I was a kindergartener in 1991. I remember one day we had a guest speaker who taught us how to make applesauce. They then gave us apples and knives and had us peel the apples. These knives were sharp enough to cut our fingers, and I remember the kindergarteners line up at the sink because the teacher had reminded us that if we cut our hands, we should wash them so that they don’t get infected.
They are inside watching Nancy Grace talk about an abducted child.
And I have to say, this is the most depressing thread I have read in a long time. Our society is really screwed up. The media is to blame, of course, and they do it intentionally. The whole purpose of the local TV news, and misery pimps like Nancy Grace, is to get everyone to be so afraid of going outside that they sit in their homes and watch more television, popping out only occasionally to consume what they are told by the advertisers paying the bills.
I went to Chuck E. Cheese a few years ago with my friend and his kid. Do you know they photograph every kid with their parent and won’t let you out of the place until you produce that photo to prove you are leaving with the same kid you came in with? Astounding.
And it is only getting worse. We are living in an increasingly draconian police state, and nobody feels safe any more. And all this is because of what? The ease with which electronic news media can sensationalize incidents that are just as rare as ever.
It is at the point where when one single parent actually allows their kid a degree of freedom that ALL kids used to enjoy, the whole nation wags a finger.
I was taking public transit around Chicago all the time at the same age, as were my peers. Nothing ever happened to any of us.
Is it any wonder that we have an entire generation of whining self-entitled people who never grew up entering the workforce? We have bubble wrapped the kids, and they can’t take a fall any more.
In elementary school, 3rd and 4th grade, my friends and I used to draw pictures of guns, violence, gore, Nazis (there were books in the classroom about World War II and Nazi Germany), etc, non-stop. At recess we would play “war” every day (one side was usually either Nazis.) Sometimes we even wore camo fatigues we bought at the Army surplus store to school. We never got into any kind of trouble, and this was a Quaker school (!) we’re talking about.
I’m sure the teachers (a husband-and-wife team, Quakers and former Peace Corps volunteers) would have preferred that our interests were less militaristic, but they were very wise and reasonable people and I think they just accepted the fact that young boys generally go through a phase of being fascinated with violence and war at a certain age and that it was just nature running its course or whatever. I think they also probably realized that if they were to try to put a stop to our war-games, it would just make us want to do them more. Sometimes we got warnings if we were getting too rough at recess, but nothing more than that.
Nowadays kids doing that stuff at that age would be immediately suspended, sent to psychiatrists, given a million tests, labeled “at-risk” or whatever, and be stigmatized as future killers. Back then I think it was just considered normal behavior for boys.
We didn’t have swings at my school because the principal thought them to dangerous. We did have the steel Bucky-ball sphere where you would hang by your knees 10 feet over the concrete foundation however.
On the whole, I have to say things have changed for the better. I’m 40 years old. A few of my memories:
-
Both of my grandmothers were French-Canadian, which means in our family there was always a pot of bacon grease on the stove. Whenever you were done cooking bacon or roast pork or pork hocks (which was often), the grease got poured on the top. When you needed oil for cooking (or for spreading on bread, or deep-frying, or whatever) you’d scoop out however much you needed of the unrefrigerated, half-rancid grease to slather on your food. I should note that both my grandfathers died in their 50s.
-
Stores used to sell little black licorice candies in the shape of infants. These were called “nigger babies.” No kidding. Everyone, including the few black folks (there were two in the whole neighbourhood; I didn’t see my first black person until I was 6, and I thought he had burned himself) called them that. No one thought anything of it. Racism was completely casual and normal. Seriously, if you doubt me, Google “nigger babies.” It’s apparently a Canadian phenomenon.
-
Today even using the term “retarded” will get you frowned at. The apopriate term is “developmentally delayed.” Back in the bad old days, we didn’t use “retarded” or “developmentally delayed,” the term was “Mongoloid,” which is both insulting AND racist.
