Back in the day kiwi kids grew up with all the things we like to think of as being integral to a free-range childhood.
Somewhere between the 80s and the iPhone things have become a little distorted as to what growing up in the land of milk and honey actually looks like. Parents working longer and longer hours, the quarter acre dream becoming an apartment in the city and technology becoming the babysitter that Mother Nature once was. Yes, New Zealand you’ve changed and possibly not for the betterment of encouraging our next generation to embrace the beauty that lies on our doorsteps that the rest of the world so desperately wants to come and explore.
When people ask what made me successful in sport a very clear answer resonates, it’s all boils down to how I grew up. For the most part, the first five years of my life I was left to my own devices tagging along with mum and dad on a very isolated farm on the east coast of the Wairarapa. The closest neighbours were forty minutes away on a gravel road, kindergarten was via correspondence and my saint of a welsh mountain pony was my best mate who I would torment with hours of ‘round and round the pen’.
My doll count peaked at two; lego, a sandpit, pet lambs, goats and calves seemed far more interactive, responsive and entertaining. I was a free-range kid, I knew how to make my own fun and entertain myself with what I found around me. Family life revolved around farm life and the odd family holiday embracing the kiwi goodness of camping, bachs, huts and running around until we ran out of steam.
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