Generation Gap

I came of age in the early 1970s. My mother always said she was glad I wasn't born five years earlier. I missed some of the most exciting events of that era, such as burning bras, Woodstock and the 1968 Democratic convention. If I had been old enough, I might have been in the thick of it. As it turned out, I was only a spectator.

I do vividly remember one of the mantras of the time. "Don't trust anyone over thirty."

Anyone over thirty was old, last year, out-of-touch and out-of-date. Only the young were "hip" and "with it." The older generation had ruined the world. It was our job to change things. Ah, the optimism of youth.

I haven't seen thirty for quite a few years now, so I guess I'm "over the hill." The strange thing about my generation, though, is that we resist getting old. As I type this, I'm sitting on the floor, cross-legged, wearing a t-shirt. I wear glasses, but I refuse to wear the old lady chain around my neck. I'd rather just keep losing and looking for them. I still listen to the oldies on occasion, and right now I have rap on my CD player--Muslim rap of course. No Lawrence Welk for me.

Even though our generation didn't bring an end to war, poverty and pollution, we refused to get old. We will not "go gently into that good night." Look at all the wrinkled, balding and gray-haired rock stars still on tour.

We were also going to conquer the generation gap. Our children would feel comfortable talking to us about anything. We would stay young, and our children would appreciate our youthful perspective. They would never be embarrassed by us. We would always understand them.

Another fantasy, as ludicrous as the notion that the world could spontaneously break out in peace. Our children want, need to be separate from us. If we try to act like them, they are embarrassed. And there are times when we simply cannot understand.

I grew up in a time without internet, email, push-button phones or CDs. My children have a hard time imagining a life with typewriters, stationary, rotary phones and record players. (I have one. I have to show them how it works.)

In spite of all that, we need to communicate with our children. And they need to respect us for the experience and, hopefully, wisdom we've picked up along the way.

In September, my 19-year old went to visit my mother. She told me later that when he spoke with me on the phone it sounded like he was talking with a friend. I don't have to emulate his slang or preferred-clothing styles, and I certainly don't have to (don't want to) listen to his music.

But we have to communicate. I suspect many of our parents knew that all along. I know mine did.