-
People beat each other up, constantly. I doubt I had an entire week go by before the age of 16 without at least one fistfight. If I came home with a black eye or a fat lip or a loose tooth, my father would ask, “Did you get a good one in?” If I said no, then he’d reply, “Then I have no sympathy,” and he’s turn on his heel and walk away. Adults didn’t break up fights, they’d just offer encouragement to the smaller guy and make sure the fight stayed fair.
-
The neighbourhood game all the kids played involved Benji Fortus. Benji was the biggest kid in the neighbourhood, both in terms of height and girth. The idea was to get as close as you dared to Benji Fortus and shout: “BENJI FAT-ASS! BENJI FAT-ASS!” Then you’d run. Sometimes you got the Benji, but more often the Benji got you. He’d hand you a beating and then hang you by the back of your jacket to the top of a chain link fence, where you’d dangle, bruised and bloody, until a kind grown-up wandered by to help you down.
-
Every morning before class in public school, we would be forced to sing “O Canada” (in English and French) and “God Save the Queen” (in English). Then we’d say the Lord’s Prayer and have a reading from the Bible. It would go in rotation and each student was expected to prepare the reading the night before when it was her or his turn. Sikhs, Muslims, Jews, everyone had to do it unless you got a note from your parents, in which case you had to stand outside the classroom until we had finished. Atheists didn’t officially exist.
-
From Popeye candy cigarettes to licorice pipes to Big League Chew, candy tobacco was marketed directly at children – and no one cared.
-
The hottest toy for kids was a little plastic maze with a drop of mercury inside it. We’d break open the case and play with the mercury, scooting it around on classroom desks.
-
LED watches. Nuff said.
Not enough said. What about LED watches?
You had to use one hand to reach over and depress the button to make the little numbers light up. Seriously.
My mom was horribly overprotective. That being said…
Left to my own devices at a racetrack every other weekend while my parents either raced, manned the corners, or got drunk. Probably from about 7 on.
Gone all day in the summer.
Helping cut and split firewood from about 7 on. Including but not limited to chainsaws, hydraulic log splitters, and riding on top of the heaped wood pile on the back of the truck going 70mph down the highway from Wisconsin to Minnesota-about 15 miles.
Driving up to visit the rellies, and my dad would let me drive the old stick pickup from about 11 on.
Minibikes, go carts, boats driven since about 5.
BB gun wars.
Running the table saw, jigsaw, bandsaw, etc from about 8 on.
I guess it’s no wonder that this little girl ended up running a construction company.
I make my kids get strapped in the car, but I let them get on roofs…
It also couldn’t be seen in anything but darkness. Even a bright room made it impossible to see. So some of the watches came with a little shield, like the eyepiece from binoculars, so you could hold your face against the watch and press a button when you wanted to know the time. So much more advanced than just looking at clock hands. Science!
I had an LED watch in the '70s. It worked fine in normal room light, no shield or eyepiece.
Nothing new to add, really, just confirmation. Born in '65, and:
From about 6 yrs old on, during the summer, we (meaning all the kids in the neighborhood) were pretty much fed and sent “out to play” until dinner. We’d come back in to eat lunch (at someone’s house:D) and go back out until dark. We got up to all sorts of stuff, but never much trouble.
For one, we all hung out together, so we sort of watched out for one another and had anything happened, we would have been able to get help. For another, every adult sort of watched out for every kid…“sort of” being key…nothing close to actual supervision as defined today, lol, but enough so that if we got up to any mischief, SOMEONE would see and call our parents. Adults didn’t have any qualms about disciplining other people’s kids or at least telling on them. It comes down to knowing your neighbors, something that is less common in may places today it seems.
Also was sent to the corner store to buy cigs for people, from age 6 or 8.
No car seats or seat belts. (I once saw a Good Housekeeping parenting book from the 50’s which actually advised parents to lay a blanket down in the back seat and toss in toys so kids could have a play area on long road trips…the illustration showed an INFANT!:p)
Left in the car while mom went into the store all the time.
