My grandkids acted shocked when I said we had no video games and only 3 channels on TV. They asked "were you bored?" I said, "no I was too busy to be bored". I would find a baseball game and play all day or until we didn't have enough people. If my friends weren't around I would nerd-up and ride my bike 3 miles to the library and hang out reading while enjoying the AC (attic fan at home). I'd check out 2-4 books, read them in a week, and take them back. All that was at 8 - 9 years old. As I got older I expanded the bicycling range to include the river and swamps 5 miles away.
Bored? Hell no. Something new to learn or do every day.

I grew up living next to a large park on Lake Ontario.
When I was young we would play soccer, cricket or any other sport that came to mind, and some we just had to make up.
We would get our cap guns and play cops and robbers.
As we got older we would ride our bikes all over the neighborhood, chasing each other and trying to knock the back wheel out from the person ahead of you.
Yes there were some great crashes.
We took rafts and canoes and would paddle up a creek to a swimming hole and be gone for the whole day.
In the 70's the hippies would come to the park and do things hippies would do.
This included playing frisbee, which as a 10 year old, I got taught how to do all sorts to great tricks while I hung out with them.
I could come home from school and the front door of our house would be open. No one home, just the door never got closed all the way.
We were in Nelson BC, I met up with some kids and we found old broken tricycles and a big wheel that was in rough shape. We found a really steep hill heading down to a lake. We rode those rickety things down the hill over and over again. no one died. I was back there many years later and couldn't believe we did that and lived to tell about it.
My father told me a story about when he was young. He and a friend went into the small town bank basement with their BB guns and through a window started shooting out a bunch of the Christmas lights that were hung along the main st. they got caught and had to work to pay for the damaged lights. Today a swat team would be rushed to the scene and the kids would be taken away in cuffs.
Today being a parent is different and as a parent we have to adapt.
It is a shame that kids just don't "play" like we used to. We have (OK, Mom's have) been scared into thinking there is some sort of pervert lurking in the bushes on every street corner. It's also a bit of a natural progression. Every generation of parents wants something better for their kids than they had.
For many of us here, our grandparents probably grew up before or during the war. They likely did not have much, but after the war things started looking up, and family's started buying homes etc. our parents took it the next step and bought a house and had 2 cars and could give us things their parents couldn't. Now we have the ability and desire to give our kids even more, and because technology has advanced so far, it's those toys that are defining their lives.
We also (again, Mom's also) want to protect our kids and in some ways try to focus their lives on a path that they think will lead to success.
So instead of coming in when the street lights go on, it's off the game (which they are playing on line with a bunch of friends and chatting etc) at bedtime.

Remember them? Hell, I think I've got scars from them. A friend of mine recently took his kids out and taught them about stinging nettles. He laughed as they learned. He's a good dad.

How do you get scars from these? Allergic reaction/inflammation?

It was a joke about how bad I've been eaten up by nettles before. They grew very thick in the woods next to our house. More than once before learning better, I walked right through the middle a whole patch of them that stood at least shoulder high. The worst part was after I got through them, I had to go back to get home.

My crib was in the way back of the station wagon when I was little. But, I didn't die, so it's OK to do that. Really.

Scrapes, scuffs, and stitches are an important part of growing up, IMO. When brain damage and death are on the line, I have to call bullshit.

Although nostalgic, I think this video is horse shit propaganda. If it wasn't propaganda, the creator's/producer's name would be on it, somewhere, online. And it's not. Goebbles would be impressed. Lap it up, everyone. Reminisce about the good ole days of no regulation.

"According to today’s regulators and bureaucrats those of us who were kids in the ‘50s, ‘60s, ‘70s or even early ‘80s, probably should not have survived."
-Typical straw man argument

All of these stories make me laugh as I did all the same stuff. We lived in Orange County in a new development when the Manson murders took place. Me and all the boys in the new tract split into two teams and commenced a dirt clod war. I was accurate as hell with a dirt clod.

Hiding behind a 50 gallon drum on it's side, apparently my head stuck out enough to get hit. This hit hurt more than most. Rubbing my head, it felt really wet. Blood was everywhere. Some little bastard hit me with a jagged piece of unfinished cement. Everyone scattered. There was a blood trail from the from the barrel, through a catwalk and all the way to my kitchen sink.

Stepdad comes home a couple minutes later and we're off to get stitches. No note left behind. Mom comes home to open front door, blood trail through the house and blood all over the sink and dishes. Arrive home a couple hours later eating an ice cream cone. Mom is out of her mind talking to the cops thinking another Manson event took place. Stepdad gets a talking to by mom. Me and stepdad are grounded for a couple days.

I think that one took a year or two off mom's life.

I found out that a large Super Ball makes a fist much harder.

What part of OC, maybe we fought each other in these wars!

We made sparkler bombs... electrical tape together as tight as possible 2o or so sparklers --- loud as a stick of dynamite.

