I also join the verses of meaningful youth pulses from previous generations.
Those seventies (70-79), which I experienced, were truly unforgettable. I remember Pržanj packed with kids, the playground full all the time. We often went to the nearby woods for sticks for bows and firecrackers. At home we made water mills and later fixed them on the stream. There we collected flint stones in the water, dried them, and sparked them at night in the room at home. In the forest behind Iskra Pržanj on a clearing, we often lit evening fires; the older ones cooled beer in the stream, while we collected everything roastable on the fire (potatoes, corn from the farmer, meat). By the glowing flame, the guitar with old foreign songs—Take me home country roads, and also domestic ones—always accompanied us. There were no limits to exuberance. We often pulled pranks (ball in window, fireworks in New Year's mailbox where the locked one opened for the neighbor, snowball in windows, burning rags on balcony from sparking firecrackers, modifying ponies into choppers with higher front forks, painting bikes all possible colors, cut yogurt cup with cloves between spokes so the bike became a motor). Picked fruit always tasted better than bought. In winter we went sledding first with sleds, then modifications, unaware we had made a real bobsled—wheee, it flew. In the forest we made a real 15m run-up jump ramp and bob track from the top of Gradišče 439m for sleds. Later an American family with two twin brothers moved to Pržanj. They brought chopper bikes with center gears in the middle of the frame, like in a car—what a sensation! The two slightly older ones to us younger just said: Touja, zabou tamau! We often went to the nearby garage-size shop to buy candies (herba, 505 with line, kiki, green Swiss with cross); the older ones sent us for their drinks and cigarettes. If there was no money, the lady at the cashier wrote it on credit in the notebook and added it next time.
Well, high school passed, two years of study, some work; now I'm counting down the last year when no more three will adorn the front digit. The human spirit ignores years, it is always the same; only through the human period does it absorb worldly structures, beliefs, and "knowledges" that bruise its last original natural impulses acquired at the birth of a pure child. May the DAY OF YOUTH be eternal and endless as the SPIRIT of the little human in its original form of CREATION.