On mid-afternoon game days at Coors Field here in Denver, I see lots of kids outside, walking down the street, on their way to the baseball game. In almost any group of children numbering more than 10, I am likely to see a kid with a mohawk.

Now, I mean no disrespect to the glorious ‘hawk. I love mohawks. I think they’re postively fantastic. I used to have one, briefly, when my hair actually existed on the crown of my head, so I could have a glorious line that extended the length of my skull. I think it is a cool style, and I thoroughly support anyone of thinking age having one.

But these kids, they’re likely set this way by their parents, young parents, my age, who think the mohawk is cool. And they are completely correct, as I said. But I remember being that age. The one thing you wanted, more than anything else, was to fit in.

Wearing shirts dedicated to bands that were popular for your parents was one way of standing out as a freak. Dyed hair. Mohawks. Fashions no longer “in.” Those kids were the ones that were mercilessly mocked by the rest of the little brats running around with their Osh Kosh B’gosh overalls and Keds sneakers. Sometimes, we had no choice but to wear what our parents told us to wear–Neil Diamond concert shirts, red couduroy bell bottoms, snazzy woolen vests. And on the way to the bus, or in the car being driven by your mother, you felt safe and cool and loved.

Parents: Your children are not tiny adults. Let them fit in for a little while. Standing out, when you’re 10, doesn’t feel as good as it does when you’re 25.