Feral 1970s Child Somehow Survived

My parents would be arrested for neglect today

I was born in 1965, which is Generation Jones according to popular metrics. We are a more anonymous subset of Gen X.

In the 1970s, I was a free-range child, and it was excellent.

My best friend and I conquered the mean streets of suburbia with our bicycles and can-do attitude, without interference from adults or authorities.

I grew up lucky in a safe, suburban realm. We had a brush with a potential wand-waver one afternoon, as we searched for tadpoles at Popkins Pond, but our instincts were good and we sprinted off.

I lost a boot in the mud, but better safe than sorry.

At five, I walked unaccompanied to and from school, a journey of less than a mile, being careful to stay on the sidewalk.

At six, I learned about the path through the woods and kissed that sidewalk goodbye.

At eight, my best friend Yolande and I wiled away the hours when the carnival came to town by riding our bikes to hang out with the carnies. It’s hard to believe my parents allowed this, but maybe I didn’t mention our long carny convos?

At nine, we rode our bikes into Washington DC, about ten miles each way. We arrived home at dusk, tired but conquering heroes.

The walk in the woods

The Carson house sat at the bottom of the hill, and if you snuck down their driveway you could access the forest. As a kindergartener, I didn’t know about this trail, but in first grade, I discovered this shortcut.

I felt grown up, and soon any guilt about sneaking through the Carson family property evaporated.

The best thing about the forest was the creepy feeling that it went on forever. It did not. The woods only covered a half-mile in any given direction, bounded on the north by Hollin Meadows Elementary School and the south by the Carson Home.

One day, I learned one of the Carson kids, Crystal, had been killed in a car accident. She was 16 and went to high school with my sisters. I never looked at that house the same way again.

The forest trail led all the way to the schoolyard, dispensing kids next to the kickball field. You could see the whole school from there. In those days, I didn’t dread the sight.

The forest was a darker world draped with vines, which I found exotic. I can’t recall seeing many other kids. My walk to school was usually a solo affair, and far better than the confines of the noisy bus.

Quest for the Magic Key

The carnival workers must have found us annoying because they stonewalled our requests for free rides and backstage tours.

The guy running the cotton candy kiosk explained we could earn a free ride if we completed a simple task.

“You only need to bring back the Magic Key!”

The lady at the fun house told us we could find the Magic Key over at the RoundUp, but when we got there a burly guy in overalls advised us we’d need to get it from the man in charge of the Avalanche, who currently had the Key.

Avalanche dude had no idea what we were talking about until we explained who sent us over. He said he was pretty sure we could get the Magic Key from the nice lady at the goldfish booth.

We looked at each other and came to the simultaneous realization that the Magic Key didn’t exist and we’d have to pay for our tickets like every other schlub.

This in no way lessened our enthusiasm for the carnival.

Navigating the Big City

I packed up a meatloaf sandwich on white bread with mayo, so Yolande and I could set off to Washington DC, where we planned to visit the Air and Space Museum.

We had everything you would need: bike locks, lunch, and water.

We did not wear bike helmets or carry cell phones.

You can follow a bike path along the Potomac River from Mt. Vernon into the city.

Our primary challenge was reaching the bike path, which required crossing a busy street and the Parkway, where cars whiz by at highway speeds. We also had to negotiate downtown Alexandria, VA, where the route forward got a little fuzzy.

Nevertheless, we persisted.

When we got to the city, we rode straight to the tourist-rich mall and locked up our bikes outside. I can still feel the cool air of the museum as we walked inside the giant revolving doors, and no security guard asked

“Hey you two, where are your parents?”

It was pure freedom. We bought tickets for the Imax and watched whatever was playing, then checked out the planetarium.

We climbed inside the moon landing capsule.

The only bummer of the day happened on the return trip. During our ride back I was walking my bike up one of the few hills. Some dude was riding in the other direction and he chided me:

“C’mon, you can RIDE up this hill!”

I remember feeling hurt and annoyed. What the hell did this guy know? We were riding twenty miles and we were 9 years old!

As an adult, I try not to scold youngsters with random opinions.

Final nostalgic thoughts

Today, Yolande and I have only a tenuous Facebook connection. She grew up to become a singing DJ, combining her god-given musical talent with a fun-loving nature.

I grew up to be a bicycle rider who has never forgotten how to signal left, right, and stop.

I wish I’d held onto a photo of my best friend’s awesome banana-seat bike with monkey bars or my old single-speed Schwinn.

We had us some times before Stranger Danger tore a big piece out of the fabric of American Life and you had to bring your bike helmet and cell phone with you everywhere.

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Jean Campbell recently started her first Substack newsletter to laser focus on getting her book, City of Lies: A Street Hustler’s Omaha Journey published.