Things Dad Did That’d Never Fly Today (Because We’ve All Got Helmets and Knee pads Now)

Remember when being a kid meant staying out until the streetlights came on, drinking from the garden hose, and somehow surviving a day at the lake without SPF 50, a flotation device, or a cell phone tracker? Yeah, same here.

Let’s talk about some of the stuff our dads did that would cause a modern parenting blog to spontaneously combust — but also, somehow, helped shape us into mostly functional human beings.

Seatbelts? Optional. The bed of the truck? Preferred.

I vividly remember standing — yes, standing — in the back of Dad’s Ford as he cruised down a gravel road at approximately the speed of sound. No one was strapped in. No one cared. Wind in your hair, bugs in your teeth, and the ever-present possibility of being launched into a cornfield. Glorious.

Today, you'd need a lawyer, a helmet, and possibly a government permit to even suggest that kind of fun.

There was no such thing as "screen time limits" when I was a kid, mainly because we weren’t staring at screens — we were busy being left alone in the woods with a pocketknife and a warning: “Don’t be stupid.”

That was the babysitting standard: don't be stupid. Dad might check in once, but mostly he trusted that if I could climb a tree, I could also figure out how to not fall out of one. Confidence-building? Sure. Slightly negligent? Maybe. But hey, I still have most of my original limbs.

My dad once handed me a metal-tipped lawn dart and said, “Just don’t aim at your brother.” That was the full safety briefing.

Now, I’m not saying this was ideal parenting — but it did teach precision, hand-eye coordination, and how to run really fast when your aim was a little off. Try marketing a toy like that today and you’ll be on a government watchlist by Tuesday.

Unless a bone was visibly sticking out, I think my Dad considered most injuries “character-building.” Bloody knee? Rub some dirt in it. Weird rash? That's what gasoline and garden hose water are for! Splinter? Just dig it out with a pocketknife and walk it off.

I once saw my dad fix a jammed finger by pulling it and saying, “There. I think that got it.”. I’m not saying he was a doctor — but I’m also not saying it didn’t work.

This is not to say that my Dad wasn't concerned in a medical emergency.  Once, when I was 11 or 12 years old, as we were building on to our house (my Dad did all the work himself, with a little help from us kids and now and then a friend or two), Dad was getting ready to lay the concrete blocks for our new basement.  He told me to jump down into the hole that would become the basement, and hold onto the 2x4 he was going to use to hang the string and plum bob (look it up) to properly align the blocks.  Dad was up, on top of the hole/"small cliff", with our single sided axe (because he couldn't find the sledge hammer).  He was using the axe to pound the 2x4 into the ground....and I was to steady it.  As Dad was pounding, the axe handle broke and the head of the axe came down onto the top of my head!!!  You can imagine the surprise, shock, blood (head wounds bleed a lot) and mayhem!  Dad jumped down into the hole (about 6  or 7 feet) and grabbed me in one motion threw me up and onto the ground.  Then climbed out or jumped out and about then my Mom heard the commotion and came out.  While Mom rushed me to the hospital, blood gushing (I got a bunch of stiches but was OK), Dad picked up the tools and didn't start back up for a few days.

Dad didn’t feel bad for needing a break. He didn’t post about self-care or meditate with a scented candle. He just sat on the porch with a cup of coffee and the paper and said, “Go play.”

That was it. No apologizing. No explaining. Just… Dad, being Dad. And honestly? We were better off for it. We learned independence, imagination, and how to leave people alone when they’re drinking coffee.

Are we better off now that we’ve bubble-wrapped childhood? In some ways, sure. Helmets are good. Seatbelts are great. But let’s not forget that part of growing up — and part of being a dad — is letting kids take a few harmless risks. Letting them get dirty. Letting them screw up a little without a safety net made of organic, gluten-free helicopter parenting.

Our dads weren’t perfect. But they taught us grit, laughter, and that a little danger wasn’t the end of the world. Sometimes, it was the beginning of a really good story.

So here’s to the dads who let us be wild, a little reckless, and fully alive.

Just… maybe keep the lawn darts locked up.