My two sisters and I were definitely free-range kids. They went to school by themselves, but there was always a bunch of kids heading the same way. I had a home teacher provided by the school district because I'd had polio at the age of two. I didn't go to public school until I was in high school and felt secure enough with a leg brace and pair of forearm crutches.

But before then, I used to propel my little red wagon south one block and east two blocks to a drugstore where there was a newsstand that had a rack of comic books, and I'd sit there and read for a couple of hours (tolerated by the store owner). Never had a problem.   

That was in Pasadena, California. When I was about ten, we moved to Seattle.

Dad used to drive me to Roosevelt High School on his way to work, but I made my own way home. Again, everything okay. From our house, there was a small business district about six blocks away, a public library three blocks away, and the East Green Lake swimming beach and field house one block beyond the library.

Saturday afternoons, one of my sisters and I walked several blocks to a movie theater. Double feature, newsreel, cartoon, and thirteen or fifteen chapter serial ("The Mysterious Doctor Satan," "Batman," "Don Winslow of the Navy," great stuff!). Then we'd walk home again.

Maybe things were safer then in ancient times. We were never bothered by anyone and weren't afraid of much of nuthin'.

One time I was swimming in a public swimming pool (I was maybe twelve) and an older man got friendly. At one point he tried to slip his hand inside my swim trunks. I knew there was something not right about this, so I just told him (kind of loudly) to leave me alone or I'd call the lifeguard. He beat a hasty retreat and left the pool.

I told my parents about it. And that's when I got "the birds and the bees" talk. And the warning that there were occasional strange people about.

Don Firth