Generation S

It seems that every generation has some symbol that represents their ideals and dreams something that crystallizes their moment in time. Be it flappers from the Roaring Twenties or the image of a daisy being placed in the barrel of a National Guards’ rifle. The whole attitude and flavour of those times can be expressed with these images. Being a child of the end of the Baby Boom, I was not really a part of the boom itself just the trickle at the end. I was not a true child of the sixties and wasn’t really a child of the seventies, I was kind of floating somewhere in between Woodstock and Disco, not quite beads and peace signs and certainly not Italian slip-ons and satin suits. All in all, a very disconcerting place to be. A sociologist has recently labeled us as the Generation Jones, which is slang word meaning an intense longing, some how that doesn’t quite ring true to me. The only intense longing I had when I was in my teens, certainly can’t be written about here.

As with most things, as you think of these generational reminders they become more and more apparent to you as you become more and more aware of them. It seemed every thing I saw connected me with a thought or twinged a memory about someone elses moment of time.

A number of years ago my wife and I were musing over this at our dinner table, just reminiscing with the kids about the events of our time. Things that I thought may even finally define our generation. We talked about the music that we listened to, the cultural impacts that occurred and the entertainment we watched as we grew older. I thought the kids would be full of questions. We told them of some of the movies that we wanted to rent for them, among them maybe 2001, A Space Odyssey, maybe a Clint Eastwood movie or two. We played some tunes for them, but yet they seemed pretty blase about the whole thing, so we asked them weren’t they interested in some of our generational icons? Our oldest child, John looked up and said, “It’s not like we don’t care, but it is a little old news, Dad.” Then as a concession to us, John said, “What do you think about this?” And as he creased his eyes into a scowl, he did a good visual impersonation of Clint and said “Go ahead, make my day.” Then he did an admirable job of singing the main musical sequence of the title song of The Good, The Bad and The Ugly with the Steph and Cat weighing in with the wa-wa’s. I looked at the girls and said, “You know about this stuff too?”, “Yeah.” They said together. “And I thought the big black thing in 2001 was way cool.” Said Stephanie. “Yeah.” Replied Catherine, “I liked the way it made people smarter”. I looked at my wife and shrugged my shoulders. “Do you know this song?” I went to the computer and clicked on Won’t Get Fooled Again by The Who. They started to sing along and even attempted the best known scream ever recorded on an album. Feeling a little frustrated, I said, “Ever hear of Grand Funk Railroad?” John looked at me and said “We're An American Band.” “Jefferson Airplane?” I asked. “White Rabbit.”

This started a flurry of questions and answers.
“Jefferson Starship?”, “We Built This City.”
“Wings?”, “Ah, they were nothing after McCartney left.”
“Planet of the Apes?”, “The Statue of Liberty.”
“Psycho?”, “The shower scene.”
Finally, I threw out, “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida!!” With an almost sinister smirk on his face John sat back and said, “In the Garden of Eden, baby.”

Defeated now, I asked, “Where did you guys learn this stuff from. It certainly wasn’t from your Mom or I.” John said, “I dunno. We just know about them”. “Where from?” I asked. In unison, they replied, “The Simpsons.” I managed to say, “The cartoon show?” “Yeah.” Catherine smiled. “It’s got all sorts of things in there about people your age. You know, Homer is about your age.” I didn’t like the direction this was taking me. “Homer is about my age.” I said with humiliation. “Yeah and he drinks beer as well, listens to the same music as you do and he has three kids, the oldest is a boy also.” Said Stephanie. “But.” I retorted, “His wife has a pile of blue hair on her head, even I know that. Look at your Mom, not a trace of blue hair, at least not for a few more years!”. My wife trained her flashing dark eyes on me, making me realize what I just said. “D’oh!” I blurted out, quite by accident. Stephanie piped up, “That may be true, Mom doesn’t have Margs’ hair, but Marg is patient, loving and understanding of her Homey as Mom is of you, even if Homer is the stupidest person on the planet”. “So what you guys are saying is that my life is that of Homer Simpson?” John smiled at me and said, “Well, if those are the cards that were dealt to you, you can either play ‘em or fold ‘em.” Giving the option, I knew I had to play them. Looking around the table I saw my cards alright. A full house, two of a kind and three wild eyed jokers. So, that is it. My life, my generation is encapsulated in not something smart and sassy, but more like dumb and brassy. Not even a cool nickname, not Generation X , not an Echo Boomer not even the Me Generation, I stand before you as a Simpson Generationer or maybe in short a Generation S.

And one last thing before I go. Boy, go get me a beer, so I can finish this article.