We're all... dead?

8 Reasons Children of the 1970s Should All Be Dead

On Jarts:

No one ever obeyed the actual manufacturer’s rules, we just flung these damn things everywhere. We threw them. They stuck where they landed. If they happened to land in your skull, well, then you should have moved.

Our parents were not "helicopters":

My mother routinely left me alone in the car at a young age while she ran errands. Today, this will literally get you arrested. You see, once upon a time it was okay to leave your kids for long periods without supervision (remember the so-called “latch-key kids” of the 70s?), or let them free roam without constant surveillance. Today, parents won’t let their kids go out to get the mail alone, and any fun with friends has to be scheduled, closely monitored “play dates”.

On summer break or weekends in the 1970s, parents kicked their kids out the front door and didn’t let them back in until the sun went down. “Go play,” were their only words, and you were left to your own devices for hours upon hours. Neighborhoods looked like Lord of the Flies.

Go read the list. If you're over the age of 40, every one of them will elicit a "yup" from you.

ADDENDUM: Thinking about the Jarts thing while I worked, I just remembered a game we used to play. My friends Lance, Stevie and I would take a Jart, throw it straight up in the air as hard as we could, then everyone would run and stand in a spot as close as possible to where we thought it was coming down. The guy to whom the Jart landed closest won. Now you might think that's crazy, but it developed valuable skills: spatial orientation, arm strength, and psychotic thrill-seeking -- all of which are very important raw ingredients for successfully making Marines. If you're curious, Stevie is an aerospace engineer with a master's degree in solid fuel propulsion systems (literally a rocket scientist), and Lance is a police detective. And we're not dead... yet.


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Hat-tip to Adam C.