A View from the Hills
The 1960s are over. The day of flower children and anti-establishment is gone, leaving elders to wonder what all the shouting was about.
A down-with-greed, up-with-minimalism generation smashed our icons and shook our confidence in the validity of our ambitions. Then, just as we were ready to concede their "smaller is better" philosophy might indeed save the planet, the kids who derided us reversed gears and joined the club.
Barefaced and unapologetic, they now strive mightily for goods and services than their parents couldn't envision in their wildest dreams. Vacations for these well-heeled kids encompass African safaris, tropical isles, and Antarctica, a far cry from the little cabin in the pines that once seemed so desirable.
Children's birthdays are equally opulent. No self-respecting moppet would settle for mere cake, candles and "Pin the Tail on the Donkey." If the birthday kid's fete offers less than a magic show, clowns, or a gift-bearing entourage en route to theater or amusement park, his peers may deem it too dull to attend.
Presents will be tendered in rich profusion, after which the honoree, seated amid ribbons and shredded gift wrap will wail, "Is that all?" Since there exists at home, in a closet, a plethora of toys destined to induce terminal boredom, this is a predictable response,
As for weddings: the $20,000 with which her parents would have purchased a home and car will hardly cover the cost of the bride's wedding dress. If she happens to be slightly pregnant we can live with that, though in another era we'd have been too shocked to uncross our eyes.
There was a dynamic at work here that had naught to do with sexuality. The bride was censured for lack of regard for the planet. To add another consumer to billions already on earth was as severely frowned upon as service in the Vietnam War. "Zero population growth" was the cry. Those who heeded and remained childless were later confounded by couples who proceeded to produce "little bundles of joy" faster than they could say "Jack Robinson."
The modern male, that poor bewildered creature, lives in fear and trembling lest his well-meant gallantries and compliments to women earn an icy rebuff or even a day in court.
An inordinate number of women juggle two full-time careers as they attempt to cope with gainful employment and the mommy track. Their salaries are needed to procure erstwhile luxuries, now considered necessities.
Stock-optioned Wunderkinder of the world's most affluent valley set standards for Gran and Gramps who make their own reservations for faraway places with strange sounding names, as these seniors leap on the Viagra bandwagon to prove that anything the kids can do they can do better. Is there a set of grandparents with souls so weary and energies so depleted they never have said to themselves, "Stop the world, I want to get off?"
For, though they are now assured that "It's hip to be square," it seems a bit late in the day for approval. Since role models are now blurred beyond recognition, nobody knows for sure anymore what they're supposed to be, or where they can fit in a world turned upside down and stood on its head too long.
Eventually the dust will settle, and folks will muddle through. For now, however, we are left with the detritus that all revolution leaves in its wake. Like ships on a shakedown cruise, we will assess our weaknesses, and our strengths. Things will balance out, ultimately, and we'll find the courage to "sail on."
Cristy's book "Chicken Tonight-Feathers Tomorrow" may be ordered toll-free from l-888-7XLibris, or through Heintzleman's Bookstore, in Los Altos.