1957 and the biggest literary threat to merry olde England was a group of overgrown toddlers with the ability to say no and the means to back it up. Children were to be seen, not heard, and if they got hit by a car or attacked by an animal, who were they to complain?

Of course, the children grew up and gave the world abominations like the Mersey Beat and the British Invasion. We had been warned. The warnings went unheeded. Without death and destruction to thwart them, children make demands.

in 1957, the response was obvious. Smuggle a brief case full of dynamite into their classroom or test fire a new super cannon with nuclear shells on the town where they live. Precocious toddlers must learn to play by the rules.

Did we? For the most part, I remember staying quiet when we went to the movies, keeping a respectful distance when the elders were talking, and having such mundane hobbies as model building, stamp collecting and of course gathering small plastic armies who patrolled the living room and were occasionally missing in action.

So what was the problem? Well, no one else was following the rules. They hated Jews, hated smart little kids, and did not look kindly on any child who knew the difference between a Spad XIII and an S.E.5-a. They did not come after me with sticks of dynamite but did put me in a class for slow learners and memorably to sessions with the school counselor. Which is to say that childhood was a difficult experience papered over with the illusion that it was a normal childhood.

So how does my child fare? She explores the minefield of childhood at a distance. The pandemic has kept her a step removed. Is she too bright for her own good? Doubtful. Will she say no? Hopefully. Will they bring her a suitcase full of tnt? They better not.