I wonder about the kids

Every so often I wonder how it's possible that people can raise children that don't turn into serial killers. We all have what seem like horror stories of when we were a kid, and if we listen to our parents stories they are a hundred times worse. "Walking to school 10 miles, in eight feet of snow, up hill, both ways... the snow was so deep, I had to carry my horse," and so on. So, how is it that we all survived? Although not all of us are perfectly intact, with some seriously bad stuff in our childhoods. Not mine, so much, the worst thing I had to deal with was growing up on a farm, doing farm chores as a teenager who wanted to do nothing but lay on his ass inside where it's warm.

I fight with my son to help do simple chores around the house, and it's like I've destroyed his life. Wow, how things have changed. I guess when I was his age, I fought tooth and nail not to have to go work with my dad, although the work was altogether different. I don't blame him, I guess, but I will still give him grief if he's unwilling to get off his butt and help me do a little work around the house.
It's not like he has to carry five-gallon pails full of water to the horses in the barn, in 30 below weather, or have to carry 100 pound greenfeed bales up to the loft of the barn or anything... or walk to the school bus, up hill, both ways.
Damn.