Smoking allowed/done everywhere, all the time. Yup.
Spanked with belts. Yep. (not too often, but still)
Paddled in school. (BTW, in Texas, for instance, paddling is still legal, or was until very recently)
Smoking area in my Jr High school.
Left alone at night while mom worked sometimes, from about 7 or 8 yrs old.
Walked to school, usually with other kids, often a few miles (in one place, it was a few miles to the BUS STOP, and we walked it in rain, shine, and snow). This one isn’t unthinkable today, really…my own kids walk to school, but it’s not as far and back then, seemed we could dawdle for a few hrs after school and no-one got frantic.
And the can of grease…was (and still IS, in some kitchens) ubiquitous. My grandmother always kept one, draining any hot fat from meats she cooked and using the collected renderings to cook with instead of crisco or oil.
My daughter (9) is out and about a lot in our complex, and has more freedom than many kids I know, but nowhere near as much as I did at her age. I at least CHECK on her from time to time and make sure I know where she is/with whom…my mom (who was actually considered “overprotective” by some!) would let me go out and be gone for HOURS at a time w/o knowing where I was or with whom.
I agree that there have always been dangers and that it’s no more dangerous now than ever, but I think there’s a middle ground between some of the relaxed standards of then and the often paranoid ones of now.
I worked in a Mr. Bulky bulk candy/nut shop in 1993 in Indiana (when it was a franchised chain instead of independent stores), and routinely had older customers ask for “nigger babies” as well. Kind of a shock to a naive 15-year-old to hear that term for the first time, and disheartening to hear it every few days after.
“Hi, is here anything I could help you find?”
“Yeah, where’re the nigger babies?”
“Excuse me?”
“Nigger babies! Y’know, nigger babies!”
“…”
“They’re licorice, look like babies!”
“We call them licorice babies, sir, they’re over here.”
Also got to hear the alternate name for Brazil nuts, mentioned earlier in this thread. Only people who ever used either racist name were elderly people who were bused to the mall from a local nursing home, so I’d imagine the name has mostly died out locally. Thankfully.
Anyone remember when the cherry-flavored sister candy to Ferrara Pan’s Lemonheads were sold as “Cherry Clan,” represented by conical-rice-hat-wearing cherries with slanted eyes? Yeah, that one’s best left in the past as well.
My parents sent me a block to buy Luckys or Pall Malls. We used a cigarette machine . Put a quarter in and there were 3 pennies in the celophane package. The drug store sold nickel phosphates and penny candy.
We had a milk man who delivered glass quarts of milk. We had an orange juice man . We had a man who delivered coal into the coal chute ,which was a noisy operation.
The "sheenie man " would dcome through the allieys on a sad looking old horse ooking for stuff to take. If you saved aluminum foil in a ball .he would give you a nickel for it
A guy would come through the neighborhood with a pony in Western gear, and take pictures of kids sitting on the pony for money. Anotherguy would come through the neighborhood with a pedal operated grinder and sharpen knives and scissors.
It’s even worse than that, this trend is downright dangerous. Studies have shown (no cite handy – I think it was cited in the Atlantic Monthly about a year ago) that increasing road signage (warnings and instructions on turning lanes, etc., etc.) has led to MORE accidents, because drivers are now trained to not think for themselves. They are LESS aware of their surroundings, because they’ve learned to depend on signage, etc. to clue them in.
IMHO, this idea can be extended to realms beyond just driving, including many of the childhood-protective behaviors mentioned in this thread. How can you deal with the inevitable dangers, challenges, and decisions in life if you’re so overprotected?
And still a Mexican one, sort of. Go into any grocery store in the country, and you’ll find a chocolate candy bar called “Negrito” (“little black person”), with an illustration of a child with a big afro. “Negrito” (to a Spanish speaker) isn’t quite as insulting as “n*****” is (to an English one), but it’s not too far off, and anything of the kind would be unthinkable here in the U.S.
