My grandson asked me recently why his generation seems so stressed about things that wouldn’t have fazed us back in the day. I didn’t have a quick answer, but it got me thinking about what growing up in the 60s and 70s actually taught us.

I’m not here to say we’re better or that kids today have it easy. That’s nonsense. Every generation faces its own challenges. But there’s something to be said for the particular brand of resilience that came from growing up in those decades.

We learned to handle things differently because we had to. The world simply operated on different rules back then, and those rules shaped us in ways that still show up today.

1) Spending entire days unsupervised outdoors

I remember summer mornings when I was maybe eight or nine. My mother would push us out the door after breakfast with one instruction: be home when the streetlights come on. That was it. No cell phones, no check-ins, no GPS tracking our every move.

We’d roam the neighborhood for ten hours straight. We’d bike to the creek, build forts in abandoned lots, play in construction sites that would give modern parents heart attacks. We settled our own disputes, navigated our own problems, and figured out how to keep ourselves entertained without any adult intervention.

This taught us self-reliance in a way that’s hard to replicate. When something went wrong, we couldn’t call for help. We had to solve it ourselves or with other kids. You learned to assess risks, read situations, and trust your own judgment because there was nobody else to do it for you.

My grandchildren are rarely out of sight of an adult. I understand why, the world feels different now. But something is lost when kids don’t have that experience of complete autonomy, even with all its risks.

2) Dealing with physical consequences without intervention

Here’s something that wouldn’t fly today: when I got into a scuffle with another kid in fifth grade, the principal made us shake hands and sent us back to class. No counseling, no parent meetings, no incident reports. Just two boys working it out and moving on.

I’m not advocating for fighting, but there was something about facing immediate physical consequences that taught you about boundaries and conflict resolution. You learned quickly that actions had direct results. Mouth off to the wrong kid? You might get punched. Push someone too far? They’d push back.

We also dealt with physical injuries differently. I broke my arm falling out of a tree when I was twelve. My father took me to the emergency room, I got a cast, and that was that. No lawsuit against the property owner, no investigation into supervision. Just acceptance that kids get hurt sometimes when they’re being kids.

This bred a certain toughness about pain and consequences. We learned that the world doesn’t always cushion your fall, and that’s just how it is.

3) Having three TV channels and being bored out of our minds

Young people today can’t imagine true boredom. There’s always another video to watch, another game to play, another message to answer. But we had three channels, maybe four if you counted PBS, and they all signed off at midnight with the national anthem.

When nothing was on, you had to create your own entertainment. This forced creativity in ways that constant stimulation never does. We built things, invented games, taught ourselves skills just to have something to do.

I learned to play guitar at fifteen because I was bored on a Saturday afternoon and my older brother’s guitar was sitting in the corner. That boredom led to a lifelong hobby. My kids and grandkids never experience that kind of sustained, uncomfortable emptiness that forces you to generate your own meaning.

Boredom taught patience. It taught resourcefulness. It taught you that stimulation doesn’t come from outside, it comes from what you make of your circumstances.

4) Working genuinely dangerous jobs as teenagers

My first real job was at a factory when I was sixteen. I operated machinery that could have taken my fingers off if I wasn’t careful. Nobody asked about child labor laws or safety regulations beyond the bare minimum. You showed up, you learned fast, and you didn’t complain.

My younger brother worked on a farm that same summer. He was driving tractors and handling equipment that would terrify modern parents. Bob next door started in construction at fifteen, doing work that would require licenses and insurance today.

These jobs taught us that work is hard and sometimes dangerous. They taught us to pay attention, follow instructions precisely, and understand that carelessness has serious consequences. You grew up fast when your summer job included real risk.

The teenagers I see today often have their first jobs at eighteen or nineteen, and they’re mostly in retail or food service with extensive safety protocols. Not worse, just different. But we learned a particular kind of toughness from genuine physical labor and risk.

5) Experiencing real scarcity and making do with less

We grew up in houses with one bathroom for six people. We shared bedrooms with siblings until we left home. We got new clothes maybe twice a year, and they had to last. If your shoes wore out before it was time for new ones, you stuffed cardboard in them and kept going.

My family wasn’t poor, but we were working class. My father worked double shifts at the factory to keep us fed. My mother performed miracles with leftovers and stretched every dollar until it screamed. We knew that if something broke, it got fixed, not replaced.

This taught resourcefulness that’s hard to learn any other way. We didn’t throw things away easily because we knew the value of what we had. We fixed, we improvised, we made things last. Those skills stick with you. Even now, with comfortable retirement savings, I still repair things instead of replacing them.

Scarcity teaches appreciation. When you don’t have much, you value what you do have in ways that abundance never requires.

