There’s not much noisier in the natural world than Great Blue Heron rookeries during mating season. Cars being crushed would compare nicely.
Kids, in their unbridled enthusiasm, were naturally noisy. Parents generally tolerated outside noises, unless someone started crying.
At bedtime, it was a different story. “Knock off that racket and go to bed.” It was best not to press the issue with dad–because soon came the dreaded, “Don’t make me tell you again.”
And if kid noises weren’t enough, there were other ways to make noise. Two blades of grass moistened with just enough spittle, would shriek when blown through. Balloons, playing cards in bicycle spokes, weren’t loud enough. Pieces of wire, metal against metal, made a terrific motorcycle-like cacophony. Which resulted in loose spokes and wobbly wheels.
The cloud of doom hung over my head when my younger brother or sister ran into the house yowling about something I’d done. Nothing else to do, but wait for punishment that always followed.
Pity gift givers that gave us drum sets, clickers, whistles, or noisemakers of any kind. They were likely to be confiscated. Parents just wanted some peace and quiet. Was that too much to ask?