Back in the day, we kids played outside without adult supervision.

At the playground, we had a baseball sand lot, a basketball court, two picnic tables, a swing set, a merry-go-round and a seesaw.

The kids pledged a silent oath to the unwritten rules we made up together. Any game with teams was played fair to both sides. Arguments about plays were settled with do-overs. Whenever a baseball was undecidedly hit fair or foul or when no one could agree if the red dimpled ball hit the kid in a kickball game, we agreed to cancel and replay. In a basketball game, when someone was fouled, he called it out loud, and we followed our honor code of fairness.

Cheaters were kicked out of all games for the day. Everyone wanted to play and stay, so that was hardly ever an issue.

Fistfights were rare, but there again, the object was to keep the fight fair. Older kids never challenged the younger. The bout was between two kids who had gotten tired of picking on each other. Nobody else stepped in to help a friend in a fight. We fought with our fists for punching and our arms for wrestling. If someone was knocked down with a punch, the other kid waited until he got back up before the fight resumed. No kicking someone who was on the ground. The fight ended when one quit or both were too exhausted to continue. When it was over, it was done for good. No rematches. We “man-boys” shook hands and moved on to the next thing to do in the playground. A certain respect formed between us after we stepped out of the ring of dirt. You didn’t have to like the kid who punched you, but you held no grudge. I once picked a player for my sandlot team who a half an hour earlier had given me a black eye.

We walked or rode our bikes home for lunch and then right back we came. We never left the playground until dinner time. If it rained, we played through it; if it poured, we took shelter under the school roof until it diminished to a drizzle.

There were other laws of our land. Respect the alpha males, who were two or three older kids who nobody messed with. They weren’t bullies at all; they just had that certain presence that silently said, “Don’t even think about it” if you would be stupid enough to challenge them. The best thing was when kids from another neighborhood showed up on our turf and started a problem, the alphas always had our backs.

We looked after the little ones. If a first-grader fell off the swing and cut his arm, we checked on him or walked him home if he needed medical attention.

We took care of our stuff and cleaned up the playground. For baseball, we had one wooden bat with a screw in the handle and tape over that. We played with one ball, half water logged with a torn seam that flapped in the wind whenever a fly ball was hit. If someone hit the ball in the woods, all of us dropped our gloves and went on a search and discover mission. If a close play at a base was disputed, it was decided by the two captains calling odd or even while flipping their fingers into an imagined circle.

From the article, “Life Lessons You Could Only Learn on the Playground” from the website, Playworld, the author writes, “One of the benefits of play without a lot of structure is that children are encouraged to think for themselves and to come up with creative ideas. Without an adult telling them the rules of the game, or how to play, kids are free to come up with their own ideas and practice problem-solving.”

We never left a soda can or a wrapper on the playground because we were took care of our turf. We swallowed well water pumped from Mr. Boyle’s backyard, or we slurped Mrs. Solari’s garden hose from across the street. We thanked both for their kindness.

When I think of how we marshaled our own behavior, I realized the playground was where we learned lessons for life, too. Be fair. Respect your elders. Look after your youngers. Take care of your stuff. Clean up after yourself. Be a good member of the team. Get along with everyone. Be grateful.

American critic Mike Gallagher writes, “Schools insist that everything is under their purview — what your kids eat, what they believe, what they say on the playground.” You can say the same is true about many parents.

We wonder why so many young adults today are not independent thinkers and problem solvers or they emotionally collapse when they fail. I have seen kids who literally run to their parents for encouragement between every inning of a baseball game. I’ve witnessed 12-year-old boys cry when they make an out or an error.

Someone once told me, “We don’t own our kids, we only rent them for a while.”

That statement no longer holds true for many families. Adult children living in America with their parents today has reached epidemic numbers. Financial hardship is a major issue, but studies also reveal that parents still have great influence upon the important decisions their adult sons and daughters must make.

No matter if the child is 26 or 36, the child is still the child.

Gone are the old school playgrounds where kids took care of themselves, nurtured their independence, and learned how to play the game of life.

Rich Strack can be reached at katehep11@gmail.com.