6) Living without immediate access to information or help

If you wanted to know something, you had to figure it out yourself or go to the library. No Google, no YouTube tutorials, no online forums where someone could walk you through it step by step.

I remember trying to fix my first car with nothing but a Chilton manual and stubborn determination. It took me three weekends to replace a carburetor because I had to puzzle through every step without being able to look up a video or call someone for advice. You couldn’t just text your dad a question, you had to wait until you saw him.

This built problem-solving skills and tolerance for frustration. You learned to sit with not knowing, to try things that might not work, to figure it out through trial and error. You learned that confusion and difficulty are just part of the process, not emergencies requiring immediate resolution.

My grandchildren can find the answer to almost anything in seconds. It’s amazing, but I wonder what they lose by never having to sit with a problem for days until they crack it themselves.

7) Facing real social rejection without digital escape

If you were unpopular or awkward or just didn’t fit in, there was no escape. You had to face those same kids every single day at school, in the neighborhood, at church. There was no online community where you could find your people. You either learned to navigate social dynamics or you suffered through them.

I wasn’t particularly popular in middle school. I was skinny, awkward, and not great at sports. But I had to show up every day and figure out how to survive socially. There was no alternative. You couldn’t retreat to your room and find acceptance online.

This forced social skills in a way that’s uncomfortable but effective. You learned to read people, to adapt, to find your niche even if it wasn’t ideal. You developed thick skin because you had to. The bullying and rejection hurt, absolutely, but you learned to function despite it because there was no other option.

I’m not saying the old way was better. The kids who really struggled probably suffered more than they would today. But most of us learned resilience through social friction that you can’t avoid in person the way you can online.

8) Dealing with authority figures who had absolute power

Teachers could paddle you. Coaches could make you run until you threw up. Your boss could fire you for any reason or no reason at all. Police officers were figures of absolute authority who you didn’t question. Your parents’ word was law, and there was no appealing to a higher power.

This wasn’t always fair, and I’m glad some of these dynamics have changed. But it taught us to function within hierarchies we couldn’t control. You learned to keep your mouth shut when necessary, to follow rules you disagreed with, to navigate systems that had no interest in your input or feelings.

When I started at the insurance company, my first boss was a tyrant. He criticized everything, played favorites, and made unreasonable demands. But you couldn’t go to HR and complain about your feelings being hurt. You either learned to work with him or you quit. Most of us learned.

That experience prepared me for 35 years in corporate environments where fairness wasn’t guaranteed and authority wasn’t always rational. You developed strategies for surviving imperfect systems because opting out wasn’t realistic.

9) Growing up without constant emotional validation

Nobody asked how we were feeling about things. Nobody checked in on our emotional state or validated our experiences. If you were upset, you dealt with it. If something bothered you, that was your problem to solve, not everyone else’s to accommodate.

I’m not saying this was healthy. I’ve spent years in my sixties learning to actually identify and process emotions instead of just stuffing them down. But it did create a kind of emotional toughness. You learned that the world doesn’t stop for your feelings, that you have to function even when you’re hurting or confused or overwhelmed.

When my younger brother died in that motorcycle accident, I was 35. I took three days off work, then came back and did my job. Nobody at the office acknowledged it beyond a brief condolence. That was normal. You were expected to handle your grief privately and keep functioning publicly.

There’s a balance somewhere between that emotional stoicism and today’s emphasis on mental health and validation. But our way definitely built a capacity to keep going even when everything inside you is falling apart.

10) Living through genuine national uncertainty and crisis

We grew up with the Vietnam War on television every night. We had duck and cover drills because nuclear war felt like a real possibility. We lived through assassinations, riots, economic upheaval, and genuine fear about the future of the country.

I remember watching the news in 1968 when I was just a kid, seeing cities burning and soldiers dying and feeling like everything was coming apart. My parents didn’t shield us from it. We saw it, we absorbed it, we learned that the world is unstable and scary sometimes.

This gave us perspective that’s hard to replicate. We learned that crisis is survivable, that uncertainty is normal, that things can feel catastrophic and life goes on anyway. Not because we’re tougher or better, but because we had no choice but to adapt to instability we couldn’t control.

When I had that heart scare at 58, I wasn’t as frightened as I might have been. I’d already lived through enough unpredictability to know that you can’t control everything, you just have to deal with what comes.

Conclusion

I don’t want this to sound like I’m saying kids today are soft or that we had it harder. Every generation faces challenges. My grandchildren deal with pressures I can’t fully understand, pressures that are real and difficult in their own ways.

But we did develop a particular kind of toughness from growing up in the 60s and 70s. A toughness that came from unsupervised freedom, physical risk, genuine scarcity, and navigating a world that didn’t particularly care about protecting us from difficulty.

Was it better? I’m not sure. But it made us who we are, for better and worse.

What do you think shaped your generation’s particular form of resilience?