Safety is not the same now as when I was a child. People think more about safety now than they did a few decades ago. Parents today are more careful with their children than my mother and father were with me. Maybe today's parents are too safety conscious because most of the people my age made it to adulthood with no....only one....er a couple....aaa few, make that a large handful of mental problems.Tinker toys are basic building materials designed to stimulate a young child’s imagination; however, to a five year-old they look a lot like sharp sticks. I was much better at poking those potentially deadly sticks in to the arm of mom's couch than at building that near-impossible windmill. I had to choose whether to build that extremely detailed tinker toy car or just shove pointy rods into my mouth, nose, and ears. I am ashamed to say, I chose the later, simpler task. I was not yet in school and lacked wisdom. How was I to know that I would need a doctor to get a small red stick out my ear?
When I was still a young lad, dad bought me a punching bag and two pairs of boxing gloves! Those readers who have ever watched one of the 'Funny Video' programs on TV are way ahead of my narration. Yes, within a week, my tall, athletic, Navy Seal trained, father was being banged in the ear with my right hook because he was scrunched over holding another sensitive area where I landed a lucky left jab. Boxing Gloves; what was he thinking? Did nobody consider safety in the sixties?
I had a little red wagon made of real American steel with sharp edges, and weak wheels that could fly off while traveling at super speeds. Dad used to push me down this extremely steep hill to determine if I would steer straight and stay safe or tumble over into disaster. Yes, I believe my father loved me; no one was super safety conscious back then. I once ran over my little brother and cut his Achilles’ Tendon with the tongue of my wagon. Today the wagon tongues are made in China with reinforced rubber with a plastic coating. I don’t think I could hurt my brother with a new, modern wagon, so if it is not tremendously dangerous why would he or I want one!
By the time I was eleven, mom had given me both leather and wood burning kits. I’m not sure what mom, or the others from her generation, were thinking. They put into my hands two extremely hot; branding iron-type devises, and they assumed I would only use them on leather and wood! Did they not see the potential danger to my special little fingers or other valuable areas of skin around my body? Did they not fathom that I had little sister, a little brother, and a dog all waiting for their first hot burn marks from their misguided sibling and his new toys? I'm surprised my little brother and sister made it to their twentys before he got a tattoo from a professional. With that wood burning kit I should have fixed him up quicker and cheaper. Did they not know that with this much fire power I could burn down the whole house by searing a phonebook, wall or couch?
When my daughter was born we bought a plastic attachment for the ironing board that would keep the hot iron and the attached cord out of her reach. I felt I needed to keep my daughter and her tiny fingers safe. My mom just mentioned, "That hot iron will hurt you; don't touch it!" Did mom not realize that that I did not yet consider her all-wise and that I would have to test her knowledge. My right index finger soon learned that parents can sometimes be correct, and irons can get extremely hot.
The vac-u-form machine I got for my ninth birthday got even hotter than the iron. This machine would get hot enough to melt a plastic airplane and remold it into a plastic bug. Ten minutes later I could make the bug into a car and later back into an airplane again. My parents even left me alone with this toy. Did none of the adults in charge back then, either in my loving home, down the street, or at Mattel Toys, realize how hot a temperature it takes to mold plastic? Dad simply warned me, "Try not to touch the hot parts or the new toys until they start to cool." ‘Right dad, want to see the blisters, I think they might still visible on my hands if you search carefully!’ I did have fun with those blisters.
All the cabinets my children could get into were locked with cute little plastic clips that made them difficult for me to open. I was worried about all the things that could happen when that contra ban came in contact with my children. My mother’s kitchen had no such locks, and I was allowed to play with what ever I could reach. Sure I ate some stuff that was not intended to be edible, and I hurt my hands on thins too heavy or dangerous for me to touch. However, that is what a childhood is all about.
Steal-tipped darts are not allowed in professional dart tournaments in my state. In today's tournaments, I throw darts with cute, little, safe, plastic tips. So why did I get a set of full metal, near death capable, steal tipped darts when I was ten years-old? Because my parents loved me, and I asked for them! That's why! I seemed to throw them at several areas that did not include a cork dartboard. I made a few holes in the baseboards and wall paper. Dad just said,”Be very careful with these!” Is it a mystery to my readers how my brother accidentally got his first ear lobe piercing? Mostly, It was my dumb little brother's fault. He failed to count to three, and went running toward the board after the second dart; just as I was releasing the third form my hand in the general direction the dart board. Little brother should have studied numbers more carefully in school. As a mathematics teacher I know those small math mistakes will come back to get a person every time.
My children’s first playground swing and slide set was locked into the ground with cables so it would be sturdy. It was impossible to tip-over. The soft dirt floor beneath was reinforced with a cork mixture that was considered a safe place in which to land or fall. Daddy put my swing set above the concrete sidewalk and some old, oak tree roots. One leg on the swing set rocked a foot off the ground whenever one of us kids could get the motion high and smooth. This possible deadly calamity must have been funny to my dad; as he laughed continually when we got that swing set dancing above the ground. Never mind the safety issues! School playgrounds were even worse. That cute little merry-go-round led to many a bloody face or sprained ankle at recess time. We even played on real monkey bars back then, no principal or lawyer was smart enough to realize that a student might not be safe hanging off a rough metal pipe nineteen feet in the air dangling over other metal pipes, hard dirt, and other students. My siblings and I were given bicycles, skateboards, scooters, pogo sticks, and roller skates.
I used to ride my bike down the street at break neck speeds. Little brother, Mike, would be sitting on the handle bars and little sister, Dorinda, holding on to my seat being drug beside my fender on her roller skates. Sometimes to keep down the boredom we would jump a curve in this special family formation. None of us felt any danger because we knew we were immortal. I have also bought these toys for my daughter and son. Since I consider them priceless and I want to be seen as a remarkable loving father, I also bought a hundred dollars of extraneous items that include: helmets, knee pads, elbow pads, shoulder pads, and gloves that are designed to protect my loved ones. I know how much an Emergency Room visit cost today. A modern hospital visit cost many times what it did in the sixties! Maybe the much higher cost of health care is the reason for all the safety in this decade. I would put my children in suits of amour if I thought they would wear them!
Times have changed! My new 2008 Ford Fusion has shatterproof glass, air bags, and automatic seat belts. Ford built in crumple zones in each of the four doors and under the hood and trunk. It came equipped with anti-lock breaks and several computers to maintain control in severe turning situations. It has a dash, seat backs, and a steering wheel that are all padded for extra safety. It even has a reinforced car top incase I flip it wheels up someday. Granddad started my driving lessons in a beautiful blue and silver 53 Chevy Bel Aire. It was huge and heavy. That car had none of those safety innovations. Back in the good-ole days safety was not a big concern. This car had only one major safety feature: a big steal bumper. That was all the safety anyone needed back then, and we turned out OK. (Well mostly!)
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