By Emily Lundy
As parents, or grandparents, some of us are shocked by the gap between our generations in ideas, actions, philosophies, etc. Of course, this problem or whatever it is does not touch everyone, and if it does, it’s not new. For eons parents have noted changes in the generations. But nothing could have prepared parents in the fifties when most high school boys had their own vehicles. Turmoil must have occurred in some way. Freedom belonged to teens at a dangerous pace.
My children had their own klunkers, purchased by them as soon as they could legally drive. They bought their gas, and we put them on the family insurance plan, which surely helped that company thrive nicely. As the children matured, their cars became nicer, and they took over upkeep.
The only good thing about kids with autos was having a mother not living in the car as she took one child to a practice, brought another home from the dentist, and met another at the library. Here and there were becoming obsolete words. At times I’d meet my husband as I was taking someone to a game as he took another home for an important occasion. Of course, auto ownership became bigger and more important to the young. I simply wish so many weren’t out there.
When there seemed to be more funds for my husband and me quite suddenly, we realized why. Four vehicles with drivers had gone on.
I may have slid from my topic, but when I get with a few mothers or grandmothers, we discuss how our children seem so different from us in rapid pace.
Their children seem to stay home alone more than we would have wanted.
Two of mine seem to have no sentimentality. Don’t save anything in the house. One said he didn’t want anything I had, and he would back up a dump truck to our house when we were finished with it. (I believe I used euphemistic language to the optimum here.) A daughter doesn’t want anything I’ve saved from her school days. “Throw it away,” she said. “Burn it,” she added
This next generation seems too busy to take vacations of a week or two. I think they believe trips are a waste of money if not to a professional athletic event.
Of course, my biggest concern is for the filth on, let’s choose one, television. On Monday night, if you watch CBS or Channel 11 in family time and don’t see risqué, vulgarity, then I am afraid for all of us. I quit watching Two-and one-half-men last year, and I thought I was tolerant and young at heart. I couldn’t stand all the uncouth action and looked forward to a new performer on the show. Well, now the program is worse. The grandchildren don’t see much wrong with anything. I, for one, do not see this as a good thing. Recognizing wrong is part of getting right.
For years I’ve saved china of two or three patterns for someone. No one today wants china. Not the daughters, not the granddaughters. Friends say, “They will change.” I have no proof of that. Old photos have no value. “Throw them away,” I’m told. I don’t. I make scrapbooks or pass pictures on to unsuspecting relatives.
Patriarch and Matriarch of a family are simply dreams. More than I like, I think I’m in the way. Therefore, I’ve adopted some new cousins, found some babies to ooh and aah, but it’s not the same. And it may be possible the new generation is improving parenthood.
Recently my husband and I recalled parenthood. He said he did not ever want to have someone in the house living with us until it had to be. Then I swear he added, “I’d rather you had another baby.” No comment.