I was born in 1959, and if one more person labels me a baby boomer I may actually smack them.
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The term “Baby Boomer” actually has a meaning. It refers to the generation born to people after World War 2. The idea behind the terms is that this generation was conceived and raised in euphoria by the generation that fought the good fight. And words have meanings for a reason. Upon the return of people from the War there was a statistical surge in births – a baby “boom” as it were.
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Sometimes in the 1970s or 80s, social scientists and pop culture writers needed a term for those that were children of this statistical bubble. These children, children of the baby boomers, were thought to be cut and raised of a whole different cloth. Originally “generation X” was defined as those born after 1964 – born of boomers.
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I am not a member of the Baby Boom generation by any measure. Primarily based on the fact that my mother was about to enter kindergarten when the War ended and my father had yet to become a social misfit. They were, in fact, children. And so, no matter what happy thoughts they had that the war ended, starting their family next year was not one of them.
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I bring this up to explain that my world view is not as easily judged as most people would assume. I am the product of a cultural transition, reinforced by being raised in Los Angeles by divorced parents – back when divorce, even in Los Angeles, was a rarity.
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My rather loud and long complaint about being lumped into the “Baby Boomer” generation does not mean I long for youth or to pretend I am gen X. Before they lumped us all into one or the other, a GREAT writer (David Leavitt) described my generation in a short essay for Esquire. I have never been able to find it online or published in his works, but he described us as the “Mary Tyler Moore” generation. And by this he meant that we grew up watching Mary Richards navigate a difficult and confusing world as an individual (not as an accessory to someone else). And, when faced with a crisis, Mary would hem and haw, but ultimately reach into herself to stand up for what she thought was right. And my contemporaries, when faced with difficult decisions, well we might gather ourselves up look in the mirror and say, “What would Mary do?” Then go do the difficult thing.
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I think of this as I reach 50. Because I intend to be pulled to the date kicking and screaming. But once I am almost there - I have a feeling I will look in the mirror and decide I am going to be fine. I’m not there yet. In this episode, Mary hasn’t quite hit the proverbial first commercial, but we will both be okay.