When I Was A Kid...

Analogue Boy

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Our gym teacher told us he was a keen bottle collector. You know, old pop bottles with marbles in - that sort of thing. Anyway, one saturday morning, a trio of us went to a local ... er.... site. It was a bit like a slag heap with old junk embedded in it. As we were excavating along the length of it, I had this really strong feeling something was about to go horribly wrong and shouted ‘Get back’ to my mates and we ran down the hill as the whole side collapsed. A big boulder chased us down and as we ran up the other side, rolled to a halt about 3 feet away from us,

Happy days!
 

Analogue Boy

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I don’t think so.
When I was a kid we used to live on a steep hill. So most of our pursuits involved making go karts in summer and sledges in winter. One day, we found an old tyre and started rolling it around but it got out of control and sped off down the road gathering speed with us chasing after it. At which point the true horror dawned as the Ice Cream van came around the corner and the tyre smashed the front end in. The thing is, every time I hear an Ice Cream van, I am taken back to that moment.
 

Victory

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In the UK in the 1980's, 500ml Super-cans of Coca-Cola were introduced.
Late 1980's I drank one in about 90 seconds.
Without burping.

Big mistake!

20 minutes later I had severe abdominal pains, to the extent I asked a friend to jump on my stomach to see if that could push the air out in the form of burps and farts.
Thank G-D he didn't!

After 45 minutes I began burping and burping and burping for about half an hour, then the pain went away.

171819_196053940422246_7379425_o.jpg
 

feinman

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When I was about ten, me and a friend made some very nice cardboard armour --It looked good; we based it on Howard Pyle illustrations, and the helmets even had crests of garbage bag tassels. We also had large cardboard heater shields. We used to beat the living crap out of each other with sticks for swords and maces made by cutting the branches off of the limbs to make spikes. Eventually the neighborhood kids got involved, and we had two armies, with rock throwing \ parent-scaring stuff --but they didn't seem to care. One of the neighborhood kids tossed a spear made from a branch at me and it missed my eye by about an inch and penetrated into my helmet to the back, by the side of my face --an inch over and that would have been it.
 

Ladyloafer

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When i was a kid i used to free-wheel on my roller boots down the big hill. Once committed to the action you HAD to keep going because trying to stop would mean a head/pavement situation. At the bottom you then had to veer left up the road which would slow you to a stop, or, hurl yourself into the conifers. Failure to stop here meant a face to face with a brick wall and/or gravel and a great big graze from little finger to elbow....

Edit. And we didn't wear helmets in those days.
 

Iris

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I used to make cubbies from pieces of wood against the back fence.
Also branches from the trees were used to make bow and arrows which worked quite well. We didn't shoot at each other though.
There were lots of puddles in wet weather and tadpoles were collected and kept in jars.
 

Yithian

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I used to play in the remnants of an abandoned ragstone quarry a couple of minutes' walk from my door. We'd regularly turn up shards of pottery and bring them home to try to figure out what they had contained from the faded fragments of words that were printed on them.

One day, we found a dead fox lying in the woods and an older boy named Paul opened its mouth with a stick. He told me that he was going to take its teeth out, but of course he never did. I scarcely dared to look as it seemed so horrific. Its coat was still glossy--hardly dead at all--but it was summer and the insects had found it before us. I later imagined Paul prancing around triumphantly with a sort of set of canine dentures held aloft on his cursed stick.

When we went to see it the following weekend, it had vanished, and now it's so long ago that I feel like questioning whether it was really there at all.
 

Bigphoot2

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Our gym teacher told us he was a keen bottle collector. You know, old pop bottles with marbles in - that sort of thing. Anyway, one saturday morning, a trio of us went to a local ... er.... site. It was a bit like a slag heap with old junk embedded in it. As we were excavating along the length of it, I had this really strong feeling something was about to go horribly wrong and shouted ‘Get back’ to my mates and we ran down the hill as the whole side collapsed. A big boulder chased us down and as we ran up the other side, rolled to a halt about 3 feet away from us,

Happy days!
I had a similar experience when I was about 13. I was walking down a street with one of my mates, we were passing a block of flats when suddenly we both started running for no apparent reason. We'd gone about 20 feet when there was a loud crash behind us, we turned to see a pile of TV aerials, chimneypots, bricks and roofing slates where we had been a few seconds earlier.
Most of my early years were spent wandering around and abandoned farm near where I lived, old derelict buildings and fields. Once we spent a day and most of the night searching for a pair of haunted shoes! There was a rumour going around that someone had seen a pair of shoes walking down a path through the field all by themselves. That was too good an opportunity to miss. We didn't find anything though apart from some hedge porn so it wasn't a wasted effort.
That field is long gone now and replaced by houses and I live in one of them. Still haven't seen any haunted shoes yet but I live in hope.
 

