What do you want from me?

I confess: I am a social media junkie. I also admit that I am beginning to find social networking just another avenue for this generation to spread their pseudo social activism angst among the rest of us mere mortals . Last weekend was Columbus Day: a day when we used to celebrate the man who sailed across the seas, against all odds, and who finally landed on what it will eventually be known as America. We should be thrilled at this adventure. But no; Columbus has fallen victim to the loony activism virus holding America and to some extent the rest of the world captive. One bizarre social media post urged all of us to declare Columbus day “murder day” because he murdered the indigenous folk without remorse and with conviction. My answer to this person and others of that ilk: get over it! It was over 500 years ago, I wasn’t here and neither were you, the guy is dead, the natives have since lived in peace with us, they make money through profitable casinos which rip the rest of us off, and they don’t pay taxes. How much guilt can one take on for something that happened before one’s time and when we were not even a nation? What do you want from me? You want me to admit that Columbus is a murderer and that I should not enjoy my day off? Go to Denver for some pot and leave me alone. Why can’t activist allow me and others to enjoy holidays? If you do not like the day; don’t celebrate it but do not rain on my parade because it is getting annoying.

This generation is a depressed lot who are not happy with themselves and want to spread their misery to others. I find them petty, whiney, and definitely annoying. For the life of me I have no clue why they are so ungrateful and miserable. They have been raised with the best technology, best education, best opportunities, and moving back home with “mom” is now considered fashionable. What do you want from me? Why the angst? Why the “occupying” of anything you think is unfair? Well, I got news for you; life is unfair especially if you expect others to live it for you. What grabs my clams is the fact that their self indulgent goodness and fairness they aspire to selfishly threads on my rights to be who I am and enjoy what I want. Their activism borders on hypocrisy, because as I said to the anti-Columbus self-righteous diva: I am sure that you still enjoyed the federal holiday! This goes for all those yahoos who are anti-religious because religion is for morons but still enjoy the Christmas Tree in Rockefeller Center, expect a good meal on Christmas Day, and pout if they do not receive a gift on the 25th. These are the same bores who will gnaw at my Christmas spirit to satisfy their own misery because they believe in nothing but themselves. Which brings me to the next question? What has happened since Miracle on 34th Street and It’s a Wonderful Life? What anti-life gene crept in this generation’s gene pool to sprout such a miserable lot? Who is to blame and what do you want from me?
My theory is quite simple: children are being raised with the false impression that they are God’s gift to mankind. The problem is that they are only God’s gift to the parents who hatched them and not to the rest of us. So when they grow up thinking that whatever they do and say is gospel, the first time truth-in-life-experience hits them in the face they crumble like an over baked meringue. It is so unfair!! Yeah: what is unfair is the fact that because you were raised to feel omnipotent I have to eventually suffer your inadequate preparation to life and consequent dependency on my tax dollars. Why do you think parents are opening up their attics and basements to their prodigal sons and daughters? Because the home where the “perfection” syndrome was perpetuated has morphed into the embryonic haven of the prodigal child. “Mom, I’m back. Am I still great even though at 30 I cannot put two sentences together and have to move back to the basement? Are you going to say Good Job like you used to?”

We have brain washed our kids into thinking that they will be protected by someone of something for the rest of their lives. We pad them, put helmets on them, tell them that they have rights in the classroom, in the street, and in their job. They are brought up thinking that bad behavior is OK because it is “normal” and the rest of us are creeps if we even hint that they have become morons. Instead of teaching consequences we teach victimization. They are growing up feeling marginalized because they are not ready for the real world. The first time they are dissatisfied they take to the streets complaining about a man who died 500 years ago with no bearing on their lives except a free federal holiday. They become activists by virtue of their hollow expectations. They cannot handle the cold shower of life: they do not get the girl, the car, the grades, the scholarship, or the job they want. Devastation sets in. Utter mental chaos. Normal passage to life experience is now a major issue to be pondered and analyzed on a shrink’s couch. How pathetic, how sad, and how tragic for our future, our country, and the world. But why have parents taken this path toward unaccountability and false expectations?

My mother will soon turn 99. She is frail but she remains steadfast in her opinions of mother hood and life in general. She now spends her days observing the rest of us acting like goofs. When I spend time with her she reminisces of her childhood in Hell’s Kitchen on the west side of Manhattan. As immigrants from Europe, life was anything but easy; but to hear her talk, one would think that childhood during the Depression were the best days of her life. The difference between my mother’s generation and this one lies in the expectations people had then to those that people have now. My mother’s parents did not shield their children from the harsh realities of life in New York City in the late 20’s and early 30’s. They were not afraid to tell the kids that certain amenities were beyond their reach. However, the encouragement was to work hard toward financial, spiritual, and social success. Children grew up watching their parents do that. That fortitude and sense of “being” sent a generation to fight the evils of World War II in Europe and the Pacific and return victorious and triumphant. My mother’s generation had the backbone to withstand hardships and create the platform where technological wonders were launched.
I feel sorry for this generation because they were denied the opportunity to be relevant. Is there so much time to waste in their lives that they must think up probabilities for disenchantment? Are their lives so irrelevant that they have to pull out social justice criteria from the pages of history? And as they march in another banal attempt to fight an other perceived social injustice I have to ask: What do you want from me?

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