I think T.S. Eliot would be proud of Baby Boomers. After all, it is he who said in his poem "The Hollow Men" that:
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
I think he would appreciate a generation that is working diligently to avoid the whimper and stay relevant.
You see, I am a proud Baby Boomer, and believe our moniker is right on target. Our arrival caused a sonic boom in the population, our work ethic is both unsurpassed and bordering on maniacal, and we are hanging onto relevancy like a cat being pulled from a scratching post filled with catnip.
We survive even when the Millennials wish we would die already so they could find a job.
We will not go quietly into the night. We had sex in the mud at Woodstock and made love, not war. Well, we did have war but we preferred smoking weed and having sex in the mud.
We started the sexual revolution. We were the reason the pill was created (you're welcome).
We made money and brought you Elvis and JFK and Gloria Steinem and That Girl. Americans over 50 own a huge part of the wealth, and are predominantly healthy. So, it makes sense that we want to go out with a bang.
Sometimes, however, I think we're taking that bang too literally. The sexual revolution torch is still being carried by many Boomers. The incredible Erica Jong is alive on our shelves, we're still turned on by the word zipless, and our hair is fifty shades of gray.
There are wonderful websites run by Baby Boomer women that are all about pleasuring ourselves, which I have to say confused me a little because I was looking for a list of the best chocolates. But they are all about their sex, announcing their rockin' orgasms online.
I have friends who are watching porn with their husbands, and challenging themselves to see if they can have sex every day for three months. What do you say when a friend shares that goal with you? I wasn't sure whether I should say, "You go girl?" or "Can I get the t-shirt?"
But, all in all, I say congratulations Baby Boomers. We're determined to hang in there. We're all about the bang, and that's not a bad thing. However, I would say that when we are talking about the sexual bang we should consider covering the ears of the grandchildren.
I don't know about you, but I remember my grandmother talking about her church socials, and creating a great ambrosia, and telling me how I should be kind to others because we are all God's children. I remember her sharing her peppermint Lifesavers and taking me on drives to get ice-cream where she would honk her horn and scream "Watch out! We're coming," and I loved every minute of it.
She was always dressed conservatively but with flare, and never talked about her wrinkles or her hair or her sagging breasts. We just assumed grandmom's body was something soft to hug that made us feel safe. I'm not sure how I would have felt if she hugged me after a fall on my bike and I hit a firm implant, bruising my forehead.
Or being a teenager with budding breasts, how I might have felt looking at my grandmother and realizing her boobs were perkier than mine.
Isn't there some kind of natural process that allows the next generation to look significantly better than us? There used to be a natural order that allowed young people to be recognized as our youthful replacements. They were allowed to come to us for wisdom while being grossed out by old people sex.
Let's look on the positive side. Perhaps as Baby Boomers we are turning that around. We are redefining the term grandparent.
I just remember going to square dances with my grandmother, where I was my grandmother's partner and she shared her Lifesavers after the dance was over. What if I had been invited to grandma's pole-dancing class, watching her gyrating against metal as she offered me a Lifesaver?
Of course, I've heard pole-dancing, done correctly, is physically demanding and quite a good workout. So, go Baby Boomer grandma. But I would recommend blindfolds for the grandchildren.
Remember the days when angry words were creative? I remember my grandmom saying things like, "Confound it all," or "What in the Sam hill is wrong with you," or "Well, that suck-egg mule." All creative, tiny little phrases that had stories behind their creation.
Modern-day grandma talks more like Joan Rivers, saying things like, "Son of a b-t-h, what the eff is wrong with you?" I don't think there are any fun stories behind those words. But, grandma also has the breasts of an 18 year-old and the face of a 25 year-old, so maybe it works.
I heard a grandmother the other day talking to her grandchild about an event in the news, in which a prisoner being executed experienced excruciating pain since the drugs took two hours to work. I knew that my grandmother would have said something like, "Well, honey, he did some bad things. But it's not our job to judge, it's God's." And the topic would have been over and I would have a useful life lesson.
This Baby Boomer grandmother with her perfect breasts and thin legs said, "I read that, and I'm glad he went through hell. The man killed somebody or something. I only wish his head would have caught fire."
Wow, grandma, what big teeth you have!
Perhaps as Baby Boomers we are showing our grandchildren that life can be lived with youth and vigor for many more years than originally thought. We can push their strollers through triathlons and show them what good shape we're in. We can match them curse word for curse word. We can knock them silly with our firm breasts.
So, here's to you Baby Boomers. Never accept the whimper.
But, when discussing sexual whimpers, perhaps we should realize that, occasionally, all a grandchild wants is a hug and a Lifesaver.
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