British Bulldog is a tag-based playground and sporting game, commonly played in schoolyards and on athletic fields in the UK, Canada, South Africa, Australia, and related Commonwealth countries, as well as in the U.S. and Ireland. The object of the game is for one player to attempt to intercept other players who are obliged to run from one designated area to another. British Bulldog is characterised by its physicality (i.e. the captor inevitably has to use force to stop a player from crossing) and is often regarded as violent, leading it to be banned from many schools due to injuries to the participants. – Wikipedia

Our Scout troop met on Monday nights at the church. When the meetings let out, we often played this game on the post office lawn until it was time to head home for “I Love Lucy.” Since there were ample opportunities for getting hurt, our parents didn’t know about it. Heck, we had a nuclear war to worry about, so we didn’t sweat the small stuff. As far as I know, we never had any injuries.

And, since our uniforms were green, the grass stains weren’t obvious.

I just read a news story in which a mother was in trouble for letting her 10-year-old walk down the street without an adult. What the hell is that? We walked 30 minutes to school and certainly didn’t need parents following us.

We knew where all the nasty dogs were.

In general, kids were stronger and more self-reliant in those days. Now they’re so coddled, they need a parent to drive them to school 15 minutes down the street.

Lots of other stuff got banned, taking the fun out of childhood. BB gun  wars, tackle football in the park, trick-or-treating without mommy going with us, bike riding without helmets, box hockey, and firing our shotguns at ducks at nearby lakes; we never killed anyone–and precious few ducks.

Mother hated cleaning ducks when friends stopped by with a handful when my brothers and I weren’t home.

As long as we weren’t picked up by the cops or the paramedics, the parents didn’t need to know!

Today, it’s illegal for a kid to walk to the far end of their house without a security detail–and God help them if they play outside after dark.

What a fine, wimpy mess we’ve all come to.

—Malcolm