Bad Bungle

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One day, we found a dead fox lying in the woods and an older boy named Paul opened its mouth with a stick.
My father had gone at dawn to check on the racket at the chicken-house and shot a fox with the 12 bore. He dumped it on the back step (I never questioned why) prior to disposal but I saw it and thought "I'm having that !". So I got a carrier bag and lugged the carcass the short walk to Primary School that morning. I must have been about 8 years old and the Teachers by that stage barely battered an eyelid at what the farm kids got up to. There was a Relief Teacher who showed interest in getting some paw prints so she held the ink pad whilst I heaved a foot (front and hind) out of the bag. This was going swimmingly until blood dripped off the paw onto her sleeve and she couldn't hide the involuntary shudder. Best school day ever.
 

escargot

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There was a rumour going around that someone had seen a pair of shoes walking down a path through the field all by themselves.
I've read somewhere recently online that a woman had to have her feet amputated* and the ghosts of the feet continued to walk around the house! :oops:

*This can happen with neglected diabetes.
A patient once showed me his feet, which were black - as if he'd stood in ink - and asked what I thought.
What I knew was that the consultant was on way to tell him the feet were to be amputated first thing next day.

I said 'Ooh, well, the doctor's on his way round to see everyone so he'll have an idea! Is that the tea trolley I hear?'

(He was a nice man, very polite. He'd been diagnosed at 40 but hadn't taken it seriously and had carried on smoking and drinking.

When I met him he was 60. Some teenage boys ran past him down a hotel corridor on holiday, accidentally stepping on his feet and bruising them, and the injuries never healed. Next thing - feet off.)
 

Krepostnoi

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That's brought back traumatic memories of my poor grandmother, whose final days were not exactly eased by the removal of first one foot, and then - after she had been resuscitated in contravention of the DNR instructions my mum and aunt had given - the other. Quite what the surgeons thought they were going to achieve is beyond me. Certainly, the dignity of a dying woman didn't seem to be a consideration for them. This is going back nearly thirty years, and I hadn't realised I was quite so angry about it still.
 

escargot

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That's brought back traumatic memories of my poor grandmother, whose final days were not exactly eased by the removal of first one foot, and then - after she had been resuscitated in contravention of the DNR instructions my mum and aunt had given - the other. Quite what the surgeons thought they were going to achieve is beyond me. Certainly, the dignity of a dying woman didn't seem to be a consideration for them. This is going back nearly thirty years, and I hadn't realised I was quite so angry about it still.
That sounds terrible. DNR instructions do go astray sometimes. I've seen it done, sadly.
 

Lord Lucan

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That's brought back traumatic memories of my poor grandmother, whose final days were not exactly eased by the removal of first one foot, and then - after she had been resuscitated in contravention of the DNR instructions my mum and aunt had given - the other. Quite what the surgeons thought they were going to achieve is beyond me. Certainly, the dignity of a dying woman didn't seem to be a consideration for them. This is going back nearly thirty years, and I hadn't realised I was quite so angry about it still.
That must have been horrible for all concerned. I can understand why it would still weigh heavily upon you after all these years. :(
 

Analogue Boy

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When it wasn’t sledges or go-carts (we were always on patrol looking for wheels) our need for dangerous speed on the big hill where we lived was satisfied when we invented our own form of dangerous transport. We took a roller skate each and sat on a christmas annual placed on top. We’d sit on this and set off down the hill. Braking was supplied by the heels of our shoes which quickly wore down so we always had angled sloping heels. We then discovered segs which saved the heels but also produced sparks!
Later I’d see someone invent a skateboard and think there was more fun to be had with the shorter wheelbase offered under an old Oor Wullie Annual.
 

cycleboy2

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Our local park – with swings, roundabouts etc but where we also played football and other games – had a concreted stream running through it. We thought nothing of drinking from the stream if our various non-sports drinks, lime juice cordials and lemon squash (in plastic Tupperware, or similar, bottles) ran out. And I'm still here at the age of 57...

