Source : Perth Now news
Did you grow up in the 1970s?
I’m starting to feel like those who did are a special generation of Australians.
We were shaped by three things: a lot of silence, incredible freedom and probably a bit of danger.
And how’s this? If you tried to replicate our childhood today, your parents could just about expect a visit from child protection authorities.
Just let that sink in: the people who raised us would probably now be considered “bad parents” and maybe even borderline criminals.
We grew up in a world of almost zero supervision once we left the house. And guess what? I know today’s kids won’t believe this, but no one panicked or even really cared.
If we were gone for six hours with no phone and no “Find My Kid” app, so what? That was life in the 70s.
We had a bicycle or we walked, and we knocked around with a few mates . . . always promising our parents we’d “be home before dark”. And even that was flexible, depending on the streetlight situation.
I think it made us oddly self-sufficient. We drank out of garden hoses like dehydrated labradors. We were naturally confident in our own abilities, and we didn’t get constant guidance, so we had to make our own decisions, for better or worse.
Many people from that era still seem to have that strange inner voice that says, “I’ll figure it out,” even when we really have no idea what to do next.
Where did that come from? It came from our parents, most of whom were born during or just after a world war.
Imagine becoming a parent after a childhood shaped by real fear, rationing, sacrifice and uncertainty.
My dad was nearly blown up in the bombing of Rome. Think about how that reshapes your definition of a “bad day”.
That generation didn’t complain, didn’t break down, and didn’t get counselling. They just got on with it. And they passed that survival mindset straight onto us.
I’m not saying they were perfect. I’m just talking about the mindset.
Responsibility and resilience seeped into you by osmosis at home. You didn’t learn it in a mindfulness class. You helped out. You washed dishes. You fixed things. You figured stuff out because you had no choice.
You didn’t have Google. You didn’t have ChatGPT whispering answers. Things didn’t get replaced; they got repaired.
I can still see my dad wandering the house with Araldite, looking for “other things” to fix with the leftover glue. He did the same with Savlon and Mercurochrome. That stuff went on everything; cuts, rashes, moral failings. There’s no way he was going to waste it.
And nobody grew up expecting help to magically appear. You were the help.
Life was slow, raw and real.
Many current kids, and I can say what I like here because they probably aren’t reading print, are mentally drained, overstimulated and emotionally tired because their phones never shut up. The world moves too fast. Our brains can’t keep up. We get hammered one notification at a time. And most of it is absolute crapola.
Growing up in the 60s and 70s meant fewer screens, less noise and more waiting. News arrived with the newspaper or the 6pm bulletin. You had just one landline phone.
You made plans and stuck to them because changing them was a real hassle. That slower rhythm was like a psychological gym; kids developed patience, problem-solving, and a tolerance for boredom without even noticing.
We fixed bikes instead of getting a new one. We stretched shoes, patched clothes and taped cricket bats. We even had “hand-me-downs”.
Daily challenges created something modern psychology now charges good money to teach: resilience. Patience. Contentment. Emotional regulation. We just called it life.
And the world forced us to tolerate discomfort. Walking 5km to school, sometimes in the rain with a heavy schoolbag — no prob. Sitting through awkward family visits on plastic-covered couches — all good. Today, at the first sign of discomfort, people grab their phone and escape. But back then, you couldn’t escape anything.
Deep attention was normal. You read a book for two hours. You listened to an album from track one to track 12 without skipping. You did your homework without a second screen. Interruptions came from the phone on the wall, not a buzzing pocket.
Even conflict was healthier. If you had a disagreement, you had it in person. At the kitchen table. At the pub. At work. You couldn’t ghost anyone because back then, ghosts were only in books and movies.
And here’s the big one: we believed effort mattered. Want something? Work for it. Pocket money came with chores. Saving for a bike took months. Nothing arrived instantly unless it was bad news from your mum yelling your full name across the neighbourhood.
The 60s and 70s weren’t perfect. But they built quiet psychological muscles that still protect us today. Resilience, patience, grit, tolerance for discomfort. All the things younger generations now try to learn deliberately were once learned accidentally.
Maybe the lesson is simple: a bit of inconvenience is good for the soul. Maybe slowing down could help the next generation tap into the quiet toughness that older Australians still carry without even noticing.
And if all else fails, maybe we should all go back to drinking from garden hoses. It never affected me.
