Adrian Chamberlain’s Running with the pack article in the Times Colonist includes memories of his childhood on Gabriola:
Lacking computer games and iPhones, we made our own fun. We roved aimlessly in packs. Like the Boy Scouts, but with no baggy-shorted adults to tell us to stop wrecking people’s stuff.
Our gang liked to invade a place we called Howie’s barn. This was an old barn – grey, weathered boards – owned by an ancient gentleman, Mr. Howie.
We’d sneak into Howie’s barn to swing, from what seemed a great height, from hemp ropes into piles of straw. The thrill factor was the ever-present threat of Mr. Howie. It added a pinch of danger.
Mr. Howie would overhear us yelling and laughing in his barn. He’d hobble over, fling open the doors and bellow at us – our cue for escape. Once, while fleeing, my brother and another kid [continue]
Like Adrian, I survived a dangerous island childhood before the advent of helicopter parenting. Did you?
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