I'm older than you guys. I had my first bike at age nine (1959). A twenty six inch Columbia, that grandfather bought me. The stingray came out in the early sixties. We lived in the county, and were allowed to burn trash. I hated the job, as I had to stand there till the fire went out, no matter the weather. But once in a while someone would throw away a aerosol spray can. It was great to just stand back, and wait for the eventual fire and ash geyser as the can exploded in the flames, with a loud bang. I never broke bones, but had my share of cuts and abrasions. Even got stitches twice growing up. Tree climbing was one of my favorite pass times. I dared myself to climb as high as the tree would let me. Funny that I worked a bucket truck at one time in my work life. I think about that growing up once in a while. We didn't have a lot, but we had a comfortable home and food on the table. I remember my grandfather complaining about buying groceries for the family of four. Six bags as I recall, for a grand total of twenty one dollars. Until he died, I went through his estate, I never knew how much money he made. I was stunned when I read his tax records. Even for the sixties, the amount he took home wasn't a whole lot. I knew then just how tight things were.
