Psychology says people raised in the 1960s and 70s developed a specific kind of mental toughness that modern childhoods have made nearly impossible to build—not because those childhoods were better, but because they required children to solve problems before anyone arrived to solve them first

Remember when skinned knees were badges of honor and getting lost meant finding your own way home?

I've been thinking lately about how different childhood feels now compared to when I was raising my own kids in the 80s, and especially compared to my own upbringing.

There's something fascinating about the generation raised in the 60s and 70s: We developed a particular kind of grit that seems harder to cultivate today because we had to figure things out before anyone swooped in to save us.

I watched this shift happen during my years in the classroom.

The students I taught in the early 90s approached problems differently than those I taught before retiring.

The later ones waited for solutions; the earlier ones invented them.

The art of waiting built something unexpected

Psychologists explain that "a slower pace of life forced this generation to wait, helping them make decisions more calmly and maintain greater peace of mind."

Think about that for a moment: We couldn't Google answers or text someone for immediate help.

When the car broke down on a country road, you either figured it out or started walking; when you got bored during summer vacation, nobody scheduled activities for you - you invented your own games or stared at clouds until something interesting happened in your mind.

This forced patience taught us something profound about tolerating discomfort.

I remember spending entire afternoons as a child in Pennsylvania, sitting on our front porch with nothing but my thoughts and whatever drama the neighbors provided.

My sisters and I would make up elaborate stories about the people walking by, creating entire worlds from scraps of overheard conversation.

We learned to live inside our own minds comfortably, without constant external stimulation.

Today's children rarely experience true boredom or the need to wait without distraction.

Their discomfort gets solved before it fully forms.

While this might seem kinder, it removes opportunities to develop that quiet strength that comes from sitting with uncertainty.

When falling down was part of growing up

Have you ever noticed how different playgrounds look now compared to decades ago? Everything is rubberized, rounded, and lawyer-approved.

Back then, we played on equipment that would horrify today's safety inspectors - metal slides that burned your legs in summer, monkey bars that guaranteed blisters, and merry-go-rounds that taught physics through centrifugal force and occasional nausea.

Psychologists note that this generation experienced something crucial: "With less supervision and more real-world trial and error—falling down, getting lost, making mistakes—kids learned to: handle discomfort, solve problems without immediate help, avoid interpreting every negative feeling as danger."

I see this difference clearly when I think about raising my own children versus how kids are raised now.

When my son came home with a bloody knee, I'd clean it up and send him back outside.

These days, that same injury might trigger a family conference about playground safety.

We learned through direct experience that most problems weren't emergencies, that pain was temporary, and that we could handle more than we thought.

The imagination gap

What happens when children have hours of unstructured time and no screens to fill it? They create entire universes.

The Genius of Play found that "imaginative play helps children develop creativity and problem-solving skills by encouraging children's minds to wander through unstructured play."

Growing up as the youngest of four sisters meant I spent countless hours inventing games with whatever we could find.

A stick became a magic wand, a sword, a horse, or a fishing pole; sometimes all in the same afternoon.

We didn't have themed playsets or character costumes; we had cardboard boxes and unlimited possibility.

This kind of play required us to negotiate rules, resolve conflicts, and constantly adapt our stories when someone had a better idea.

Modern childhoods, packed with structured activities and predetermined outcomes, leave little room for this kind of creative problem-solving.

When every moment is planned and every toy has a specific purpose, where does imagination grow?

The hidden strength in having less

There's something about scarcity that builds resourcefulness.

When you couldn't buy a solution, you had to create one; when I was a single mother for fifteen years, this lesson became even clearer.

Limited resources meant unlimited creativity.

My kids learned to fix things rather than replace them, to make entertainment from everyday objects, and to find satisfaction in simple pleasures.

This generation grew up understanding that you couldn't always have what you wanted immediately.

We saved our allowance for months to buy something special, shared bedrooms, phones, and sometimes even clothes, and learned to negotiate, compromise, and make do.

These weren't hardships at the time, but they built a resilience that's hard to replicate in an age of abundance and instant gratification.

Why this matters now

Understanding this is about recognizing what we might be losing and finding ways to cultivate these qualities intentionally.

The mental toughness developed by that generation came from necessity, but knowing what created it helps us understand what modern children might need.

Can we create opportunities for children to solve problems independently? Can we resist the urge to immediately eliminate every discomfort? Can we allow for unstructured time where boredom leads to creativity?

These aren't easy questions in a world designed for constant engagement and immediate solutions.

Final thoughts

The mental toughness of the 60s and 70s generation wasn't built through better parenting or superior childhoods.

It emerged from gaps: The space between needing something and getting it, between facing a problem and finding help.

Those gaps, uncomfortable as they were, became the training ground for resilience.

While we can't and shouldn't recreate the past, understanding what those experiences built helps us think differently about the challenges we shield children from today.

Sometimes the kindest thing is standing back long enough to let them discover they can solve it themselves.