How Dare That Young Whipper Snapper
By Tom Valley
I read an article the the other day entitled “Trends that baby-boomers should let die” - or something like that. 'Baby boomers', if you've been living under a rock, is a term ascribed to those born after WWII (1946-1964) when there was a sudden rise in the national birth rate.
Apparently, this millennial, 'Joe Cool' columnist, was embarrassed by the way my geriatric generation of Viet Nam vets, aging hippies, red necks and draft-card/bra burners - went about our businesses. Well, now he knows how we feel about his like.
Anyhow, he wanted us to drop our habits and live more in tune with his self-deemed in-vogue style. Wonderful.
Note: I did NOT burn my draft-card ... nor my bra. Can't say the same for a few proverbial bridges and relationships along the way. (Did I say that out loud?)
Regardless, I was somewhat upset/amused by being preached to by some wet-behind-the-ears, know-it-all, wool-sweater-wearing snoot with a scarf. Someone who takes for granted the privileges he attained by standing on the shoulders of previous generations and condescends from a platform he never built. His attitude was just the fuel I needed to rise up and bite back.
If I may, I will address his (tongue-in-cheek, I'm sure) sermon, with a rebuttal of my own (being careful not to twist the knife … too much). And I think I can speak for everyone born since 1940 or so … so off I go.
Dear Mr. Joe Cool, I'm sorry but we can't do stuff like you do. You see, most of our parents are dead. It's too late for us to move into their basements and rip through their hard earned savings. Dang!
Leaving us the other option of residing in one of those closet-sized houses on wheels that your generation is so infatuated with. The kind where we have to explain to our families to not visit us, because we have only one stool to sit on.
But beyond odd, is how you somehow manage to find room in those doll houses, as evidenced by pictures, for a dog the size of North Dakota. One who wears a plaid bandanna around his neck and has the habit of leaving a rancid two-inch layer of saliva all over your face in one stealth slurp. Cute, but no thanks, I'll just stick with the Old Spice.
I read the article, you authored, on my laptop where the news pops up. I apologize for not knowing the technical/hip/slang word used to describe what that's called, so I'll just call it … your trend. A trend which is, by the way, toppling the still venerated – by my generation - newspaper industry right before our eyes.
The first thing on your list was the claim that baby boomers had an obsession with diamonds. That's hilarious. And to illustrate your point, you added a picture of Elizabeth Taylor. She was wearing more diamonds and glitter than you'd see in a jewelry store and Liberace closet, combined.
Okay, right off the bat, Joe, Elizabeth Taylor was born in 1932. She's as much a baby-boomer as Bea Arthur, King Arthur and Chester A. Arthur. Nice try. Strike one.
FYI: The diamond culture was the one before ours. We were the counter-culture. Ergo, no diamonds. It's been somewhat dormant for awhile. But your generation, yours, not ours is the one resurrecting the rage. Take a look around at today's entertainers/rappers, your pals/homeboys and even athletes-in-the-heat-of-competition who do nothing without ten pounds of 'ice' and/or gold hanging around their, necks, ears, noses, bellybuttons etc. etc. That's true, but your claim, false. Swing and a miss … strike two.
The next trend, you said we should drop, is golf. Golf? It's a trend? According to you, it is. Not a sport or hobby … a trend. And we should just “drop” it.
History lesson: Golf cannot be pinned on someone born in the 1950's. It's has been around – in some form or another – since the time of Julius Caesar. Seriously. Look it up. Can't blame that on us. No sir-ree, ya can't do it.
But, out of curiosity, what would you suggest we do instead of golf? Sequester ourselves in a dark basement and play video games?
“Mom, I told you to never come into my bedroom and bother me when I'm playing 'Big Mutha Truckers 2: Truck Me Harder'! Geeesh!”
(That, my friends, is the actual name of a video game. I kid you not. I did my research.)
Enough said, Joe. Strike three. You're outta here!
So am I. See ya.'
And that's the way it looks from the Valley.
Stay smart, stay healthy: Tvalley@Rochester.RR.com