We would also ride down the park's grass banks, maybe 15 feet or so in height but reasonably steep, on bikes that weren't designed for the job. Oddly, I survived that without injury. I broke my left collar bone as a seven-year old 'roughhousing' with a friend, and my right humerus playing football at school aged 12 or so (it was CC's fault!), and my left collar bone again (football...) in my first year at uni. No legal experts were involved in what were considered normal childhood/young adult incidents!

I also rode my toy tricycle into a wall and fell down a few stairs and bit my tongue open. I'd have probably been taken away from my parents these days (that's meant as a flippant comment with perhaps a tiny element of truth to it!). I was an active and lively child and things happen.

We also played in some deserted prefabs – empty and ready for demolition and the last time I saw white dog s**t!. Happy days? Oh yes!
 

Naughty_Felid

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I used to play in the remnants of an abandoned ragstone quarry a couple of minutes' walk from my door. We'd regularly turn up shards of pottery and bring them home to try to figure out what they had contained from the faded fragments of words that were printed on them.

One day, we found a dead fox lying in the woods and an older boy named Paul opened its mouth with a stick. He told me that he was going to take its teeth out, but of course he never did. I scarcely dared to look as it seemed so horrific. Its coat was still glossy--hardly dead at all--but it was summer and the insects had found it before us. I later imagined Paul prancing around triumphantly with a sort of set of canine dentures held aloft on his cursed stick.

When we went to see it the following weekend, it had vanished, and now it's so long ago that I feel like questioning whether it was really there at all.
Don't feel bad. Foxes often look beautiful when killed. it was often done with gas in the 70's - bastards. Farmers thought it protected their chickens but they didn't factor in that foxes killed vermin that would pray on their chickens.
 

Naughty_Felid

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That's brought back traumatic memories of my poor grandmother, whose final days were not exactly eased by the removal of first one foot, and then - after she had been resuscitated in contravention of the DNR instructions my mum and aunt had given - the other. Quite what the surgeons thought they were going to achieve is beyond me. Certainly, the dignity of a dying woman didn't seem to be a consideration for them. This is going back nearly thirty years, and I hadn't realised I was quite so angry about it still.
I've read somewhere recently online that a woman had to have her feet amputated* and the ghosts of the feet continued to walk around the house! :oops:

*This can happen with neglected diabetes.
A patient once showed me his feet, which were black - as if he'd stood in ink - and asked what I thought.
What I knew was that the consultant was on way to tell him the feet were to be amputated first thing next day.

I said 'Ooh, well, the doctor's on his way round to see everyone so he'll have an idea! Is that the tea trolley I hear?'

(He was a nice man, very polite. He'd been diagnosed at 40 but hadn't taken it seriously and had carried on smoking and drinking.

When I met him he was 60. Some teenage boys ran past him down a hotel corridor on holiday, accidentally stepping on his feet and bruising them, and the injuries never healed. Next thing - feet off.)
It's very common in pacific island people due to the amount of seafood they eat. Weirdly the stuff that got their ancestors to survive the thousands of miles of travel that puts the vikings to shame may have had a factor with modern health issues. Bigger people with a bigger BMI being able to survive longer without food.*

It could be argued that PI's eat more crap food, due to socio-economic reasons but by god, if you've ever been invited into a PI house you'll know this is not the case as the food is amazing - it is beautiful.

*If this is out of date please let me know as I've not looked into for about 10 years.
 

hunck

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I had a school friend who's dad had a building company & we got the idea of using long copper central heating tubing as blowpipes using putty rubbed into a small ball as the projectile.

We got pretty accurate at hitting targets & there was a scrubby patch of land next to his house from which we took cover in bushes & fired at passers by. This was on a main road & we had to make a hasty retreat once or twice after hitting people smack on the side of the head or neck. It must've stung quite a bit & they'd be looking round for what hit them.

They could fire a long way - I seem to remember I could hit a window fairly high up on the gas board building opposite my house, a distance of I reckon around a couple of hundred feet.

We got pulled up by the police while carrying them in the street one time & stopped doing it soon after.
 

AnonyJoolz

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Having a nice cup of tea and a sit-down.
My village primary school was built in 1975 on old pasture land, I started in 1976 (at the age of 5, no 'reception' class then).

