I’m a middle-aged man who, for the most part, has lived my life in a rural, small town setting. I have two children, one almost grown and one in the second grade. I have not had much personal exposure to violence, insolence and rebellion in school children.

Yet, I continue to read and hear about the horrific behavior exhibited by some young people in the school environment. Of shootings, blackmail, extortion, theft, threats, cheating, rape, mutiny, atrocities and anarchy. An endless string of teachers, administrators, politicians, counselors, police, social workers, single mothers, clergy and newscasters parade across the screen standing in front of the latest scene of some schoolhouse crime.

I am not so naive that I refused to believe my daughter when she would tell me matter of factly that she could buy all the illegal drugs she wanted if she chose to.

And, I remember a tragic incident from my high school days involving a classmate. Murder, a random act of insanity.

And, I acknowledge that bullies, jealousy, petty theft, cheating and pecking order jostling have always been a part of any social group. But differences between kids were not resolved with knives and guns.

We can place the blame on inflammatory movies, lax parenting, overcrowded schools, amoral role models in sports, politics and entertainment and/or lack of discipline.

But I think that rural, small-town folks in many cases are able to do a better job raising our kids. The reason lies in the adage, "It takes a village to raise a child." Over a period of years we in small communities get to know all the children. We know their parents. We see them in the grocery store, in church, at work, on the farm, at P.T.A. There are caring, involved parents who unobtrusively keep an eye on the whole flock of little chicks. They worry and they care, and it all helps.

On my plane ride back from Louisville, Kentucky and the National F.F.A. Convention this fall, I sat next to a frustrated college professor. He described to me the disrespectful, foul-mouthed, combative attitude some of his students displayed in class.

I thought of where I had just come from. I had spent four days in close contact, surrounded even, by a steady string of many of the 46,000 vocational agricultural high school students who had attended. I spoke individually with thousands of them.

Never once did I get called "pops" or "old man". Almost always I heard a please or thank you. I saw two earrings on boys, more ties and dresses than I’ve seen since my senior prom, and in four days I overheard one "hell".

It struck me that maybe we’re doin’ some things right out here in the sticks.