12 Things Everyone Did In The 1960s That Zoomers Would Consider Insane Today

The 1960s—a glorious era when seat belts were optional, helmets were for astronauts, and sunscreen was just a fancy way of saying “cooking oil.”

It was a time when safety standards were more of a suggestion, and common sense seemed to be off on a permanent sabbatical. I still remember my mom waving me out the door with a “Be back by dinner!”—no phone, no GPS, just a vague hope I wouldn’t end up in a neighboring town.

We drank from garden hoses, rode in the back of pickup trucks like it was a parade, and played with toys that now require hazmat warnings. Somehow, we survived—with only a few bruises and a healthy distrust of lawn darts. Looking back, it’s almost unbelievable how casual things were.

But that contrast makes today’s world of padded playgrounds and helicopter parenting all the more fascinating—and maybe, just maybe, a little overcautious.

1. Smoking Absolutely Everywhere

Lighting up a cigarette in a hospital waiting room seems utterly bonkers now, but back in my childhood, it was Tuesday. Doctors sometimes even had ashtrays in their offices! Restaurants were foggy affairs where your non-smoking table was basically just a symbolic gesture.

Airplanes were perhaps the most shocking smoking zones. Picture being trapped in a metal tube at 30,000 feet while half the passengers puffed away merrily. My first flight as a kid left my clothes smelling like I’d spent the weekend in a chimney.

Movie theaters, grocery stores, and even school teacher lounges were smoke-filled chambers. The concept of secondhand smoke danger simply wasn’t on anyone’s radar yet.

2. Car Safety? What Car Safety?

Freedom was riding shotgun with Dad while Mom held the baby in her lap in the back seat. Seatbelts existed in some cars but were typically tucked away, unused and forgotten like the instruction manuals they came with.

My siblings and I would bounce around the station wagon’s rear compartment like human pinballs on family road trips. The ultimate treat was lying across that rear window shelf, watching clouds zoom by overhead.

Babies rode in flimsy plastic carriers that hooked over the front seat—no crash testing required! Children stood on the front passenger seat or sat on Dad’s lap to “help drive.” The concept of car seats was as foreign as smartphones.

3. Hitchhiking As Normal Transportation

Sticking out your thumb by the roadside wasn’t considered risky business—it was just Tuesday’s commute plan! I hitchhiked to my summer job regularly when I was 16, and my parents never batted an eye. College students routinely thumbed rides across entire states during breaks.

Drivers would pick up complete strangers without a second thought. The unspoken etiquette was simple: make conversation, offer gas money, and don’t be weird. Young women often hitchhiked solo, armed with nothing but optimism and a small suitcase.

Families would even pick up hitchhikers with kids in the car! The stranger-danger concept hadn’t fully materialized yet. Hitchhiking was simply seen as a community-minded activity—an analog version of today’s rideshare apps.

4. Mercury: The Magical Toxic Plaything

Quicksilver fascination gripped us all! When our science teacher broke a thermometer, we’d gather around to poke at the mesmerizing silver blobs. Some lucky kids had actual vials of mercury at home to play with—rolling it around in our bare hands was endlessly entertaining.

My cousin once showed me how to make a mercury “hammer” by dunking a quarter in the stuff. The coin would get coated in the shiny liquid metal, creating a weighted trick coin that made a satisfying thunk when dropped.

Parents and teachers supervised these mercury playtimes without concern. Nobody realized we were handling a neurotoxin that could cause permanent brain damage! The beautiful, flowing metal seemed too magical to be dangerous—a perfect example of 1960s chemical innocence.

5. Lead Paint Everywhere (Even In Cribs!)

Our childhood homes were basically toxic wonderlands! The walls, window frames, and even baby cribs gleamed with smooth, lead-filled paint. Parents would repaint nurseries without a second thought, unknowingly exposing their infants to neurotoxins.

I vividly remember helping my dad repaint our kitchen one summer. We sanded the old paint, creating clouds of lead-laden dust that we breathed in for hours. No masks, no ventilation—just open windows if it got too “stuffy.”

Kids chewed on painted windowsills and toys while teething. The sweet taste they found so appealing? That was lead. Even playground equipment was coated in the stuff, creating colorful lead jungles where we spent our summers getting dusty and toxic.

6. Garden Hose Drinking Fountains

Nothing quenched summer thirst like drinking straight from the garden hose! After hours of neighborhood play, we’d race to the nearest house and gulp down water that had been baking in a vinyl tube under the hot sun all day.

The water always had that distinctive “hose taste”—a mixture of rubber, plastic, and whatever chemicals were leaching into it. Sometimes you’d get that first blast of hot water that had been sitting in the hose, bringing with it a special bouquet of metallic tang and garden dirt.

