Generations: Mind the Gap
Age: Diversity or Divisiveness?
Build on the enthusiasm of youth and the experience of age.
Doesn’t it ever get old, writing headlines like “16 Things You’re Doing Wrong…” or “7 Reasons the World Thinks You’re a F*** Up”? Add age to the mix — in either direction, from “Millennials Are Killing This Thing We All Love” to “OK, Boomer” — and your article immediately gets my attention, but not in a good way.
I’ve looked at life from both sides of this fence, and it gets old, the older I get. It chafes the young, as well. The energy spent tearing one another down might better be spent on encouraging, challenging, and collaborating across all ages.
Never Underestimate the Young
I remember signing up for the March of Dimes twenty-Mile Walk-a-Thon, as a kid. I eagerly solicited pledges and particularly enjoyed the large, $1–2/mile pledges from adults I knew had sized me up and bet against me. I’ll show you, I thought. My determination grew stronger with each skeptic’s raised eyebrow.
The morning we started the walk, it was chilly — maybe 60 degrees. I was dressed in jeans, thick socks, tennis shoes, a t-shirt, and a sweatshirt. I carried a lightweight backpack with a different pair of shoes, and hoped to be carrying the sweatshirt if the day got warmer.
Instead, less than five miles into the walk, it started to rain. By seven miles, it was snowing. By ten or twelve miles, it was snowing hard. Another walker, a teenaged boy, and I huddled together in doorways of downtown Akron businesses for warmth. We couldn’t see anyone walking ahead of us or behind us, and assumed that most had given up. We were tempted to give up, but neither of us were quitters and I guess we were full of adrenaline. One thing was certain, though — we had to get warm and dry, and I had to get a change of clothes, or we were going to die.
We looked down the side street; the only business that appeared to be open was the Chat Noir Lounge. We shuddered at the neon sign and decided that was no place for us — especially as it was about a block off the main route and no one was likely to find us there if we ran into trouble. Our only other choice was the no-tell motel nearby. The clerk was gay and openly so; he was also quite gracious about letting two sopping wet, half-frozen kids use the phone and sit in the lobby, dripping onto the vinyl chairs and linoleum floor.
We waited while my parents brought me a change of clothes; I dressed in the back seat of their car. My legs were blue from the dye on my jeans; the jeans had frozen stiff and stuck to my legs, cracking at the knees each time I bent them. My parents explained that the March of Dimes was giving the full twenty miles’ credit to anyone who managed to make it to the fifteen mile mark, in view of the horrible weather and hardship involved in making it that far.
The young man with me — I don’t know that we ever exchanged names — and I decided that wouldn’t be quite fair. My parents agreed, though they’d have preferred to take me home right then and there, and to heck with claiming fifteen miles, let alone twenty. So we trudged onward, though knee deep snow. We checked in at the fifteen mile mark, and kept trudging. At 18 miles, the sun came out. I stopped at Wendy’s for a burger; the young man went on, knowing that if he stopped again, his legs would quit working. I hurried to catch up, after wolfing down a double with cheese.
We both made it, and claimed our twenty miles. I saw him briefly, at the mall; we grinned at each other and hugged, as if we’d survived a war. I never saw him again. I was especially proud to collect on my pledges that year, knowing I’d really earned every penny. I was just 12 years old at the time.
That summer, I was admitted to university classes. I went back to middle school in the fall, but eventually graduated — at the age of 18.
Never Underestimate the Older Folks
Without the “Baby Boomers,” we wouldn’t even be having this conversation on the Web. And, if you use a Mac? Forget it — Apple was invented by Boomers. The first American, LGBTQ woman astronaut, Sally Ride, was a Boomer. Jeff Bezos, founder of Amazon — Boomer. The inventors of the USB port, and the Ethernet? Both Boomers.
Age is irrelevant.
To the young folks out there: One day, if you’re lucky, you’ll be old. But don’t become jaded and cynical in the process. Be the fresh eyes, the innovators, the dreamers with ideals and wild ideas. Acknowledge those who paved the way, and consider carefully what they see as obstacles to what you want to do. Resolve to overcome them, and to prove that “the way it’s always been done” isn’t the way it always has to be done. Get over the bitter disappointment of learning that older isn’t always wiser, but be kind.
To the old folks: You were young, once. Some people underestimated you, but others had faith in you, nurtured your talents, and helped you to learn and to grow. Don’t be bitter over the battles fought for rightful recognition; be grateful for the moments of acknowledgment and aid, then pay it forward by sharing lessons learned along the way — realizing that you may have learned them imperfectly, and they are not written in stone. Challenge new ideas; don’t squash them like a bug.
Age is just a spectrum of experiences we all go through; we’d do well not to let it divide us. There is room for both experience and fresh ideas.
Instead of shouting across the fence at each other: “Mind your own business, Grandma!” and “Get off my lawn, Kid!” let’s have conversations — listen to the experience of age and share the fresh ideas and idealistic enthusiasm of youth.