It is interesting to look backward, now that I've reached the golden years. I remember so well, getting in considerable trouble for wanting to wear my hair like the Beatles. I couldn't fathom my parents reaction. And the nation got into quite an uproar. The older generation thinking they had failed as parents, and the younger generation vowing never to grow old. Never trust anyone over thirty!
I can draw several conclusions from the above paragraph, looking through the lens of hindsight. For instance, when you consider the uproar created by the Beatles between two generations, perhaps we might have foreseen the much more considerable angst to come in the later half of the decade. Just the fact of the way the Beatles looked, was enough to drive a large wedge between parent and child. And since the early band was mostly covering hits my parents danced to as little as a few years previous to the Beatles, it certainly wasn't about the music. And if just the matter of the length of one's hair created a chasm between generations, we didn't have a prayer to relate just a couple of years after the Beatles arrived in the U.S.
And perhaps we should have tried harder to talk to each other, but the state of our society was turning downhill in 1964. The big escalation in Vietnam was right around the corner. Perhaps we felt it and just didn't recognize it for what it was. Though I was still adolescent, I remember feeling like this was the most important issue ever. Now, putting that in a bit of perspective, we had just endured the Cuban Missile Crisis, and the assassination of JFK. But the length of our hair probably provided a release of this pent up angst. Our parents saw their world failing. We had nearly loosed the nukes, and then they killed the president that led us through that crisis. It didn't make any sense at all.
But the length of one's hair, seemed a safe wedge issue. So perhaps we all leaped at it. It was much easier to deal with the angst of a superficial issue, than to face the real issues of the day. No, we left that for about two years later. So I suppose in one way, we cooperated with our parents, as we were all disillusioned and in denial.
Then a couple of decades ago, when I was in my forties, I found myself gazing with disgust at kids with safety pins in their cheeks and chains hanging from their eyebrow to their lip. Weird stuff. But I said very little. I think I learned from the experience of the sixties, that youth must express themselves, and there is a lot of pressure on them to be different from the previous generation. I did it, so why shouldn't they? However, I will confess to some hypocrisy here, as my son never tried to pierce anything but his ears, and I found that acceptable, though weird. I suppose we can call that progress of a sort.
I did make a joke that was pretty funny, though. I put in a suggestion box an idea to increase workplace safety. We had a kid working there, who had piercings all over his face. So I simply said they should keep him away from the staplers.
I suppose the point here is that no matter how rational we try to be with either our younger or older generation, we will never find total agreement, but can only hope to practice tolerance.
But it is interesting to find myself feeling much like I assume my own parents felt regarding my generation. I fail to understand much of what they care about and what they do, such as putting a spike through your eyebrow. I just don't see the point. But now, at this advanced age, I realize I am not supposed to get it. It is the fact that if I were to understand and totally relate to my son's generation, they would rebel. Even if I gave in one hundred percent, they would rebel. And they should, because that is human nature. But I certainly didn't understand that when arguing to grow my hair those many years ago, and neither did my parents. But we did understand once we reached our sixties.
I guess I'm reflecting on the holiday season. Now, it is a true pleasure to chat with my mother, who is now eighty three years young. We actually see things from much the same paradigm now. I think this comes mostly from realization of one's own mortality. When the body begins to break down, and you feel the wear and tear of the years, you also realize that much of what you once thought so important, wasn't. And some of what you overlooked or just ignored, was very important. I think it is human nature to always be conflicted. And I suppose that is good, or it might get really boring.
But that tends to make us progress in fits and starts, rather than in a nice linear manner. Years of ignorance, followed by a sudden burst of wisdom. And then when you are feeling smug, it happens all over again, and again. But the bliss comes from both you and your mom knowing that little pearl of wisdom, that allows you both to see the silliness in which we indulge, seemingly involuntarily.
And somehow, the gulf between us disappears, and the conflicts just fall by the way and are unimportant. What is important is thanking your lucky stars, that you have lived a long and mostly good life, and you are both still here to talk about that fact. In fact, it is so satisfying, it makes the previous conflicts all seem much less significant. Time really is the great healer.
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