I remember a neighborhood outing where at least 10 kids piled into the back of a big station wagon…no seatbelts…hell, there were no seats. The back window was wide open and there were a few parents riding along in the front and middle seats.
I was about 14 before I’d ever worn a seatbelt (I’m 35 now and even in my older car which is exempt from seatbelt laws, I always wear one).
Is this frowned upon these days? I’m not sure how things work with campers, and the seatbelt laws.
Every parent had that instinct. That’s what kept the unbelted child in the passenger seat from hitting the sharp metal dashboard.
When I was about 13, I decided I wanted to smoke, so I rode my bike up to the donut shop and hung around the parking lot for about an hour waiting for all of the customers to leave…there were several narrow windows of time when there was no customers in the place and that’s when the counter girls would disappear into the back of the store. I ran in and fed $1.25 into the cigarette machine, grabbed a random handle and pulled (Salem Lights I believe) and hauled ass. Even so, I was sure someone had seen me and that my mother would’ve received a phone call by the time I got home.
I still remember my joy when I discovered, as a child, that the “matches” button on the cigarette machine didn’t cost a thing and delivered its product with a shiverishly exciting, mechanical “whirr.”
40 years old here.
Not much to add that hasn’t already been mentioned, except an incident that happened in Jr. High (81 or 82). The gym teacher was demonstrating wrestling moves. He puts 13-year-old Patrick in an arm lock. Patrick’s right collarbone audibly snaps. Oops, send him off to the nurse. Let’s try this again. Jimmy gets to be the crash-test-dummy this time. Another broken collarbone. All in about 15 minutes. Luckily, time was running out for the class and no other wrestling instruction was attempted. There was no investigation, the teacher was not counseled or disciplined; as a matter of fact no one ever mentioned it again the rest of the school year. Can you imagine that today?
Also, I graduated from HS in 86, and all this talk of a smoking area for students has me quite stunned. Isn’t that what the restroom was for?
As far as how I’m raising my kids (9 y/o girl, 7 y/o boy): we have no video game system and no plan to get one (they would have to fight me for it anyway); they can play outside with the other neighborhood kids until dark (mostly unsupervised) as long as they don’t leave our block; and they can fight each other until they get on my nerves, then it has to stop.
Last night, my daughter came out of her room in her pajamas (tank top and shorts), and my wife said, “If anybody asks her about all those bruises and brush-burns, I hope she tells them that she plays softball and rides her bike a lot.” To which my son, not to be outdone, says, “Look at my war-leg!” as he proudly displayed the huge patch of road-rash and bruises that is covering his entire left leg (bike-riding incident). It’s sad that we have to worry about appearances just because we have active kids.
When my kids discover a new dangerous thing that was common in my childhood (what?? No seatbelts? No helmets?), I always tell them that people had bigger families back then, because we knew not all the kids were going to make it.
I always have mixed feelings about conversations like this. I like today better. Honest. My parents? Metis man and a Polish woman? Huge deal for a mixed marriage in 1961. My marriage? Not a word when I said my vows to my nice, tall, blond blue-eyed husband. The nerve of a woman of colour like me. Thinking I can marry who I like. Huh.
I’ve known some paramedics in my time, who usually appreciate the seat belt laws. They hate scraping the jam off of the windshield that used to be somebody’s kid.
Residential school. Beatings. “Funny uncles”. Life could be pretty brutal. My siblings were beaten and no one said a word, because it was so much more socially acceptable, and people kept to their own.
Having said all that…
I think parents tend to hover too much nowadays. The world is safer than EVER. Let them live a little. Nothings 100% safe, nothing ever will be. But it’s hard to learn and grow when you’re tethered to your parents 24/7, and covered in bubble wrap.
Just my two cents.