Mishaps, Mistakes, and Mayhem

by GW Lehtinen

Growing up during the “Pre-Internet” timeline was something to behold.  My own children and their friends would ask me what I did to keep myself entertained and if I ever had any mishaps.  After laughing at the question, I would describe to them numerous accounts of mistakes made and periodic events of mayhem.  It seemed like the Wild West at times back then, and everyone that I knew in my neighborhood had some involvement.  We were “free range,” if you will; for example, it was quite normal to ride in the bed of someone’s truck without any hesitation.  At playgrounds, we would be scorched on metal slides, and the notorious merry-go-round was waiting for us daredevil kids.  Swirling around, sprinting as our lives depended on it, we hung on until science taught us a lot about inertia and temporary flight.  Dings, scrapes, bruises, and cuts were the norm, and it appeared that if one child didn’t get any on the merry-go-round, they would have to keep doing it until they had their battle scars. My next-door neighbor always tried to make a fire using a stick, and eventually he succeeded; however, you should never attempt this endeavor in the backyard shack!  Other neighborhood kids had BB guns and shot one another.  No youngster was maimed, thank goodness!  Firecrackers, Roman candles, Sparklers, and the dreaded Cherry Bomb/ M80 would be ever-present, especially in the summertime.  Sometimes you could hear a clear “POP” and a child screaming in pain, which would lead to a hospital run by the parents.  Luckily, no fingers, eyes, or other body parts came up missing.  There was never any protection when it came to riding bikes, I can guarantee you.  Helmets?  Only in Little League or football, but riding your bike at 30 miles per hour down a street, hitting a makeshift ramp? NEVER!

These were many true stories I told my kids, and I noticed their faces looking shocked.  They later told me that they had a difficult time believing my “Tall Tales” until we would FaceTime my two older sisters and my parents.  Their memory was surprisingly sharp and backed my stories almost to a “T”. Afterward, they pretty much believed any story that came out of my mouth.

I told them about the recess playground during elementary and middle school days.  One of the favorite items was the infamous jungle gym, usually shaped like a dome.  Hanging, swinging, and a ton of falling were to be expected, and of course some serious accidents occurred.  A broken arm or leg did happen, but the wildest thing was, the very next day we were on it again!  Teachers were around, of course, but I remembered how stressed out they all looked.  Every neighborhood had at least one area away from the houses: a ditch of some kind, or small hills where we would test our bravery and sanity to see if we could make the jump with our bikes.  Many tried, and many cried.  Scenes of us limping home, unable to ride our now-destroyed bikes, with bent forks, ruined tire rims, and broken chains, would immediately be followed by the screams of the Mother or Father.  Hmmm, I wonder why the parents were angry.

When those crazy activities didn’t satisfy our hunger for an early exit out of this world, we thought of new ways to cause havoc.  One of the most common stories I can remember was boys and girls being so bored that they decided on messing with…… Bee Hives, or a Hornet’s Nest.  Yup, you know the results of this adventure.  Some older kids I saw put a lot of thought into how they could improve upon the execution of knocking down the hive while not getting stung.  Escape routes, long poles, and tons of guts were discussed, planned, and prayed on.  The next ten minutes looked like the old Keystone Cops movies, people running around, and it was complete pandemonium, not to mention hilarious.  The huge bumps on their faces, arms, or legs from getting stung were a sight to see.  There was no mercy on the victims, none whatsoever.  Kids would point and laugh at whoever was the victim of the day, until, of course, it was their turn doing something outrageous.

We all survived, we all laughed, we all cried.

As the years wore on, it seemed that these events became less and less common.  Sure, you had a handful of kids doing stunts as we did, but it was not as popular.  My guess would have to be the growing technology inside a lot of homes.  You can’t do a lot of crazy things inside of a house as you could outside of it.  I’m sure kids tried, but inside the house, there seemed to be a parent around, and that took all of the fun out of it.  When there were no parents around, we released the hounds!  No rules, no pads, no problem!

There were snowball fights that escalated into ICE ball fights.  A lot of swollen faces came home after that.  No snow? No problem!  Pine cone fights turned into rock fights, and I remember that the older kids would graduate to the rocks without us knowing until it was too late.  My mother would see the cuts and bruises when I was shirtless and gasp in horror while my father just grunted in a disapproving tone.  One time in the winter, we went sledding on a famous steep hill ten minutes’ walk from our home.  My sisters and I couldn’t believe our eyes when we saw a hulking figure lumbering up the hill.  Our Dad was joining us!  Wow!  This was headline news!  I had a small toboggan, and my father pushed with all of his might, and I literally caught air.  Halfway down the hill, I heard him screaming, and as I turned to look to see if he was yelling at my sisters or me, it was too late. He accidentally pushed me TOO hard, and I veered off the main path right into the tree line!  I, of course, froze in panic and closed my eyes.  WHAM!! The snow sprayed all around me, and I came to an abrupt stop.  I hit a thorn bush and could feel the stings of all the sharp points hitting my face.  I carefully crawled out and looked at the snow to see if it was checkered with my blood.  Nope, all good.  It burned really bad though, and I began pulling the toboggan out for another ride!  Later at dinnertime, my dad was checking out my face as we ate.  He started shaking his head, chuckled a bit, and continued his meal.  I tried to show him at nine years old that I was tough like he was, and no mishap was going to make me a coward!  When no one was looking, though, I winced when I touched my face and wanted to cry.

Just another day in the life of growing up in the ‘Pre-Internet’ days.