Growing up meant mercurochrome on skinned knees, endless unsupervised summer days, and life lessons delivered without cushioning—experiences that would horrify today's parents but somehow forged an entire generation's grit.
Remember when a skinned knee was treated with mercurochrome and a "walk it off"? When summer days stretched endlessly without a single scheduled activity?
Those of us who came of age in the 60s and 70s lived through a peculiar brand of childhood that today's parents might find borderline neglectful, but we knew it as freedom mixed with life lessons that stuck.
I've been thinking about this lately, especially when I watch my grandchildren navigate their carefully orchestrated childhoods. The contrast is striking.
We weren't tougher back then, not really. But we did encounter certain moments that shaped us in ways that still echo through our adult lives, for better or worse.
1. Walking to school alone (in any weather)
Can you still feel that biting wind on your face during those February mornings? I walked nearly a mile to elementary school starting in first grade, and this wasn't unusual. Rain meant you got wet. Snow meant you trudged through it. There was no "drop-off line" of idling cars.
The independence this fostered was real, though looking back, so were the risks we simply accepted as normal. You learned to read the weather, time your departure, and figure out shortcuts.
You also learned that arriving at school with frozen fingers or soaked socks wasn't the end of the world. The radiators in the classroom would dry everything out by lunch.
2. Getting picked last for teams
Every recess, every gym class, the same ritual played out in schoolyards across America. Two captains, a dwindling line of kids, and that awful moment when you realized you were going to be chosen near the end. Again.
There was no adult intervention, no "everyone gets a trophy" philosophy to soften the blow. You stood there, trying to look casual while dying inside, learning a harsh lesson about social hierarchies and your place in them. Some kids used it as motivation to improve.
Others, like me, learned to find value in areas beyond athletics. Either way, you discovered something about resilience and self-worth that couldn't be taught any other way.
3. The long car ride with no entertainment
"Are we there yet?" wasn't just a cliché; it was the anthem of every family road trip. No iPads, no DVD players, not even Walkmans for most of us. Just miles of highway, AM radio if you were lucky, and whatever games you could invent with license plates and road signs.
Those hours taught us to daydream, to observe, to tolerate boredom without immediate relief. My sisters and I would create elaborate stories about the people in passing cars or play the alphabet game until someone inevitably accused someone else of cheating.
We learned to entertain ourselves with our imagination, a skill that seems almost quaint now.
4. Being sent outside until dinnertime
"Go play outside" wasn't a suggestion. It was a directive that meant you weren't coming back inside until you heard your name called for dinner, no matter what you found to do out there. No scheduled playdates, no supervised activities, just you and whatever kids happened to be around.
We built forts that would horrify today's safety inspectors, played games with rules we made up as we went along, and solved our own disputes without adult mediators.
When disagreements turned physical, as they sometimes did, we learned the immediate consequences of our actions. You figured out quickly who you could trust, who played fair, and how to navigate complex social dynamics without a grown-up referee.
5. Waiting your turn for the phone
One phone, usually attached to the kitchen wall, serving an entire household. If your older sister was talking to her boyfriend, you waited. And waited. There was no texting your friends while someone else used the phone, no private conversations in your bedroom.
This taught patience in a way that's hard to explain to someone who's never experienced it. But it also taught us to make our conversations count. When you finally got your turn, you knew exactly what you wanted to say because you'd been rehearsing it for the last half hour while glaring at your sibling.
6. The consequences of talking back
Discipline in the 60s and 70s was swift and unambiguous. Talk back to your mother? You might find yourself eating soap. Challenge your father's authority? You'd be sent to your room without dinner, and nobody was going to bring you a snack later.
Was it always fair? Absolutely not. Did it sometimes cross lines? Yes. But it also established clear boundaries and immediate consequences.
You learned to pick your battles carefully and to understand that actions had repercussions. The lesson wasn't always about right or wrong; sometimes it was simply about power dynamics and knowing when to keep your mouth shut.
7. Report cards as judgment day
Four times a year, you carried home that folded piece of paper that would determine your fate for the next few weeks. There were no online portals where parents could check grades daily, no constant communication between teachers and parents. That report card was the moment of truth.
The walk home on report card day taught you about accountability in its rawest form. Good grades meant freedom and maybe even rewards. Bad grades meant consequences you'd have to face alone. There was no helicopter parent arguing with the teacher about unfair grading. You owned those grades, good or bad.
8. The dinner table interrogation
Every evening, without fail, the family gathered around the dinner table. No eating in front of the TV, no grabbing something quick and heading to your room. You sat there while your parents asked about your day, and you better have something more substantial to say than "fine."
These dinners could be comforting rituals or anxiety-inducing trials, depending on what you'd done that day. But they taught us to articulate our experiences, to engage in conversation even when we didn't feel like it, and to be present with our family.
We learned to read the room, to gauge moods, and sometimes to strategically redirect conversations away from trouble spots.
Final thoughts
These moments weren't all character-building in positive ways. Some left scars, taught unhealthy coping mechanisms, or reinforced unfair systems. But they were universal experiences that shaped a generation's understanding of independence, consequences, and resilience.
When I look at how we raise children today, with their scheduled activities and constant supervision, I see both progress and loss. Yes, they're safer and often more confident.
But I wonder if they're missing something essential about figuring things out for themselves, about being uncomfortable and surviving it, about creating their own adventures from nothing but time and imagination. Those character-building moments of our youth, difficult as they were, gave us tools we've carried for decades.
