Growing up in the 60s and 70s was truly a gift to those of us who did. The life we led as kids was actually pure freedom. We had bacon and eggs, sometimes pancakes or waffles occasionally sausage. Always toast and butter and grape jelly or strawberry jam. We heard of the golden arches but still hadn’t seen any.

In the summer, the sun would shine bright in my bedroom window. If I was still asleep the sun would be in my eyes before 6. Up we would go running through the kitchen to grab toast and eggs, make a pile in the middle of one slice and smash the other slice on top and head outside to see if anyone else was up yet.

I lived in a very small town. Everyone knew everyone. In fact, often even as kids we know whose parents got home late last night. So, there was nothing private. Nearly everyone in town could see one of us kids and know which other kids would be following without even seeing the whole group.

Each day we would come up with some sort of plan. We would decide if we were building a bike ramp for jumping till we pretty much all ended up bloody and or crying. That was common. Of course, we all had to do the Evil Knievel jump.

There were days when we felt like fishing. We had a shallow lake in our town. It had lots of perch and bullheads. We could catch them pretty regularly. Back then, kids under 14 maybe 15 didn’t need a fishing license to fish. Should be that way still everywhere. Kids should fish free. There were some in my group that were on the low-income side of life. Of course, I had no idea of that at all. Only thing I know is those kids loved the fish we caught. We would catch them clean em and eat em right there. I wasn’t much for eating fish. But loved to help them fill the stringers. Often the fishing would stop after we ate them. Occasionally, we ended up in the water. Sometimes in our fruit of the looms. But mostly still in our shorts or jeans. Often the getting wet would stimulate the plan to go to the swimming pool. Everyone would be there. Again, everyone knew everyone. At the pool, there were girls to tease and push in and be ornery to. Mostly we were pretty inseparable. Without knowing it we were a ride or die brotherhood. Oh, we would scrap once in a while and someone would get a torn shirt or a bloody nose. Tomorrow we would be sharing a hot dog or building a go-cart together.

The supplies for a go-cart were three or four 2x4s, a broken lawn mower, a bag of 20b nails and hopefully a broken lawn chair or if we were lucky an old broken-down riding lawn mower seat. Four or five nails strategically nailed in the end of a 2x4 with a mower wheel in each corner for the wheels. Depending on the length of the center 2x4 main frame we would steer the front with our feet or with a rope held like horse reigns.  Front axle would be on a pivot in the middle. We’d nail the broken lawn chair to the center frame. The wheels would last a few mins to a few hours and the nails would give out. Then the search for some sort of metal axle that would survive the jump over the bike ramp we built yesterday.

Pure freedom to grow and learn and bleed and bond with our brotherhood. You know what, no seatbelts, no helmets, not even band aids for the most part. Those were mostly to try to keep from staining the new jeans. If the blood could drip on the clothes, then the band aid could be deployed.

Times were different. Mom and dad had work. There were no babysitters. There was always one or two neighborhood moms who would have a pretty good eye on us. The cool part is, pretty much the whole town was neighbors.

There were days we would decide to go hunting. Most of us had a Daisy and were pretty good with them. Not a robin in the yard was safe when the hunting party was on the prowl.

No kidding, there was always 3 of us most of the time more, up to seven when everyone showed up.

We would start walking toward the lake and go after whatever we could. Often the muskrats in the lake were in pretty big trouble. We would swim, push, crawl through the cattails to get closer to the water for shorter shots with the daisy. If we hit them for the most part they would just dive and just come up twenty yards away and keep swimming. Accidentally one of us hit one in the nose. That would injure them enough to swim to shore. We would then swarm with the Daisys and finish it. While this was not very successful, we did have limited success. One of the other boys would take the muskrat home and skin and stretch the fur. I don’t remember how many we ended up with but maybe three or four of them. One of the brothers sold one at the fur buyer. Seems like he got a couple bucks. I’m sure, looking back the fur was worthless and the fur buyer just made a little guy’s day by paying him.

The good part about back then. We literally would walk along a US highway to walk to the lake. Three to five youngsters all with BB guns and no adults, yet no one gave us trouble or called the cops or child services. I grew up in the Norman Rockwell painting of America. I cherish my memories and my life. I also know the blessing I had with busy parents and the freedom I had. Helicopter parents would have definitely caused me a difficult life.