Roger Estlack

By Roger Estlack

I’m glad I grew up in the 1970s. Sure America was getting infected with a bunch of liberal nonsense, but most people still had some common sense, particularly when it came to raising kids. Today it seems, America is so committed to reducing risks to the children that it’s becoming ridiculous.

Several months ago, I sat with my wife’s family in a hospital waiting room – a place that I had grown to hate last year – re-living some painful memories from last fall. So I was already in a bad mood when I looked at the back of the Corn Nuts package I was snacking on and noticed a warning label. “Do not give product to children under 6.”

That nearly pushed me over the edge as I let slip a couple of profanities and asked to no one in particular, “Are you kidding me??”

Corn Nuts it seems are a choking hazard, and it is therefore necessary to keep them out of the hands of children.

I have been eating Corn Nuts for as long as I can remember. They go quite nicely with a can of beer (which, by the way, is not available in hospital vending machines but maybe should be). My Dad always shared his Corn Nuts with me. I never once choked. If your five-year-old is too stupid to chew up his Corn Nuts, then that’s your problem, not mine and certainly not the makers of Corn Nuts.

A few days later, I read about a report from the American Academy of Pediatrics calling for a warning label on hot dogs because children ages three and under can choke on them. The report called on parents to cut up their kids’ food to morsels the size of peas, and one nut job actually wanted the food industry to redesign the hot dog so it won’t hurt kids.

I come from the school of thought that once my kids have some teeth, they can start chewing their food. I wouldn’t give a hot dog wiener to a six-month-old. But my two-year-old can handle one just fine.

But again, I often look at things through the prism of growing up in the 1970s, and I think it’s sad that if my Mom and Dad were raising kids today, they would probably be locked up for child endangerment.

Last week, a photo made its way around the Internet after a kid – who looked to be about three or four – was spotted drinking from a beer bottle at a Philadelphia Phillies game. What kind of parent would let their kid do that? Well, mine would. I have a picture of me as a little kid holding a can of Schlitz. It was empty, but there was probably a drop or two left, and I got them. It didn’t make my Dad a bad person or make me an alcoholic.

From the picture last week, no one can really tell if there was anything in the bottle. I don’t really care if there was. If the boy’s dad thought it was okay to have a sip, that’s fine. If he gave him a whole bottle of beer or let him chug as much as he wanted, well that’s different. But generally people just need to mind their own business or at least not jump to baseless conclusions.

But again, I grew up in a different time. My Dad’s grandfather gave him a Pabst Blue Ribbon bottle when he was two. I guess that messed him up for life because he let me do a lot of crazy things like eat Corn Nuts and ride in the back of pickup trucks – frequently on the tailgate and several times on the sidestep. He also was so irresponsible that he let me ride in the car with no seatbelt and certainly no car seat, ride my bike with no helmet, and shoot all kinds of things in the backyard with a pellet gun.

I threw one tantrum as a toddler when I was two. Dad put me in the shower, turned the cold water on, and held the door shut. Problem solved. I never did it again. In later years, strict discipline – the rare times he needed to use it – was in the form of a belt applied to my rear. Time out was not an option.

I also had chores from an early age, and by the time I was 12, Dad had put me to work. Construction workers on one job referred to me as the “midget electrician.”

Father’s Day is coming up, and I often reflect on how I’m doing things with my kids compared to how Dad did it. Things are different to say the least. Where my brother and I had a whole play area in the back of the station wagon going to New Mexico, my kids are belted in like Chuck Yeager or John Glenn and must rely on headphones and DVD players to keeping them from screaming while being restrained for four hours on the way to Albuquerque. Sure I want them safe, but I know I wouldn’t like being in their seats.

Some people today may think it was terrible how I was raised, but I think I turned out just fine. I’ve got a steady job, my bills are paid, and I’m not mooching off of the government. Working as a team with my wife – like Dad did with Mom – my kids are well cared for, our house is taken care of, and we do our best to balance work and play. All of these 20th century values may be out of fashion today, but I hope the best of them get engrained in my kids. 

Yes, things have changed a lot since the 1970s. Maybe there were more risks back then, but people were not so uptight and life seemed a whole lot simpler.