Not the story I was expecting, but a really good one. I was six in 1968, and we had lawn darts. Did any of us kids ever throw them at one another? Betcher ass. Unless we were too busy bouncing around in the bed of a pickup truck racing over gravel country roads.

Home alone? We were left unsupervised so often that modern parents might feel obligated to call social services. But that's just how things were.

I don't know that today's relatively sanitized, tightly supervised helicopter parenting is great for kids, but thinking back to my own dangerous childhood, I wonder if there isn't a happy medium point somewhere.