In Memoriam

I spring from a weird generation. They call us Gen X. We don't quite fit a mold, and yet, as times inexorably moves along, we are now being primed to take over for our predecessors. We are about to be handed the keys to the car...and our folks are more than a little nervous.

What about Gen X'ers defines us? Where do we largely fall politically? How does our education, socioeconomic stratification and collective "world view" make us ready to get our learner's permit to test drive the planet?

When Roger Daltrey song "My Generation", he was talking about the color-bursting, edge-pressing side of his generation...The Me Generation. The Baby Boomers. The Hippies that turned Yuppies that turned Reagan Republicans that turned into what they are now...very possibly the last recipients for Social Security. They are my parents, and a generation that had it tougher than I did, but not nearly as tough as the one that preceded them. That is, of course, the way it always works. But the Boomers had really big shoes to fill. Impossible, you might say, and perhaps that's why they never felt comfortable in their own skin. For all the growth and wealth and achievement the Boomer's felt, something was always missing.

I was born in the twilight of the Vietnam conflict. My Father served in the military. My uncle served in Vietnam. My maternal and paternal Grandfathers fought in World War II. I pay my deepest thanks and respect to those men and women who have given me the freedom to own a piece of the Internet where I can write nearly anything I choose without fear.

Gen X'ers always have had war, or conflict. So, in a way, did the Boomers. They were largely conceived in the shadows of Armistice Day, but were ushered into their teens in the backdrop of Korea, and bore the brunt of the horrors Vietnam produced. But when I say that my generation has always had conflict, I don't mean we had more wars or skirmishes in our youth to deal with than our parents and grandparents did...I mean that we saw it each and every day with our own eyes. And got kind of sadly used to it.

It strikes me that the two generations of Americans that fought hardest to preserve our freedoms and maintain peace for their own children were the same bright minds that invented all the channels by which war and starvation, slavery and brutality are now shown to us via television, movies and the Internet all 24 hours of any given day. Perhaps it was meant to be, that for future kids to understand the freedoms they take for granted, the spoken or written word was never enough. Filmmakers had to generate hours of footage, re-create those images into the scores of movies, documentaries television mini-series, books and video games that remind the viewer of what happened.

Now, with the Internet, you can watch war any time you like. You can see murder and brutality any time you like. You can witness oppression whenever the mood strikes you. I'm numb. We're numb. My Father had to be told what it was like by his own Father and their friends.

We have Afghanistan. Iraq parts I and II. Homeland terrorism, and hot spots around the globe that flare up all the time. There are certain to be places we are fighting that you and I aren't even supposed to know about. We have the threat of Kim Jong Il. We have the insanity spewing from Ahmadinejad. We have little Hitlers challenging us to an arm wrestling match every morning for breakfast. We're numb. We don't get it.

We don't know how scary it must have felt to get on a ship, and have no idea where in the world we were headed. To never have heard the words Guadalcanal or Okinawa or Hiroshima. The world was massive back when my Grandfathers were handed the keys. It was HUGE.

Now, my kids can watch a border skirmish in Dar fur on a web cam. They can see troops patrolling the dunes in Kabul with a mouse click. Totally numb.

The Boomers are handing us their own modified, souped up version of the keys to the world. It's a lot smaller now, and fits in your hand. It's easy to start, self-navigating and can parallel park itself. So you wouldn't think we'd be able to screw it up...but we might. If we don't hold on to some of the basics and remember from where we came, we might. Happy Memorial Day. Do yourself a favor and call or seek out a vet from WWII today and listen in for a while. I'm lucky enough to be able to call my Grandpa, and I plan to.

(Not at all) Sad

Forgive my overstating the importance of a stupid concert from last week, but I memorialize May 3rd, 2010 for my own bad memory, the memory of my kid down the line, and my own Dad who wants to know how it went...

The KC Pearl Jam Review Slash-Blog-Slash Best Concert of My Life Blog

I was really nervous, which is saying something because I never get uptight about anything (Insert M*A*S*H* canned laughter) let alone about how this experience would "go" for me and the boy.

Bear in mind that I'd just paid for his first stick of deodorant about 10 days before...at his request.
Bear in mind that I am an idiot compared to other people on this planet that know about cool things, music and fun.

So, I was nervous that I would embarrass the hell out of Sam and push a "great time" on him and force laughter and act way too cool and just blow the whole thing...well, because that's what you do as a Dad.

We both put on concert t-shirts (with long sleeve undershirt). It was instinct. Nobody mentioned it. You don't talk about things like that, you simply let it ride.

We drove to the Sprint Center with my I-Pod on full Pearl Jam mode...him driving (the song selection) and me allowing him to drive. He did a good job. He mixed it up, moving from "Daughter" to "Amongst the Waves" and collapsing with "Red Mosquito" at 20th and Grand.

We argued (philosophically) about the first song we thought they'd play as we sauntered about the spring/city/evening traffic. He voted for "Sad" which he knows is my favorite song they ever wrote, and it hit me then like a frickin Mack truck...This kid was listening to me at some point in his life. We have contentious times. He doesn't always like me, but...he gives a shit about my opinion. He cares about the old man a little bit. We...are...friends?

I played that song for him two years ago. Found it on an AOL sessions website that captured some great studio time on giant Persian rugs with all of the band playing surrounded by about 95 guitars and no audience. It's real and raw and right here if you want to watch it. It remains a favorite place of mine to visit in ye olde cyberspace if I'm searching out a place to feel right.

Anyway, I shared that video with Sam a while ago and he asked me later why it wasn't in my ITunes library.

I had no good answer. After all, it was my "favorite song".

He got an ITunes gift card for his birthday and dropped 99 cents of it on me one night. He burned the single song CD for me. He gives a shit what I say. We're buds.

We parked at the Cashew (you know, for the free parking) and jogged to make the opening act. I think I felt as alive and ready at that moment as I have in a long time when it came to being a Father... simply because I was back in control and not being guided by anything other than a desire to make that moment happen without pretense. It was like his birth. Ironic and contradictory though it sounds.

We fought the dopies and moshers in the halls with joy. Every person we saw was a freak and a brother. They all had the same love for the place they were in as we did. Sam took all of it in stride...the swearing, stammering, crowding, screaming, beer spilling and the grinning. I saw it in his eyes that he got it. He knew that this was an exception to the norm...that this was an adventure to soak in.
This was a pool to not fear swimming in.
These were people that would never laugh at his dance moves.

We tried to buy a $3 poster before the show got underway but missed out. It was ideal (price for me and longingly viewed by him as we passed it on display) for us all, but ultimately, I couldn't pay the drunkest guy on the concourse 10 bucks for the same cardboard tube the vendor sold out of- so we decided that souvenirs were not part of the plan.

Seats...great. View of the stage...great. Opening act (Band of Horses)...great. Anticipation...great. The feeling we shared when the lights dimmed and the bass start to hum was just marvelous.

They played for two and a half hours and honestly never let up from the minute they took the stage except to reload on water or wine or a smoke. They played everything in the arsenal. It was so great. I don't even want to ruin how terrific that show was by trying to over-talk it.

We left with our ears ringing and heads spinning from the dopey behind us with the one-hitter who couldn't stand up. Sam knew what all the chaos was, whether he understood the delivery method or the brazen smokey discord that surrounded him. We took it all in stride and and I kept watching his eyes. They were fixed on the stage. On the way out of the front door I proudly invested in a tour t-shirt for him.

As we got close to the car, he asked me why they didn't play "Sad".

I didn't have an answer for him, but I definitely wasn't sad they hadn't. It was the best concert I ever saw.