My Generation, My Self

My Generation, My Self

The Baby Boomers, Generation X, Echo Boom: these are the generations of the past. Now, my own generation emerges. As I sit, pondering this idea of generational change, I wonder what the world sees my generation as. We have been referred to as “Generation Z,” “The Internet Generation,” and “The New Silent Generation.” However, these names mean nothing without application. Our generation is now.

The G.I. Generation fought through the Great Depression in youth and the second world war in adulthood. The Silent Generation protested for the sake of civil rights, as well as seeing the end of World War II. The MTV Generation felt the first impacts of mass media and the last of the Cold War. Now, my generation struggles against commonplace violence; it also fights for its rights and its place in the world.

While growing up, I never thought of the effects of my generation on society. I knew simple truths, though they were few and far between. As a small child, my societal knowledge consisted of these points: big kids could beat up everyone else, girls who liked girls were bad, and students couldn’t attend recess if they didn’t finish their homework. These truths, however, have been elaborated upon as my life has continued to unfold. Big kids who beat others are bullies. Girls who like girls often hide their feelings. Students who aren’t allowed to attend recess are deprived of social interaction and exercise.

My late-elementary experiences contributed greatly to who I am today. During the time I attended A-H-S-T, the school district sent the fourth through eighth graders to the middle school building in Shelby, Iowa. In the fall of my fourth grade year, the fourth and fifth grade bus was over capacity, so my close friend Chelsea and I were selected to ride the sixth graders’ bus. Forced to sit with the cruel older girls, Chelsea and I endured physical, mental, and emotional torment. I arrived home most days dotted with saliva, mucus, and bruises. I always wished that one of them would take pity and save us. Because of this experience, I made the decision to stand up for others.

Many members of my generation share in my feelings; they fight for the unheard. The bullies suppress the voices of the victims. The majorities suppress the voices of the minorities. The ‘normal’ suppress the voices of the ‘different.’

My generation is more tolerating than those past, but it is also more opinionated. The homosexuals are more accepted among us, but also more ridiculed. The mentally ill are more sanctioned, but also more put-down. This contradiction is a painful reality. “Gay” and “Retarded” have become commonplace insults, but their impact is still hurtful. Our generation is too accepting too soon.

Laziness is a recurring quality of my generation. We are so dependent upon others for nearly everything in our lives. Our parents babied us, taught us that we could ask and receive. They allowed us to do what we wanted with minimal consequences. As an example, I was never forced to do something own my own. If I asked for help, I received it. My instructors assured me that help was always available. As I reached high school, I realized that I couldn’t do many simple tasks on my own. I was so dependent on my parents; I would still ask my mother for a good-night-kiss before bed in high school. I didn’t know any different. I was never forced to grow up.

I have noticed the indifference my generation pays to its elders. My history classes feel empty; enthusiasm has crept back into the deepest recesses of our emotions. I was taught snap-shots of history by my unceasingly intellectual father, but I never tied them to reality. Late in my Junior year of high school, however, I asked my grandmother about her past for the first time. What I learned astounded me. I felt long-untapped empathy roar to life within me, pain wrenching through me as she described losing everything. I couldn’t fully visualize the hardships she had to endure. My generation has never had a life-changing struggle of hardship like that. We have never wholly hurt.

My generation is quite uncaring of the impending future. It doesn’t take stock in the value of education; sports and socialization rule supreme. What is right around the corner, coming faster than a bullet, is ignored, put out of mind. Few worry, few plan, few work for a better tomorrow. We have been too safe for our entire lives; we can’t imagine anything tearing us apart. Our lives seems so unending, so unchanging. Nothing can right us; nothing can change us. The sky is darkening with smog and scars, and the world is shriveling in its pain. We can’t change what we don’t see. We can’t see what we don’t open our eyes to. Our eyes are shut tight, and our dreams keep us happy. We’ll soon wake up from it and face a reality so painful and ugly that we can’t find a way to fix it. Overwhelming scum will hide the solution. We will need to find our shovel.

This reality may seem disturbing, but we can open our eyes before it happens. Before the dust covers everything so thick we can’t move, we can stop it. To pull ourselves from our happy dreams, that is what we need to do. We can each start with a small light, so tiny it makes no difference. Then, we can stand together, and the lights join to illuminate the world. First, we have to open our eyes.

This generation leads an existence untouched, unstained by reality. No wars have rocked our homes. No laws have denied our rights. No hate has taken our lives. Nothing has changed our planned paths.  If the world sent forth a catastrophic event, one which wrenched us from our daily sludge, we would have the opportunity to right ourselves. This has not happened yet. However, history repeats itself.