Top 12+ Daily Habits We Picked Up from Our Parents in the ’60s Without Realizing It

4. Answering the Phone with Your Full Name

The telephone was a household centerpiece, its ring commanding immediate attention and proper etiquette that Dad insisted upon. “Harrison residence, James speaking”—the formal greeting we were taught to recite from the moment we were tall enough to reach the rotary dial. The idea of answering with a casual “hello” or “yeah?” was as unthinkable as wearing shorts to Sunday service.

Despite today’s caller ID making this practice entirely unnecessary, many of us still catch ourselves answering with our full names, especially when receiving calls on our landlines (which we’ve kept despite everyone’s insistence they’re obsolete).

5. Writing Thank-You Notes

The rule was absolute: gifts received required prompt acknowledgment through personally handwritten notes, no exceptions. Mother would set out her good stationery, a proper pen, and ensure we expressed specific appreciation for each gift before the week was out. These notes weren’t just polite formalities—they were lessons in gratitude, handwriting practice, and the art of appropriate sentiment all rolled into one dreaded after-birthday chore.

Now we find ourselves maintaining this tradition, stocking quality notecards and teaching our grandchildren the same practice—secretly pleased when they grumble exactly as we once did.

6. Sunday Drives

The Sunday afternoon drive had no particular destination—just Dad behind the wheel, Mom navigating, and the family piled in the back of the station wagon. These aimless excursions through countryside or neighboring towns were about the journey rather than any particular destination, punctuated by Dad’s commentary on gas prices or interesting architecture. We’d watch the world roll by through open windows, the radio playing softly as families collectively practiced the now-foreign art of observing their surroundings without digital distraction.

Today, despite gas prices and environmental concerns, many of us still find ourselves taking the “scenic route” or suggesting weekend drives, seeking that same purposeless peace our parents somehow knew we needed.

7. Keeping a Junk Drawer

It wasn’t labeled as such, but everyone knew exactly which kitchen drawer contained the magnificent miscellany of life’s odds and ends. Rubber bands, paper clips, mysterious keys to unknown locks, half-used candles, instruction manuals for appliances long-discarded—all found their way into this domestic purgatory of “might need it someday” items. Our parents could miraculously retrieve exactly what was needed from this chaotic collection, turning the junk drawer into a household magic trick.

Despite our best Marie Kondo intentions, we’ve replicated this exact drawer in our own homes, inexplicably comforted by its practical disorder and the silent admission that some things simply defy categorization.

8. Darning Socks

The small wooden mushroom and careful stitches symbolized Mother’s refusal to succumb to disposable culture, even as it blossomed around her. She’d sit under the best lamp in the evening, methodically closing holes in socks that today wouldn’t survive a single washing machine cycle. This wasn’t just about saving money—it was her quiet rebellion against wastefulness, a meditative practice that transformed the broken into the renewed.

Though few of us maintain this exact practice, its spirit lives on in our reluctance to replace items at the first sign of wear, our YouTube searches for repair tutorials, and our inexplicable attachment to clothing items long past their prime.

9. Consulting the Encyclopedia

The living room bookshelf housed those impressive leather-bound volumes, standing ready to settle dinner table debates or assist with homework questions. Dad would pull the appropriate volume with ceremonial reverence, thumbing through tissue-thin pages to locate facts that were presented as unquestionable truth. The encyclopedia represented our household’s commitment to knowledge and learning—an investment nearly as significant as the family car.

Today, despite having search engines in our pockets, many of us still maintain reference books on our shelves, sometimes consulting them first before turning to digital sources as if paying homage to a time when information required effort and came with built-in authority.

10. Keeping a Change Jar

The heavy glass container sat on Dad’s dresser, collecting the daily emptying of pockets—pennies, nickels, dimes, and the occasional quarter accumulating into an impressive fund. This wasn’t mere loose change but a household savings strategy that would eventually finance small luxuries or emergency needs with surprising efficiency. The ritual of contributing to and counting this communal treasure taught us patience, the value of incremental saving, and the satisfaction of watching small actions compound over time.

Many of us still maintain some version of this practice, finding strange comfort in the weight of a jar filled with coins despite living in an increasingly cashless society.

11. Ironing Everything

Sunday evenings in many households featured the ritual preparation for the week ahead, centered around the ironing board and the steaming tool of wrinkle warfare. Mother would press everything from Dad’s work shirts to our school clothes, pillowcases, and even handkerchiefs, transforming rumpled fabric into crisp perfection. The distinctive smell of hot cotton and spray starch became the olfactory signal that the weekend was ending and a fresh week beginning.

Though permanent press fabrics have made this practice largely unnecessary, many of us still find ourselves ironing certain items with unnecessary precision, seeking that same satisfaction of visible order created through simple effort.

12. Eating Dinner Together Every Night

The 6 o’clock dinner bell wasn’t a suggestion but a command that brought everyone to the table regardless of other activities or desires. This daily gathering featured proper settings, serving dishes passed clockwise, and the expectation of meaningful conversation about the day’s events or current affairs. No television, no phone calls during this sacred time—just family connection disguised as a practical need for nourishment.

Despite busier schedules and changing family structures, many of us have fought to maintain some version of this tradition, instinctively understanding what research now confirms: breaking bread together regularly builds stronger family bonds and healthier relationships.

Our parents didn’t set out to create lifelong habits when they taught us these everyday practices—they were simply passing along what they knew, what worked, and what mattered to them. As we find ourselves automatically saving butter tubs, making hospital corners on beds, or insisting on proper phone etiquette, we’re not just performing tasks—we’re connecting across generations. These inherited habits are more than nostalgia; they’re living links to our shared past and silent acknowledgments of the wisdom our parents possessed, often without knowing it. Perhaps the greatest gift we can give them is recognizing how much of them lives on in our daily routines, quietly shaping our homes and hearts decades later.