Did we have more fun than today’s kids? Or do we just remember having more fun?

A few days ago I was talking to my “big” sister (she’s in her late fifties; that’s big enough, isn’t it?) and we were remembering our favorite childhood experiences. We both agreed that playing whiffleball in our backyard was an all time favorite. Home plate was someone’s tee shirt and first base was the clothesline. (There was no second or third base—our backyard wasn’t big enough anyway.) All the kids on our block would gather at our house and play well into a summer’s evening, when we could no longer actually see the ball. It didn’t matter. We had fun trying to hit something that wasn’t visible.

Another great time was Halloween. When we were kids, we weren’t afraid of psychopaths trying to lure us into their houses or filling our candy bags with apples embedded with razor blades. In those days we operated under the belief that people were basically good to children. We lived in a small town in New England, and as long as we prowled the streets with other “ghouls,” our parents didn’t worry about where we went. In fact, part of the fun of Halloween night was seeing how many neighborhoods you could canvas in a two hour period. Unless you were a very little kid (under seven or thereabouts), you never walked with your parents. You traveled with your friends. There was great freedom on Halloween. As far as your little ghost legs could carry you determined the amount of loot you would ultimately collect.

In looking back, I’ve noticed one common denominator in all the remembered “fun.” The activities weren’t as important as the friends you did them with. And there were always lots of friends because every street and every neighborhood was teaming with kids. (That’s why it was called the Baby Boom.)

I’m a high school teacher now, and so I’m surrounded by children. Okay, high school kids aren’t exactly children, but they’re not that far removed from childhood. When I talk to my students about their fondest “little kid” memories, most of them stare at me with blank looks. They say they don’t remember further back than last week, or else what they do remember generally concerns some form of electronic game. The joy of exploring a new street with their friends, or just riding up and down the block together on their bikes, doesn’t seem to comprise any of their childhood memories. In fact, “discovery,” in the broadest sense of the word, doesn’t seem to factor into their memories at all.

I’m not saying that every childhood experience should be similar to the Boomer’s. Enough has been written about the insufferably smug attitude of Boomers claiming that their passages through life were somehow more important and memorable than any other generations’. But despite the lack of empirical evidence (how do you quantify “fun”?), I know that I did have more fun than today’s kids.

And I feel sorry for them. I’m pretty sure they’ll never try to hit a whiffleball in the dark.

Donald Gallinger is the author of The Master Planets.

View Donald Gallinger's Official Website Blog: http://www.donaldgallinger.com/dons-blog.html

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