When "Love" Isn’t Enough

My Mom was the kind of person who never sent a greeting card without first underlining the words in it that she wanted to emphasize.

As far back as I can remember, my birthday cards, graduation cards, Valentine ’s Day cards, May Day cards, Easter cards, first-day-of-school cards (okay, Mom sent a lot of cards), came with these little rhinestoned words that bejeweled her greeting.

It might be words like “special,”  “thank you,” “means so much,” or “favorite” (but so were my seven other siblings).  In one first-day-of-summer card, she underlined the words, “you are my fairy princess.” While it went with the glittery Cinderella on the cover, I wondered if my preppy-pink polo phase had maybe run its course. Turns out she put the wrong card in the envelope. But to this day, I still get a warm feeling whenever I try on a new shoe.

Over the years, I learned that her punctuated words weren’t random but part of an elaborate set of rules. For example, the word, “love” required at least two underlines.  The same applied to the “X” in “XOXO.” As she got older, the convention was updated to triple underlines. 

Not to be confined by just the underline, her stylebook also included other punctuation. The recipient’s name must always appear in quotes at the beginning of the inside copy. The exclamation point is permissible (frankly mandatory) after the last sentence. Emoticons should never appear in the margins—“Why would you ruin such a nice reading,” she’d remark.

It wasn’t as though this was the only way I knew how she felt. I was lucky enough to hear her say it too. Underlines were just her special way of emphasizing what I knew already. Like how after she’d squeeze three times before letting go of your hand after the Sign of Peace at mass. I knew I was special.

These days I feel a little deflated when I get a card without any underlines. So I’m carrying on the tradition. Every time I do, I hear her voice between each quotation mark, feel her three-squeeze handhold in the exclamation mark and see her smile with each underscore.

And I’m happy to announce that the tradition will not die with me either. My son has adopted the wearin’ of the underline in his own cards too. He recognizes particularly heartfelt prepositions like “for,” “with,” or “of.”

He’s so “special.”

Out in the Margins

I'm tired of being marginalized by youth.

The generation that spawned the Movement, the Pill and the Betty Ford Clinic has suddenly been left blown' in the wind. Sure, our Boomer credo was "never trust anyone over 30." But that's been updated to "50 is the new 30." We're still down with it, right?

So when did the Pepsi Generation become the Pepcid Geriatrics? And when did Gen Xers become General A-to-Z, clearing bandwidth for yet another trophy on the Cloud of life?

The Xer point of view has become the gold standard by which all is evaluated. All others are auto-corrected to conform. Everything else is deemed "old school." Need an example?  Check out this car commercial.

Unearned Entitlement
It is this fruit of Boomer loins that makes me feel like I've taken the brown acid. At the heart of this bad trip is some Xers' sense of entitlement. In the workplace, that means revamping the dress code, charting their own work/play schedule and setting corporate strategy, all in the first week with a company.

It's not entitlement that brings on my flashbacks. Each of us has the right to make a mark. It's unearned entitlement that makes me want to stage a sit-in. To be earned, entitlement needs to be informed with life experience.

It's not about creating the next greatest app but about the people who use it and how it connects with the rest of their world (and the rest of the company). Steve Jobs (an old Boomer himself), understood that. It wasn't his litany of i-prefixed inventions that entitled his fame. His life experience taught him about how people connect and from that he created new ways to for people to communicate.

Don't have a body of life experience yet? Tap into those who do. Us older farts are raising our hands. We're out there just beyond the Star Wars action figures on your desk.  All we are saying is, "give experience a chance."

Resetting the Margins
But marginalization takes two parties--someone who marginalizes and someone who accepts that state. Perhaps us Boomers have dropped out when we need to tune-in again.  Challenge this new establishment with an "old" way of thinking.

My Greatest-Generation Mother used to tell me, "Wait until you get my age and you'll find out it's not so funny." Her life experience smacks me up the side of the head now.

As a generation, we've always redefined each age we become. We've changed what it means to be a citizen, a partner, a parent, an environmentalist, and now our role as an elder statesman. Surely we too can groove to this new movement (and not just the bowel kind) .

The Great Gray Way

I'm making a list of leading Broadway roles I intend to play when I'm confined to a nursing home.

It's the perfect set-up. Just clear some space in the dining hall, dim the fluorescent lights and turn down the Musak. Then wheel them all in and line 'em up.

I'm thinking the performance should start about 20 minutes after meds. Nothing like getting them liquored up with a little Prozac & Malox cocktail before showtime.

I'll start with the musical theatre, always a mainstream favorite. Norita, the retired music teacher, can provide piano accompaniment. The piano's likely out of tune so it won't matter if I am too.

Probably launch the season with the role of Harold Hill in the Music Man. The extravaganza would include a rousing finale --
26 Trombones (not sure if I can get them to do the full 76). Imagine a parade of walkers and wheelchairs, right here in Rehab City.

Next, I'll launch my full tour de force as the Emcee in Cabaret (the crotch-grabbing Alan Cummings version, not the Joel Grey one). That would be followed by Che in Evita. Don't cry for me you ungrateful sons and daughters. Momma's on the marquee.

Then, when I have them hooked, I'll branch out into more dramatic roles. I'm thinking of doing a male version of Wit but with prostate cancer instead.

I'd close the season with one of the classics that will showcase my full range, Taming of the Catheter. I don't think the Bard would object to a little adaptation, "Tush! tush! Fear orderlies with unlubricated tips."

Still working on the concept but one thing's for sure -- there won't be a dry seat in the place.