If you grew up in the 60s and 70s with these 7 things, your childhood was richer than you realized

Picture this: kids today growing up with smartphones, tablets, and instant everything at their fingertips. Now contrast that with childhoods spent building forts in backyards, playing until the streetlights came on, and having to actually knock on doors to see if friends could play.

If you grew up in the 60s and 70s, you experienced something that feels almost mythical now. A childhood where boredom sparked creativity, where patience was learned through waiting, and where connections happened face to face, not through screens.

Looking back, those of us who lived through those decades might not have realized just how special those experiences were. We didn't have much by today's standards, but what we had shaped us in profound ways.

Growing up in Melbourne with my two brothers, our working-class family didn't have all the latest gadgets or toys. But reflecting on it now, especially through the lens of Eastern philosophy I've studied over the years, I see how those "limitations" were actually gifts in disguise.

Today, let's explore seven things that made those childhoods richer than we ever realized at the time.

1. Playing outside until dark

Remember when summer days felt endless? You'd leave the house after breakfast and wouldn't come back until dinner, or when the streetlights flickered on, whichever came first.

We built entire worlds in our neighborhoods. Every tree was a potential fort, every empty lot an adventure waiting to happen. There were no GPS trackers, no constant check-ins. Just pure, unstructured freedom to explore and create.

This wasn't just play. It was developing independence, problem-solving skills, and resilience. When you fell off your bike, you got back up. When you got lost, you figured out how to get home. These experiences taught us to trust ourselves in ways that constant supervision never could.

The research backs this up too. Studies show that unstructured outdoor play is crucial for developing executive function, creativity, and emotional regulation. We were literally building our brains while we built those tree houses.

2. Family dinners without distractions

In our house, dinner wasn't just about food. It was where ideas collided, stories were shared, and sometimes heated debates erupted about everything from local politics to the meaning of life.

There were no phones buzzing, no TV blaring in the background. Just conversation, sometimes uncomfortable silence, but always presence. My brothers and I learned to articulate our thoughts, defend our positions, and listen to different perspectives around that kitchen table.

This reminds me of something I explore in my book Hidden Secrets of Buddhism: How To Live With Maximum Impact and Minimum Ego. The Buddhist concept of mindful presence, of truly being where you are, was built into the fabric of daily life back then. We didn't call it mindfulness. We just called it dinner.

Those mealtime conversations shaped how I think and write today. They taught me that every opinion deserves to be heard, even if you disagree with it.

3. Waiting and anticipation

Want to hear your favorite song? Wait for it to come on the radio. Missed your TV show? Too bad, wait until the rerun. Want to talk to your friend? Walk to their house or wait until tomorrow at school.

Everything required patience. And you know what? That waiting made things sweeter.

The anticipation of Saturday morning cartoons, the excitement when your song finally played on the radio, the joy of finally getting that toy you'd been saving for months to buy. These experiences taught us that good things really do come to those who wait.

In our instant-gratification world, we've lost something valuable. The ability to delay gratification is linked to better life outcomes across the board, from academic success to relationship satisfaction. We learned this skill naturally, simply because we had no other choice.

4. Making our own entertainment

Bored? Figure it out yourself. That was basically the motto of childhood back then.

We didn't have hundreds of channels or endless apps. We had our imagination, some basic supplies, and time. Cardboard boxes became spaceships. Sticks became swords. The backyard became an unexplored jungle.

This forced creativity shaped problem-solving skills that no app or program could teach. When you have to make your own fun, you become resourceful. You learn to see possibilities where others see limitations.

I watch kids today with their structured activities and supervised playdates, and while those have value, they're missing that crucial element of self-directed discovery. We learned to be comfortable with ourselves, to generate our own joy from simple materials and big imaginations.

5. Limited choices that brought focus

Three TV channels. A handful of toys. One pair of good shoes. The limitation of choice wasn't a hardship; it was a hidden blessing.

When you have fewer options, you go deeper with what you have. You watched that same movie twenty times and noticed new details each viewing. You played with the same toys in a hundred different ways. You truly mastered that one video game because it was all you had.

This connects to something I've learned from Buddhist philosophy: the paradox of choice. Too many options can lead to anxiety, regret, and dissatisfaction. We didn't know it then, but growing up with fewer choices taught us to appreciate what we had rather than constantly wanting more.

6. Physical photo albums and real memories

Photos were special events. You had maybe 24 shots on a roll of film, and you wouldn't see the results for days or weeks. Every photo mattered.

Those physical albums became treasures. Flipping through them was an event, a journey through time that brought families together. The photos weren't perfect or filtered. They captured real moments, blurry and badly lit as they might be.

This scarcity made us more present in our actual experiences. We weren't viewing life through a lens, trying to capture every moment. We were living those moments fully.

In my book Hidden Secrets of Buddhism: How To Live With Maximum Impact and Minimum Ego, I discuss how being present is key to a fulfilling life. Back then, we had no choice but to be present.

7. Learning from failure without cushions

Failed a test? Deal with it. Didn't make the team? Figure out how to cope. Got in trouble? Face the consequences.

There were no participation trophies, no constant validation, no helicopter parents smoothing every rough edge. Failure was part of life, and learning to handle it was part of growing up.

This might sound harsh by today's standards, but it built resilience. We learned that failure wasn't the end of the world. It was information, a teacher, sometimes a redirect toward something better.

My parents, navigating their own financial challenges while raising three boys, showed us through example that setbacks were temporary if you kept working. That lesson has served me better than any success ever could.

Final words

If you grew up in the 60s and 70s, your childhood wasn't perfect. There were definitely things we'd change if we could go back. But those experiences, limitations and all, gave us tools that are increasingly rare today.

We learned patience in a world that demanded it. We found joy in simplicity because complexity wasn't an option. We developed deep connections because superficial ones weren't enough to sustain us.

These aren't just nostalgic memories. They're reminders of values worth preserving and perhaps rediscovering. In our rush toward progress and convenience, we might want to pause and ask what we're leaving behind.

Maybe the richness of those childhoods wasn't despite the limitations, but because of them. And maybe, just maybe, we can find ways to bring some of that richness forward, creating space for patience, creativity, and genuine connection in our increasingly connected but often disconnected world.