Once I released a couple of fairly large Gartner snakes on our school bus.

We would tie fishing line around a potatoe, and stretch the line across a road... when a car approached we'd be hiding in the bushes and pull up the potatoe (or tomatoe) so it'd hit the windshield, then run like hell. Often their antennaes would snap off from the fishing line.

My brother and his buddies would dump a bunch of red food coloring all over my face & white shirt, so I'd look really bloody, and we'd make it look likke my bike was wrapped around a stop sign, and I'd be laying there "unconcious" until a car would stop and the people would jump out to see if I was ok... I'd get up and run like hell.

Make Cambel's vegetable soup for my brother, and dump in massive amounts of Tobasco sauce.

When my brother was asleep I'd place his hand in a bowl of warm water - he'd pee his pants.

Super glue his fingers together when asleep.

Put a big wad of shaving cream in his hand when asleep, when he'd wake up an rub his eyes...

My dad would give us each $5 every saturday to go get haircuts at our local babrber shop. What we would do instead was to take the bus downtown, and get 50 cent haircuts at the Barber College, and use the remaining $4.50 for a movie and candy & sodas.

One time when my friends were in my bedroom building car models, I went downstairs and twisted together and lit a few red smoke bombs, snuck back to the room and put them in a can, then ran out of the room and layed down with my feet against the door, as they were yelling at me to open the door... Trouble is when the smoke left the room, it turned all of the white walls and ceiling in our entire upstairs "pink" from the sulfurous smoke, and stunk up the whole house. My dad had to hire Servicemaster to clean the walls then we had them repainted. He wasnt too happy.

We'd siphon gas out of my mom or dad's car for our motor scooters.

A neighbor pissed me off once and I packed his mail box with a bunch of Inkfish from the market (like small squid, but very gross especially on a very hot summer day!)

We'd spray lighter fluid on wasp nests and light them on fire.

Roll tires down very steep city (neighborhood streets) and run like hell.

Built kinda crappy soap-box derby wannabe cars and usually end up crashing them due to poorly engineered steering mechanisms.

Catch bullheads and stick firecrackers in their mouths.

Place orders for pizza deliveries to the kid's house down the street who was a jerk..."Yes, sir we are having a Birthday party and we'd like 4 large pizzas delivered to..."

Call people out of the phone books at random "This is your neighbor, your roof is on fire"...

Was riding my Honda Trail 90 home (late for dinner)... was weaving back and forth on the road (it was fun), well the bike flipped, and when I came to, the bike
was on top of me revving very fast, and my two fingers were stuck going around and around the rear sprocket / chain. When I collected myself and shut off the bike, I limped home with my hand in my pocket. My dad asked me to take my hand out of my pocket, when I did my index finger stayed in my pocket... Managed to get it attached, but it doesn't work very well and gets numb in cold weather real easily. My mom nearly fainted.

Then there were the Roman Candle wars! Fun stuff!

I took the city bus to school in the morning, and walked home through the most dangerous part of town every night after school. About 2 miles. You think kids would do that today? Hell No!

We would have bottle rocket wars in the parking lot of the catholic grade school we went to.

It was set up perfect. It had a guard rail and bike rack on one side. And the other had low bushes between the parking lot and a side walk to the multiple church doors.

The parking lot is about 180 feet long and 80 feet wide. It was the perfect side. Because the cheap bottle rockets had about a 150 range before they went pop. So all that would hit you was the stick and a wad of paper.

Didn't Eric Clapton play lead guitar with them?

I grew up 3 miles from the TN state line where fireworks are legal. $20 would buy a grocery bag full of bottle rockets, Roman candles, and firecrackers. Many wars happened over the years. When my step dad came home from work, he would usually kick back in his recliner and take a short nap. As long as we kept the fireworks away from that side of the house and didn't wake him, everything was cool. But one time I had a big bag of fireworks laying at the edge of the garage door. It had a couple grosses of bottle rockets (the ones that whistle on their flight then report with a bang) and a big brick of firecrackers. Someone (probably me) lit a rocket and tossed it in the air. But instead of it flying away, it came back at me and hit the paper bag. Bag caught on fire and started lighting the contents. Bottle rockets were flying into the garage. All sounds were being amplified in the garage. The main door into the house was open with just the screen door closed so all noise traveled through the house to the living room. Nap time was ruined that day.

It took a second time before I learned to put my stash further from the garage door when playing with fireworks. LOL

Yorba Linda from 1969-1971

Wow, where abouts? Lived YL/Placentia all my life with the exception of 4 years in KY.

YL at that time was very small. Did you ever make over to "the reservoir" by Tuffree, now known as Tri-city park?

Many many of these type stories happened there.

There was a abanded house with a empty swimming pool out by the shooting range in YL that in the late 70's was known as "the Rat Hole" a very famous skate spot in the day.