Adrian Barich: how growing up free-range in the 60s and 70s shaped a generation

Did you grow up in the 1970s?

I’m starting to feel like there’s a special generation of Australians doing this.

We were shaped by three things: lots of silence, incredible freedom, and probably some danger.

So how is this? If you tried to replicate our childhood today, your parents might expect a visit from child protection authorities.

Keep this in mind: The people who raised us will probably now be seen as “bad parents” and perhaps even borderline criminals.

We grew up in a world where there was almost zero supervision when we left home. And guess what? I know kids today wouldn’t believe it, but no one panicked or even really cared.

What if we had gone six hours without a phone or the “Find My Child” app? This was life in the 70s.

We had our bikes or were walking and wandering around with a few friends. . . We always promised our parents that we would be home before dark. And even this was flexible depending on the condition of the street lights.

I think it’s made us strangely self-sufficient. We drank from garden hoses like thirsty labradors. Naturally, we relied on our own abilities and did not receive constant guidance, so we had to make our own decisions, good or bad.

A lot of people from that era still seem to have that weird inner voice that says, “I’ll figure this out,” even if we have no idea what to do next.

Where did this come from? Most of them came from our parents who were born during or just after the world war.

Imagine becoming a parent after a childhood marked by real fear, report cards, sacrifice, and uncertainty.

My father was almost blown up in the bombing of Rome. Consider how this reframes your definition of a “bad day.”

That generation didn’t complain, didn’t break down, and didn’t seek counseling. They just kept going. And they passed this survival mentality directly to us.

I’m not saying they’re perfect. I’m just talking about mentality.

Responsibility and resilience have infiltrated you through the transition at home. You didn’t learn this in a mindfulness class. You helped. You washed the dishes. You fixed some things. You figured things out because you had no other choice.

You didn’t have Google. ChatGPT had no whispered answers. Some things were not changed; They were repaired.

I can still see my father wandering around the house with Araldite, looking for “other things” to fix with the remaining glue. He did the same with Savlon and Mercurochrome. These things continued everything; cuts, rashes, moral failures. There’s no way he’s going to waste this.

And no one grew up expecting help to magically appear. You were the one who helped.

Life was slow, raw and real.

Most kids now and I can tell you what I like here because they probably don’t read print books, they are mentally tired, overstimulated, and emotionally exhausted because their phones never stop ringing. The world moves very fast. Our brains can’t keep up with this. We get notifications one at a time. And most of it is absolute nonsense.

Growing up in the 60s and 70s meant fewer screens, less noise, and more waiting. The news came in the newspaper or the 6pm bulletin. You had only one landline phone.

You made plans and stuck to them because changing them was a real hassle. This slower rhythm was like a psychological gym; Without even realizing it, children have developed patience, problem-solving, and tolerance for boredom.

We repaired the bikes instead of buying new ones. We stretched shoes, patched clothes and taped cricket bats. We even experienced “hand-me-downs”.

Daily challenges have created something that modern psychology now charges good money to teach: resilience. Patience. Satisfaction. Emotional regulation. We just called it life.

And the world has forced us to tolerate discomfort. Sometimes walking 5 km to school with a heavy school bag in the rain is no problem. Sitting on plastic-covered sofas with awkward family visits – it’s all good. Today, at the first sign of discomfort, people grab their phones and run. 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 the first track to the 12th track without skipping. You’ve done your homework without a second screen. The interruptions were coming from a phone on the wall, not a buzzing mobile.

Even conflict was healthier. If you’ve ever had a conflict, you’ve experienced it yourself. At the kitchen table. At the bar. At work. You couldn’t see anyone as a ghost because back then ghosts were only seen in books and movies.

And here’s the big one: we believed that effort mattered. Do you want something? Work for it. Pocket money came with chores. It took months to save for the bike. Nothing came instantly unless it was bad news from your mom yelling your full name around the neighborhood.

The 60s and 70s weren’t perfect. But they built silent psychological muscles that still protect us today. Flexibility, patience, fortitude, tolerance for discomfort. Everything that younger generations are now consciously trying to learn was once learned by chance.

Maybe the lesson is simple: A little discomfort is good for the soul. Maybe slowing down could help the next generation tap into the quiet resilience older Australians still carry without even realizing it.

And if all else fails, maybe we should all go back to drinking from garden hoses. It didn’t affect me at all.