Whatever happened to the voice of experience?
In nearly all Eastern cultures, the older you get the more respect you deserve.
America, 250 years in, still so stubbornly adolescent. Noisy; recalcitrant; ignorant; willful.
I’m old and, well, as a lifelong American, I’m embarrassed.
Don’t cancel me. You’ll regret it.
At 33, I’d just gotten started. At least ten years behind my contemporaries, thanks to a host of wind up toys and stuffed animals deciding my alleged fate, I had to clamor and scramble to catch up. And, catch up I did. Was anybody looking? Maybe.
Now, people see a baby boomer and they just turn their heads. Not so fast, my starlings. Don’t leave adult authority to the news pundits and old money. We’re everywhere you show up. And, our stories are real, not the stuff of cloistered fantasy.
Oh; and, don’t dismiss a boomer because of small town locale. The human experience is at once vast, and preciously specific. Cumulative affect tells its own tale. Lean in. Listen.
This blog opened in 2014, with a handful of pieces created in high school and college, and then began birthing its own. To date, there are 850 essays and poems, 99% original to the author: moi. Somebody who signs in from “China” who never likes or comments is likely screen capturing and translating, for some sleazy steal. I suggest you read the English versions, starting now.
Now is the best time. Now is where old people live. Some of us still have 30 years left on the planet and, last I checked, that was a generation.
And, because my generation was taught to show appreciation and gratitude, I say: Thank you.
Copyright 2/13/2023. Ruth Ann Scanzillo. All rights those of the author, blah blah. Thank you, she says. To you, because you respected reading this far.