TALKIN' 'BOUT MY G-G-GENERATION
George Washington was born nearly 300 years ago, in 1732. He’s the one who said, “I cannot tell a lie.” The current occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue is the one who cannot tell the truth, and was born in 1946 (as were George W. Bush and Bill Clinton). From Washington and Trump, we’ve had 45 presidents. They were all men (of course), and they were all born between 1732 (the Father of Our Country) and 1961 (Barack Obama).
And so what?
But the distribution of presidents by birth year/decade is fascinating. Or it is to me, anyway; your mileage may vary. But consider this. We’ve had at least one president born in every decade from the 1730s through the 1960s. Except for three lonely decades: the 1810s, the 1930s, and the 1950s.
If you were born in the 1810s, you’re dead. If you were born in the 1930s, you’re not technically eliminated from seeking the presidency (five sitting Senators – four Republicans and one Democrat – were born in the 30s), but you’re probably not buying any green bananas either. If you were born in the Fabulous 50s, you’re getting long in the tooth, but you’ve still got at least a theoretical shot at the White House.
Still, none of 2020’s serious Democratic contenders were born in the 50s, and on the Republican side, the GOP is doing its best to immunize Donald Trump against primary challenges. It appears that the last great hope of the middle of the OK Boomer cohort is Mike Pence, who was born in 1959. If Trump is impeached or otherwise fails to complete his first term, Pence is the only ray of hope for the Eisenhower era Boomers.
I’m a Boomer (born in 1947), but I was meant to be a member of the Silent Generation. My parents got married in 1940, and tried to start a family immediately. But after one miscarriage, it was Pearl Harbor time. My father was drafted in 1942, and sent to the South Pacific. My mother, who was a nurse, enlisted, and was sent to the European Theater. My mom and dad didn’t see each other again for nearly four years. Thanks to Hitler, Mussolini, and Tojo, I became a Boomer.
And as a Boomer, I say OK. It’s time, and past time, for geezers like me to step aside. But I’m going to slow-walk my exit long enough for an apologia pro vita sua.
My g-g-generation began with babies born in 1946. In case the significance of that date eludes some younger readers, it marks the period nine months or so after the end of World War II. American GIs came home and started families. Lots of them, all around the same time. And they kept it up for a decade and a half. If you have a problem with that, please take it up with the so-called Greatest Generation. My fellow Boomers and I were merely passive participants in the post-war baby boom. But the baby boom was real, and there’s a legitimate rationale for at least starting a new generation in 1946.
My g-g-generation ends with the babies born in 1964. I’m not sure how the folks with the authority to name generations calculated the end of the post-war baby boom – maybe it was when the World War II generation (as they were known until Tom Brokaw came up with “Greatest Generation” in his 1998 book) stopped having babies. If it were up to me, I’d have placed the end of the post-war baby boom at November 22, 1963, when President Kennedy was assassinated.
Since all subsequent generations seem to hate Boomers, why not end the Boomer years with a disaster? Let’s give the next generation the auspicious year of 1964, with the arrival of the Beatles in January, the Civil Rights Act of 1964 in July, and the Democratic beatdown of Barry Goldwater in November.
Right now, the immediate post-Boomer generation seems to be known as Generation X, and for some reason, it was given the shortest span of any named generation (1965-1979). The name Generation X is problematic, not only because it’s unimaginative, but because it also led inexorably to naming the next two cohorts Generation Y and Generation Z.
Then what, guys? Are you going to call the cohort born between 2021 and 2040 Generation A? Or will you boldly follow Dr. Seuss, and go ON BEYOND ZEBRA. Generation Yuzz! Generation Wum! Generation Quam! Let’s do it.
Or we could just remind ourselves that the whole generation thing is bullshit. No defensiveness necessary, whatever your cohort. Just live your lives and do the right thing, whenever you were born.