At least we didn't blow ourselves up...

“Go outside and don’t come back until dinner!”

Believe it or not, that line adequately conveys what it was like to be a member of Generation X growing up in the 70’s and 80’s. It’s hard for those born after 1980 to understand the wild freedom of our childhoods. Our formative years were mostly unstructured and unscheduled. We had free rein to go and ‘find something to do’. In fact, that wasn't a request, it was a parental mandate.

And this was not an example of bad parenting or anything. This was a widely held societal and cultural norm. For me and my friends, our parent’s generally wanted us out of the house and out of the way…we didn't have play dates or after-school enrichment programs, we barely had practice for sports, we had no social media, nor did we have a ton of homework.

We had time, space, and the gift of boredom.

My hometown of Waco, TX had little to offer in terms of programmed activities for kids. But what we did have - as I have discussed before - was large sections of town that invited exploration and play, that became the stage for all sorts of trouble-making.

And we took full advantage. Being bored and having time allows you to start getting creative with how to spend the day. We would invent games, create new sports, ride our bikes across town - just because. And inevitably we would cross over into some stupid, dangerous, and hilariously bizarre activities that today would likely get us arrested or killed.

So here are some examples of how a few 13-15 year-old nerdy kids would entertain ourselves, inventing all kinds of trouble that influences my personality to this day:

Trespassing: The first step of curing boredom was walk over to a friend’s house to see if they could hang out. In my neighborhood, most of my core friends lived within a 3-4 square block area, and we traversed and cut through every single property within that zone. We’d shortcut the hell out of things - taking the fastest route no matter what lay in our path. Climbing fences, strolling through alleyways, marching down a random driveway, crawling through hedges were all standard practice.

And it wasn't just cutting through yards. We’d explore neighboring commercial buildings, climb through crawlspaces, investigate large pipes and storm sewers, flashlights showing the way. For the most part we didn’t conduct any “breaking” but we did a lot of “entering.” We simply went where we wanted to, without really thinking about it.

Technically all of it was illegal - trespassing and being in places we shouldn’t be. But somehow the neighbors accepted it or ignored it….or perhaps didn’t even know.

Biking: Before we had driver’s licenses, our bicycles were our lifeblood and we found numerous ways to turn a utilitarian tool into a vector of adventure. Of course the main thing was figuring out various stunts we could pull off, emulating Evel Kneivel. We would fashion ramps, jumps, and obstacle courses, flying over each other, see who could do the best spinout, etc. One favorite activity was to combine a bike with a skateboard, one rider on the bike pedaling like crazy while another rode the skateboard being pulled behind, connected via a rope. We learned a lot about centrifugal force in those days.

(I still bear a scar on my face from a bike wreck…attempting an overly ambitious jump on one of our homemade ramps. I nailed the jump, but then hit a patch of gravel and face-planted on the hot Texas asphalt.)

As we got a little older, we would use our bikes to escape our immediate neighborhood and ride across town. We would cross dangerous freeways and rocket through commercial parking lots - sometimes simply to go to a 7-11 for a slurpee. We’d end up miles away, much further than I think our parents intended us to go….ride to the mall, the park, wherever. In the days before bike lanes and dedicated paths, we were weaving through traffic, carving and zipping paths across the city. Recall the famous bike chase from the movie E.T.? That was exactly what it felt like.

A couple of times we also used our bikes to conduct jousts. More on that later…

Climbing: Our neighborhood was blessed with some amazing trees, particularly a handful of Magnolias that invited the climber. We’d spend hours up in the branches, seeing who could go the highest, building tree-forts and whatnot. And we really got up there - 30, 40 feet in the air. We were far beyond and rationale safety mindset.

And it wasn’t just trees. We’d climb buildings, get on rooftops (see Trespassing). Neighboring houses, industrial buildings, and any fence you could think of - we’d scale it. My own home had a balcony that we could climb up to, pulling ourselves up via an electrical conduit and relying on our sneakers to grip the brick walls. Descending homes out of second story windows was common practice, as was ‘borrowing’ a ladder to attempt another rooftop expedition.

To climb up and get on top. That was a goal unto itself. To my knowledge none of us ever had a serious fall…but it was close.

Power Tools: Several of us had garages with a healthy amount of scrap wood and power tools, and boredom often drew us into their spell. We built tons of things, wielding jigsaws and sanders, all without safety glasses, protective gear, or any training. We just figured shit out - unsupervised.

The most common construction project was to make swords and shields with loving care. We’d create our own Excalibur and a shield made of plywood, painted with our self-designed coat of arms. A couple of the more creative lads made maces or nunchucks.

Then, of course, we’d go medieval on each other in the front lawn, hacking away with wooden swords. In our more inspired days, we made lances and held a couple of jousts on our bikes. We weren’t totally stupid - we put some foam on the lances to soften the impact. But when you got ‘dismounted’ it still hurt like hell.

I give thanks that we never had access to a nail gun.

Projectiles: If we could throw, chuck, toss, shoot, or fling something - we did. Each Fall there were acorn wars, pelting one another relentlessly. (If you’ve never been pegged by a well flung acorn…let me tell you…it stings!) We’d throw rocks at just about anything - into the creek, at army men set up on a log, at squirrels, and of course at each other. When rocks got boring, we would craft dirt-clod weapons….pouring mud into Easter egg shells, letting them dry, and then - you guessed it - throwing them at each other.

