well-known saying, life is about random. Tunnel vision, while good for concentration, still blocks half of the full view. So instead, I will just think "being a ____ would be fun, as long as I'm married to _____, and we live in ____". I will think that thought, and then go see what is on TV.

All this, from watching 14-year-old boys run amok for eight weeks.