Which Way's Up

There is a reason why Generation X is so resilient, capable, and full of stories that often center on one-upping each other.

There is a reason and that reason points directly to our feral childhoods.

Don’t get me wrong, I know that being a child of the 70’s is completely different than being a child today but this rising trend of “I let my kid go into a store by himself” has my brain spinning a bit.

What now? We were not letting our kids go into stores by themselves?

I dug into it a little bit and found a million variations of this independence initiation. From letting a child hand over the credit card to a cashier to letting a child order their own food at a restaurant to letting a child get on the school bus without an escort to, yes, letting a child zip into Target by themself–there are endless stories, the anxiety-inducing options were endless.

I had no idea that letting children dabble in self-sufficiency was not the norm.

Isn’t the whole point of parenting to serve as a springboard for our wards to launch themselves from?

Wait, we’re not doing that anymore, either?

Right, yes, I see you.

I see your posts filled with delight that your 27 year-old still lets you do their laundry and pack their lunches and…brought you to their job interview?!?!

No wonder my kids consider my upbringing as feral. I might prefer the phrase “free-range” but, sure, I can do feral.

I had a feral childhood and I am a better person because of it.

Examples of my Feral Childhood:

If we had not left the house within ten minutes of finishing breakfast, our mothers would be standing at the wide-open door screaming for us to get out. Once outside, it was up to us to entertain ourselves for the day and we typically did so in a traveling, feral pack with no way to contact our parents.
We were not to return home until either the street lights turned on or someone’s mom rang the giant bell. If that bell was sounded, we all were to be back on our doorsteps before the ringing drifted to silence, no questions asked. It didn’t matter if your home didn’t have a bell–someone on the street did. Our mothers would call that person to sound the summon as needed.
Walking to the local pool with a handful of change was a standard summer day trek. We were sent with towels draped over our shoulders, flip-flops on our feet and instructions to get a snack from the vending machine at the adjacent golf course. Sunscreen? Was that even a thing?
During the school year, if a friend invited us over, we just went. There was no need for a bus note—we just climbed on and called our moms (from a landline) once we arrived, praying that it was okay. If it was not okay, well, the ride home was not nearly as fun as the bus.
We were the original latchkey kids if latchkey kids weren’t actually given keys to get inside their homes. Arrive home to a parentless house? It was rare but, when it happened, we simply sat on the front stoop until a grown-up arrived and let us in.
We were the last generation to dodge the question, “Well, will there be a parent home?” before heading to a friend’s house. This was likely because our moms were the first moms to discover the freedom that came with having more than one car in the family. With a car for each parent, our moms weren’t sentenced to staying home all day and kids arriving to an empty house was certainly not going to spoil that.
Drinking from the water hose was not only standard, it was the only way to quench our thirst. It’s probably why Generation X, and those before us, have such strong immune systems. There was no popping into the house for a refreshing bottle of chilled spring water. To this day, my 85 year old father has not contracted Covid and I’m convinced it’s because his watering hose was attached to the local pond.
While our childhoods only included four television stations, all four played the same public service announcement at 10:00 pm. Screens across America alerted viewers (read: parents) with, “It is now 10:00 pm. Do you know where your children are?” This was not a bit from an Alfred Hitchcock show. This was a real question and, for some, a real reminder that they should track down their feral children.

A few things that made me more feral than my friends? Sure, I’m glad you asked.

I spent much of pre-school with a felt sign pinned to my back that read, “I bite.” Because it was on my back, I didn’t even about it until I discovered the sign sitting on my mother’s dresser and was old enough to read it. When I asked her what it was for, she shrugged and said, “Easier to warn than apologize.”
I was born “Jill” not “Jyl.” Long before changing my name to “Jyl,” I tried other options including my favorite, “Jackie.” While doing a tumble from our couch to the floor my forehead met the coffee table and I ultimately landed under the bright lights of the emergency room, surrounded by nurses and doctors asking my name. Over and over, I responded, “Jackie.” Having no idea that this was a red flag for a serious concussion, I stood my ground, “Jackie,” until I heard Mom’s do-it-or-die tone saying, “Jesus Christ, tell them your name.” You know the tone, right?
So, where did “Jyl” come from? First grade, I think? I’m not really sure when I opted to start spelling “Jill” with a “y” but it does point back to learning that the letter “y” was very versatile. My parents acquiesced on this one. At least I was using a version of the correct name and, years later, they kindly had my name changed legally.

You can imagine how nuts the concept of kids not being allowed to enter a store alone sounds to those of us raised feral. When we left the house for the day, our only instruction was not to get in any vans, no matter how cute the puppies were.

What did this freedom give us?

We can solve nearly any problem. Not only were we feral but we were raised on MacGyver and know that almost any pickle can be fixed with a stick of gum.
We don’t have to ask for seventeen different opinions to make a decision. We make a decision and we move on rather than diving down a rabbit hole of “But, what if…” (Just kidding, I’m the worst at this and would like a partial feral childhood refund)
We had more life skills before kindergarten than today’s kids have coming out of college. We knew how to address a letter, balance a check-book, clean up dog puke, and parallel park well before we reached double digits.
We can get the blood out of anything. Anything. While we were left to our own entertainment for long days, we were to return home with out clothes in the same condition as when we left. We didn’t live in today’s world of closets stuffed to the gills. Our everyday clothes were also our nice clothes and returning home with ripped pants or stained shirts was unacceptable.
When the time came, we left the nest with confidence and zero plans to return for longer than a visit. You can understand why then, when I read about kids in the mid-twenties cocooned under their mothers’ wings, my feral face scrunches up.

Look, I’m not saying that a feral childhood was not cringe worthy. As my husband and I tell stories today, we often finish those stories with a look of, “Well, now wait…maybe that wasn’t quite right.” But, then again…those stories!!

My God, do we have stories.

Will our kids have childhood stories that walk a tightrope of epic and terrifying? I doubt it and, honestly, it makes me a little sad.

So, yes. Send your kids into Target alone. At the very least, send them to the check-out alone.

At the very, very, very least…do not pull up a chair next to them on their job interviews.

We talked about our feral childhoods on this month’s episode of Whine & Wine. Click here to listen and don’t forget to follow Whine & Wine on your favorite podcast provider.