Every couple of years someone would attempt make a bow and arrow, cutting and bending tree branches. The next logical step was to test it out on a younger sibling. There were a couple of attempts at building a catapult, and sling shots and hand-crafted bolas would often be deployed against your best friend. I personally broke at least two windows - one with a snowball and another with a golf ball, hit while playing a Par 3 on our home-made golf course.

After the movie Tron came out in 1982, we spent months hurling frisbees at each other in homage to the awesome disc-battles. In warmer months, water balloons took priority, unfortunately for unsuspecting drivers. At least once we pegged a moving car with a water ballon, causing the driver to swerve memorably. He got out at yelled at us. We ran away.

In retrospect, our neighborhood must of seemed like a war zone with all of the material flying through the air, and wounds peppering our arms and legs. Nobody lost an eye…which seems like a miracle.

Laser Tag: In 1986, Laser Tag was released and our lives were never the same. We bit hard and took the game way too seriously. We quickly adopted camouflage outfits and walkie talkies to gain tactical advantage. We wouldn’t just play in the house - we would delineate a 4-5 house war zone and play at night, trampling through the neighbors bushes, screaming in fury, chasing the opposing team into the street.

Imagine you are sitting at home, 9:30 at night. You look out your window and see a lanky shadow leaning against your house with what appears to be a large rifle, gesturing to other shadowy figures in the driveway.

It’s frankly astonishing that we didn’t give some grandmother a heart attack or get the police called on us.

Pyrotechnics: Fire and fireworks were another constant. As each 4th of July approached, we would mow a few extra lawns or do additional chores, trying to bank some money to purchase fireworks. Not for the 4th of July….no. We wanted them for the gunpowder. We were into making movies with our home videocameras, and special effects were a big part of the venture. We’d stockpile fireworks, only to then cut open the rockets and cherry-bombs to extract the gunpowder inside. The gunpowder came to good use in our films…blowing-up Star Wars figures in a stop-motion animation movie, or re-creating shrapnel and ricochets in our latest war epic. Our high-water mark was when we strapped a gunpowder-laden contraption to my friend Eric’s naked chest with ketchup packets taped on top. Then, with cameras rolling, we lit the explosive and filmed Eric’s imaginary gunshot demise, with ‘blood’ projecting outward in a red spray.

It didn’t work that well, and I think Eric had a bruise for a while after that.

But nothing can compete in terms of childhood lunacy than our fireballs. Someone had the idea to soak a tennis ball in gasoline for a couple of hours. Then, we took it out and lit it…and played soccer. We’d kick the flaming ball back and forth, puddles of gasoline dripping everywhere. How my garage did not burn down I will never understand.

The Burmese Tiger Trap: One particularly slow weekend day, me and a friend decided to dig a hole. No other goal than that. Just dig.

So we grabbed some shovels and went after it. Soon several others joined in, and after a few hours of work we had a nice, sizable hole about 4-5 feet deep. It was the width of a refrigerator, and we were quite proud. Inspired by Wile E. Coyote, we decided to convert it into a Burmese Tiger Trap. We carefully cut branches and sticks, framing them into a grid to cover the top and camouflaging it with leaves and dirt. We were sure that one of our younger brothers would fall in and be trapped.

It sort of worked. We did ‘catch’ Kevin, but it took some coaxing.

Then my father discovered what we had done, and made us fill in the hole, recognizing the potential liability of an unsupported cave-in hazard on his property.

So we did the logical thing. We first assembled a time capsule and then buried it at the bottom. It’s still there as far as I know.

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There was more, much more. It’s a wonder to me now how much of a compelling stew boredom, free time, and raw materials make. And how much danger we actually put ourselves in without really thinking about it.

I am fortunate in a number of ways. I am grateful that none of us ever did get exploded or fall out of a tree or shot or arrested.

And I recognize now the privilege embedded in my particular circumstances. If I had been Hispanic or Black and trespassed through my neighbors yard or playing Laser Tag at night….I would have likely been arrested, or worse. Especially in Waco, TX, a city not really known for progressive, equitable thinking.

I also had the benefit of living in a mostly safe neighborhood, where we had the luxury of being able to wander about and explore without a care in the world. And in case you haven’t figured it out - we were fairly geeky in our interests. I was fortunate to have fairly strait-laced friends. If my peer group had a darker edge, that time and boredom would of led us into some serious trouble.

Yet, I am still thankful for that I had such freedom. It forced us to be creative, to use our imaginations, and to make do with limited resources. Our parents - rightly or wrongly - gave us a long leash. And that was a gift that I cherish to this day.

As a parent myself, there were many times where I wanted to say to my kids “Just go outside. Go to the school playground and play.”

But times have changed, and it remains to be seen what the right balance is between responsible, managed, and dull play versus sweet, irresponsible, unsupervised chaos. Which is better - safety and certainty, or creativity and insanity?

I don’t know. But right now, I am going to go look for a shovel. Or maybe a tennis ball….

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Disclaimer:

All content and opinions are solely those of the author (Jack), and not representative of my employer, former employers, clients, anyone in Congress, my family, former college roommates, Baptists, the good citizens of Colorado, or my dog Mabel.