Jeff Knowles
Guest columnist Jeff Knowles is a Columbus writer whose work includes three books and several magazine articles. His latest book, Cuyahoga’s Child: Growing Up in the Valley of the Crooked River, was published for him by Orange Frazer Press in Wilmington, Ohio in November 2015.
Funny, how American generations seem to have “personalities.” We can almost picture faces when we think of the “Greatest Generation,” or “Gen-Xers,” or the present “Millennials.” So, too, for those of us who began the popular tradition of naming generations, the demographically robust Baby Boomers (BBs). For the past several decades we have been indulged mostly for our large market value and voting bloc.
But personalities have childhoods, and our DOB was 1946-1964. That’s us, there in the school picture, the rebellious, earnest, disrespectful “we” of the 1960s who were so determined to reject the politics and materialism of our security-ridden parents who had been ravaged by war and economic angst. Of course, this image of us rides on a stereotype. Many of us were conservative and comfortably squirreled away in college (which our beleaguered parents were often helping to pay for). And too many of the Lefties in the spotlighted protest groups were just trying to replace one vested (i.e., ego) interest with another.
Yet . . . there was a ring of truth, however faint and cluttered, in the voice of that youthful generation, a warning that all was not well with the nation, and a willingness to dig deeper for the answers to troublesome questions. However awkwardly and disagreeably, we were on to something.
So, how are we Baby Boomers doing in our aging process? Not very well, I think, if recent events are any indication. The youthful generation that so vocally demonstrated its right to challenge authority seems to be morphing into one of the most easily manipulated demographic groups in the land–at least the white males among us. Our fat-filled reading tastes have taken us from the Pentagon Papers to fake news, while our mental journeys have moved us from the streets of protest to the tabloid racks of the checkout lanes.
In response to Nature’s invoice that now demands from us payment in physical pain and fatigue, we have taken to sipping the soured nectars of self-pity and, yes, even distilled hatreds. And we have replaced our deep diving capacity with the fevered scootings of water striders vacantly skimming the context-free cliches of our addled cultural surfaces.
I think it’s time we Baby Boomers begin growing up into our older age. Our culture does not automatically revere its older generations as wise and relevant; quite the opposite. Oh, it pays lip service when we shop and vote, but anything beyond that has to be earned.
Generations have no inalienable right to respect, nor should they. Let’s remember–and practice–the good, hard parts of our youth, and then age them well. By now, we should know that anger is OK as a scout, but not as a guide. And the willful ignorance of otherwise intelligent people should never be a part of any generation. So, too, for hatred and enthronement of the other shadows of our darker natures.
As someone said, “We’re better than that.” Or should be.
Especially at our age.
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