Mark Pavilons
We survived 'the simple life'

All together now. Hands up if you were a child of the 1940s through 1970s. Okay, so you lived to talk about it, did you?

Imagine that.

I survived the '60s, '70s, '80s, '90s and '00s and I'm still here, writing about my experiences.

Dumb luck or genetics? Good breeding or a relatively simple lifestyle? A less poisoned planet, less automobiles and less chemicals.

Yes, we survived, with rabbit ears and black and white TV sets. We survived chores - doing dishes by hand, cutting the grass, taking out the trash and cleaning our rooms. Our reward? We got that day's approval from our parents and that was good enough for us.

Our loving mothers, without the benefit of classes, textbooks and TV medical dramas, raised us the best they knew how. They continued to drink alcohol and smoke while pregnant; didn't get tested for many diseases prevalent today, and took us home in their laps, in the front seats of the big Buicks or Pontiacs. Child car seats weren't even invented, let alone mandatory.

If we were lucky, we had brightly painted rooms (albeit with lead-based paints) and slept in secondhand cribs on wheels. We were laid to rest on our tummies and left alone for hours on end.

Our moms washed cloth diapers several times a day and we likely ran around in our saggy drawers, getting into all kinds of mischief. Toddlers like me found a great deal of pleasure playing with wooden spoons, banging on pots and pans on the kitchen floor. Those cupboards didn't have locks on them, so I was free to explore. No bouncy chairs, no baby gates to keep me in! I ran around, bumped into walls and fell more than a few times.

Last time I checked, my noggin was still fine and my gray matter works just fine, thank you.

Running and playing with neighbourhood kids was our main pastime. Pickup baseball or soccer. Trying to build a treehouse and then all falling from that same unstable structure occurred on a typical sunny Saturday afternoon, blocks from our house. A treat was riding on another's handle bars or in the back of a pickup truck.

We drank water from any hose we could find and shared everything from gum to popsicles. I don't recall anyone ever dying or getting sick from these endeavors.

We ate when we stopped playing, realizing it was past lunch time. We gobbled up cupcakes, white bread by the handful and anything deep fried. Overweight and out of shape? Not on your life. We were always busy. The only kids who stayed inside watching TV were either sick, frail or dying. We didn't have video games, cable TV, CDs, DVDs or anything that required more than 2 batteries.

We often left home in the morning and didn't come back until after the streetlights came on. Our parents were never able to reach us all day long, and I don't recall it ever being a problem or concern. We were all okay. We had friends, lots of them, from our street and the next one over. We walked to a friend's house and literally let ourselves in. We knew their brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers and they knew us equally well. But we were polite, and said "please, thank you, yes sir," lest we be branded a hobo. If we were short a few players for our game, we invited any kid who walked by to join right in.

All right, I got my foot stuck in my bicycle chain that required a few adults and some tools to remedy. And I was hit by a car, but it was right in front of my house and all I got was a bump on the skull. The driver apologized, offer to buy my an ice cream and then promptly left. No police, no brawl, no lawsuit.

We would try to build our own go-karts out of scrap parts - bits of bicycles, buggies, shopping carts and wheels from dad's lawnmower. We were proud the thing lasted for one test drive, even though we neglected to include brakes! The hero of the day was the driver who got the most cuts and bruises or who had the most impressive crash!

Our makeshift parachutes never worked properly and so we fell - off our bikes, out of trees, off the roof of the garage, and out of these home-made cars. We broke bones, lost a tooth here and there and sported some really nifty bruises, marks we proudly showed off at school.

We dared one another to eat worms - or worse - and we actually did it! Tastes like cold chicken.

Boys were given BB guns for their birthdays and we played cowboys and Indians with cap guns and pointed sticks. Sure, we were told to be careful so we wouldn't put out an eye or two. And you know, I don't recall any loose eyeballs in our neighbourhood.

We caught snakes and we collected grasshoppers to feed to the praying mantis in the jar on the kitchen table.

We often learned the hard way. Bailing your kid out of jail? Unheard of. Breaking the law was very rare, and if a child strayed, the parents sided with the police!

If one of our neighbors fell on hard times, people would flock to their door with food and offers of assistance. We'd make sure they got help and got back on their feet again.

Many of us today don't even know our neighbours down the street.

I suppose congratulations are in order for anyone who fits the above description. Yes, we did it. We survived without cell phones, fax machines, motorized skateboards, new running shoes and debit cards. We even ate our veggies.

And those decades long past have produced some very good, decent folk (present company included). Sure, every generation has its share of inventors, scholars, lawyers and writers. It's just that some of us didn't expect so much and felt the world didn't owe us anything.

And now, as parents ourselves, life is very different. I don't see many treehouses in Bolton these days. Don't see any kids without a cell phone, either. We panic if our children were out of our sight for more than a couple of hours, and few preteens are allowed to walk to the store alone.

Our world is filling up with worry, doubt, rules, regulations and guidelines. Simplicity is a thing of the past. So, to, it seems is the simple life.