The builders had to fell several mahoosive old trees, and the school left the de-barked trunks and big branches on the edge of the playground, on the grass, for us to clamber all over and jump off and get up to all sorts. I can feel the smooth wood now beneath my hands, it almost felt polished. These days they'd be taken right away in case the little cherubs might break a fingernail or summat.

I remember the lads making snow/ice slides that ended right at the tree trunk. Also, during the winter of 1979(?) we started a class-wide activity of making the world's largest snowball at playtime. It started out as a football, kept getting rolled around the field after lunch by a gang of us, by end of school that day it was easily over 6 foot in diameter, and in danger of squashing someone dead. The next morning we were told not to do it again! That snowball lasted for at least a week longer than the actual snow, gradually melting a bit each day.

If someone broke something while mucking about it was a cool thing for the kid, a pain in the arse for the parents and zero compensation claims for anyone else.
 

Spookdaddy

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One day when I was quite small I did a runner from our house, and it was some time before anyone realised I was gone.

Just as things were ramping up in relation to a search, my dad noticed an old herd leader in a field bordering the yard - she had her head towards him, and was lowing herself hoarse, in the way a cow that really needs milking might.

On a hunch my dad jumped the wall and followed her as she turned and trotted off - eventually being led to the corner of a distant field, where I had got hopelessly entangled in a barbed wire fence. Two other cows were gently lowing and licking my face, while one was sitting on the ground, appearing to be watching their backs and waiting for help.

I've always had a soft spot for cows.
 

Analogue Boy

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During the summer holidays, we’d be pretty much left on our own to go out and play and as money was always scarce, make our own toys. We made kites but never really mastered getting them aloft and the tails of string and bunched newspaper tangled up in everything. Far more popular for us was the more lethal bamboo cane arrow. We split the cane and added a flight, put a nail at the other end so it would stick in the ground (always more impressive if things stuck in the ground). Launching was achieved by wrapping string around the thing which gave it a huge range. I was most impressed by some kid who’d made a dart about a foot long and over an inch in diameter - shocked and awed in fact.
When we were a bit older we amused ourselves by making tiny grenades using broken match heads, a nut and two bolts.
 

Kondoru

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Yes, what happened to all those old comics?

What do modern kids do?
 

SkepticalX

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When I was in 9th grade, we made our own rockets. A friend gave me a recipe for melting sugar, potassium nitrate (saltpeter), and a little sulfur. We would carefully take the molten concoction and roll it into sticks a little narrower than a cigar. Once they cooled and hardened, we would take a sheet of newspaper, cut it into an "L" shape (the lower part wide and the upper part narrow) and roll it around one of the sticks. The wide part served as the rocket body and the narrow part (which was longer) became the rocket nozzle. Tape on some cardboard fins and we became the only kids in our neighborhood with ballistic missile capabilities. The rocket fuel was extremely potent, given its humble beginnings. We accidentally ignited one of the sticks in a glass jar and it reduced the glass to a puddle.

Most of the rockets were 6-8 inches long and were capable of flying a few hundred feet into the air before they would burn-out or self-destruct. We tried to graduate to larger rockets which lead to some rather spectacular, V-2 quality failures. Somehow, we managed not to kill anyone or set anything on fire.

Nowadays, those same antics would get you arrested by Homeland Security. :)
 

Analogue Boy

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When I was in 9th grade, we made our own rockets. A friend gave me a recipe for melting sugar, potassium nitrate (saltpeter), and a little sulfur. We would carefully take the molten concoction and roll it into sticks a little narrower than a cigar. Once they cooled and hardened, we would take a sheet of newspaper, cut it into an "L" shape (the lower part wide and the upper part narrow) and roll it around one of the sticks. The wide part served as the rocket body and the narrow part (which was longer) became the rocket nozzle. Tape on some cardboard fins and we became the only kids in our neighborhood with ballistic missile capabilities. The rocket fuel was extremely potent, given its humble beginnings. We accidentally ignited one of the sticks in a glass jar and it reduced the glass to a puddle.

Most of the rockets were 6-8 inches long and were capable of flying a few hundred feet into the air before they would burn-out or self-destruct. We tried to graduate to larger rockets which lead to some rather spectacular, V-2 quality failures. Somehow, we managed not to kill anyone or set anything on fire.

Nowadays, those same antics would get you arrested by Homeland Security. :)
We needed you in OUR gang.
 
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