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My daughter's world is quite unlike my childhood. Her world is full of safety devices, toy recalls, peanut-free classrooms and smoke-free environments. It's a wonder I ever survived my youth.

I was a middle child. I believe that's now labelled as a syndrome of some kind.

I don't remember toy recalls, although I'm sure most of the things we played with were laden with toxins. My younger brother used to chew on his painted crib — it was probably lead paint.

Out of boredom I would suck on my offering before it was collected in church. I can still remember the metallic taste of the coins. This probably helped boost my immune system — I don't recall catching as many colds as my daughter seems to get. Now I carry hand sanitizer in my purse and slather it on her after she even looks at money.

Somehow my generation survived playing lawn darts, an outdoor game played by tossing giant darts that had a metal tip. They could also be used as weapons to seriously impale. Today's computer games just don't add up to the excitement of chasing an annoying brother with a lawn dart.

I don't remember my parents censoring what we watched on our black-and-white television. Mind you, we could only get about three channels, and that was on a clear day. Reality shows didn't exist so we had to watch shows with plots. Actors played roles in functional families and dialogue didn't require bleeping out every other word. Talk shows were about people talking, not throwing stage props.

We didn't have computers and the Internet for researching school projects. I have many fond memories of my time spent in the school library with my friends at a table stacked high with open encyclopedias, while the boys in my sixth-grade class sat in the back corner snickering behind National Geographic.

Text messaging was secretly passing handwritten notes to a friend during class. The few electronic gadgets we had were attached to an outlet, not to our heads or hands.

I remember Halloween was one of my favourite times of year. My brothers and I would sort through our candy to pick out all our favourite treats. Now I go through my daughter's candy to remove anything that appears suspicious or harmful before she is even allowed to begin sorting through for her favourites.

We didn't have all the safety apparel for sports that we do today. I thought it would be a good idea to sign up my daughter for skating lessons since she received her first pair of ice skates this past Christmas. That's when I discovered it's mandatory for kids to wear a hockey helmet approved by the Canadian Standards Association. They also suggested that she wear a face mask for extra protection. Whatever happened to the good old days when falling down and smacking your head on the ice meant seeing stars.

My parents didn't have to buy car seats for us. I remember riding in the back seat of our 1964 red Buick Wildcat while hanging over the front seat to get a good look at my new baby brother cradled in my mother's arms on the drive home from the hospital.

In the 1970s, we went on a lot of family road trips in our Chevrolet station wagon. While my father was going 60 miles an hour, my two brothers and I would lean out the fully opened rear window to wave at truckers. We would also take turns sitting between Mom and Dad in the front seat. When it was time for us to change seats, we'd simply climb over the front seat to the back while Dad continued driving. I'm sure there must have been seat belts in the car but they were probably hidden somewhere down the back of the seat.

Now I find myself on the coldest day in January struggling to get my four-year-old strapped into her Canadian Motor Vehicle Safety Standards-approved car seat. It's quite the time consuming and strenuous feat to get the seatbelt to stretch across her snowsuit-clad body.

Not long after my daughter started junior kindergarten, a note came home informing us that her school would be having lockdown drills in the event of an emergency. When I was in school the only weapons a kid might have on them would have been a slingshot or a plastic straw and tiny wads of paper.

Lockdowns in my day were when a brother wouldn't let you in to use the bathroom. No amount of pounding on the door would help you gain access to the only toilet in the house for a family of five. Thanks to toilet locks, my daughter has missed out on the fun I had as a kid dangling a brother's favourite toy over an open toilet.

My daughter's world is different and I fully understand this is all for her safety and well-being. But am I the only one still struggling to open the childproof lock on an Advil bottle?

Laurie Anne Smith lives in Courtice, Ont.