The unknown grandchildren

I took my father to lunch today. He hasn't seen his grandchildren since they were little, thanks to his hateful wife. Upon seeing their pictures today, he scribbled this on a napkin:

Heir then

But when were we two

Yet of course a trio

of ken

that by now of course

of a time

Though gone, yet here

where

how

that

be

come

yet

How else

But course of memory

That river’s course

So deep that

Were I there to sleep

I

would then

but awake again

To be of your charm

ii.

About how long

Has that been now

Who

in such a realm counts

such things

Love has but wings

But where from

Ask me that not

Lest one find oneself

So b’gotten

that

in that forget

there is no let in the

b’yond

Oh, is there not a fine Chin,

no

keener

than but yours, dear,

Grand fa

ther

Known to you

As Gran

Pa

That of course

Deep love

Deep love

Keep love

so far down

that were it not

for an a-

boveness

which

Oh! B’lieve

do

oh

lord

for

give

me

now

Yet

But for you

would you, Gran

son?

Here by

Me

Yes as well

for

me

in

That char-

i-

ty

of la

tin

root

Known but in our tongue

as love.

In between

The media call me a baby boomer. Born in 1956, when I was growing up we were considered the trailing end of the post-war babies, born to parents who were vets.

I was an adult when I met someone 8 years younger than me who also considered herself a Baby Boomer. But for me, she missed the two key markers of that generation-- parents who were vets of World War 2, and personal memory of the death of JFK.  Although we hadn't given the generation that followed us a name yet, I would have place her with them--Generation X.

But now I think that she and I really share more with each other than we do with either the Boomers or the Xers.  A little too young for the hippies, a little too old for the Me Generation, those of us now in late middle age have to borrow our identities from the two most unpopular generations in modern times. The Boomers, with their reputation for self-centered entitlement, the Xers with their thoughtless consumerism. We look in both directions and try to distance ourselves from the blame.

After X they telescoped the generations, and gave the ones between the Xers and the Millennials a name- Gen Y, the generation without an identity.

My kids are solidly Millennial-- at once cynic and crusader, trying to delay adulthood because the world they've grown into isn't ready for them. Heading toward 30, they live like college students, in group homes lightly scented with pot and exotic cuisine; tomatoes growing on the roof, powering themselves by pedal because none of them has a job with a secure enough income to afford a car, or the gas to power it, or the faith that the world even cares.

I worry about them. The Boomers blew the promise, and the Xers their home equity, and there we were stuck in the middle, bearing the generation that had to watch the towers fall just as they became aware of the world.