Moms would call out “Don’t drink from that!” but only because they didn’t want us tracking mud inside—never because of concerns about lead, BPA, or the bacteria growing in that warm, moist environment. Stomach aches? Just part of summer fun!

7. Pickup Truck Taxi Service

Nothing says “1960s transportation” quite like piling ten kids into the back of an open pickup truck! My uncle would drive us to the swimming hole this way, all of us bouncing around on the metal bed as he took curves at questionable speeds.

During parades or special events, trucks became mobile grandstands. Parents would simply plop their children in the back with zero restraints, maybe a blanket if it was cold. We’d stand up while driving, sit on the wheel wells, or hang off the sides—all at highway speeds!

Farm kids had it as a daily experience, riding to school or into town perched atop whatever produce or livestock feed was being transported that day. Rain? Just huddle together. Falling out? Just don’t!

8. Trampolines: Injury Machines Without Nets

The neighborhood trampoline was essentially a hospital visit waiting to happen! These spring-loaded danger zones featured exposed metal springs, zero padding, and absolutely no safety nets. The real fun began when 8-10 kids jumped simultaneously, creating a chaotic bounce pattern that launched the smallest children into unpredictable trajectories.

Double-bouncing was an art form—timing your jump to launch a friend sky-high. I once helped catapult my best friend Billy so high he cleared the trampoline entirely and landed in a rosebush!

Parents would casually watch from lawn chairs, cocktails in hand, as we performed “tricks” that orthopedic surgeons would have nightmares about. Broken arms were badges of honor, and the only safety rule was “try not to land on your head.”

9. DIY Fireworks Extravaganzas

Fourth of July meant amateur pyrotechnics with zero supervision! My dad would hand us cherry bombs and M-80s like they were candy, then return to his beer and barbecue duties. We’d light these mini-explosives with matches while holding them, tossing them at the last second—fingers were overrated anyway!

Bottle rockets became handheld weapons in neighborhood “wars,” where we’d aim them at each other from behind trash can shields. Roman candles were meant to be held, obviously, as balls of fire shot dangerously close to your face.

The adults’ contribution? Occasionally yelling “be careful” while setting up their own questionable fireworks displays after a few too many beers. Emergency room visits spiked every July, but it was just considered part of celebrating America’s independence—with missing digits!

10. Sunbathing With Baby Oil And Tin Foil

Skin cancer wasn’t invented yet in the 1960s! Teenagers (myself included) would slather our bodies with baby oil mixed with iodine, creating what was essentially a human deep fryer. The goal wasn’t sun protection—it was accelerated cooking.

For maximum effect, we’d lie on aluminum foil reflectors to concentrate the sun’s rays from all angles. My sister and I would compete to see who could get the most painfully red first, then spend evenings applying Noxzema to our blistered shoulders.

Sunscreen existed but was considered unnecessary except for the palest people or longest beach days. SPF? More like Sunburn Practically Fundamental! The deeper your tan, the healthier you supposedly looked—that leathery skin texture was just a sign you were doing summer right.

11. Playgrounds Of Certain Doom

Our neighborhood playground was essentially an injury obstacle course constructed of metal, concrete, and bad decisions! The slide—a 12-foot sheet of steel that reached egg-frying temperatures in summer—shot kids onto hard-packed dirt. I still have the scars from that landing zone.

The merry-go-round was a centrifugal force experiment that spun at terrifying speeds, flinging children into the stratosphere when they lost their grip. Monkey bars towered over concrete, not woodchips or rubber, because broken arms built character!

My personal favorite was the giant stride—a maypole with hanging chains that let you swing in increasingly faster circles until physics inevitably failed you. Tetanus shots were basically a childhood rite of passage, and nobody sued when Junior came home bleeding. Those were the days!

12. Secondhand Smoke As Childcare Ambiance

Babysitters chain-smoking while watching us was just the normal backdrop of childhood! My regular sitter, Mrs. Jenkins, could balance an impressive two-inch ash on her cigarette while mixing Kool-Aid. The living room permanently smelled like Virginia Slims with notes of Play-Doh.

Family gatherings resembled foggy London streets. Indoor birthday parties featured smoking adults passing lit cigarettes over the cake before you blew out candles. Nobody thought twice about holding babies while smoking—my aunt has photos of herself cradling me with a cigarette dangling inches from my infant head.

Car rides were especially fun—windows rolled up in winter meant hotboxing the station wagon with smoke. Parents would occasionally crack a window if the haze got too thick, but mainly we just adapted our young lungs to the carcinogenic cloud.