Generation Gap

I've written before about the routine Daelyn and I got through at his naptime each day. I ask him questions like, "What's your name, little boy?", pretending to be a police officer soliciting information from a lost child. By this point, he knows his name, the names of his siblings, his phone number, the name of the road on which he lives, and we're working on his full address. Up until this week, when I've asked him the names of his parents, he's responded that Daddy's name is Don Doughty, but Mama is Mommy Doughty.

As we were snuggling one day this week, I began the litany of questions. When we got to my name, he said, "Pasheesha Doughty". It took me several minutes to figure out he meant "Patricia", but, when I realized, I was thrilled. For the first time ever, he used my given name. Being encouraged by this victory, I went a step further and asked him if he knew how old Mommy was. He responded "75".

I snickered, knowing that, to Daelyn, it probably seemed like I was 75. For fun, I asked him how old his Daddy was. "I don't know, Mommy. I just don't know. How old IS Daddy?" he asked.

"He must be 100", I commented, assuming this would make great sense to Daelyn. Instead, he laughed and said, "No, Mommy, of course Daddy's not that old."

Huh!! Daddy gets to be younger than 100 - in fact, that's even a silly thought - but I'm ancient. I'm sure this comes from hearing Don tell the children, on many various occasions, that Mommy was around with the dinosaurs and, "If you want to know what it was like in Jesus' time, just ask Mommy. She was alive then." It makes no difference how ancient the incident the children are discussing - according to Don, I was there.

This attitude comes from him being 4 1/2 years younger than me. We were still newlyweds when, on the way to church one Sunday morning, we were listening to the radio and a song came on that I knew well. I sung along. When it was done, Don commented, in shock, that I knew every word.

"Of course I knew every word. Didn't you?" I asked, incredulously.

"No," he retorted. "I've never heard that song before."

Oh, come on. How could that be. He's only 4 1/2 years younger than me. We're not separated by 15 or 20 years, here. How can we possibly not know the same songs.

Don pushed the issue even further by the emotionless remark, "In fact, we're from different generations."

Excuse me???? If he hadn't been driving, I think I would have hit him. It was unbelievable to me that he could so blatantly make such a controversial statement. My response was so extreme that Don shrinked a little. But, when we got home from church, he gave me a copy of U.S. News and World Report, which he reads faithfully every month. This edition explored the differences between the "Baby Boomer" generation and the "Baby Buster" generation. Don's reading had, apparently, led him to the conclusion he had spouted off to me.

I sat down and read the magazine from cover to cover. Then I began pondering the articles. You see, I'm the youngest of 5 children. I was born in 1961, which was right at the tail-end of the Baby Boomer generation. But, because I was the youngest of a fairly large family, I related upwards, to my siblings and their friends. I listened to their music, read their magazines, worshiped the same actors and musicians they did, etc. I truly am a Baby Boomer, in every sense of the word.

Don, on the other hand, was born in 1965, well past the end of the Baby Boomer generation. He was the oldest of two children and related to his younger sister and her friends. He clearly was raised with a different understanding of life, in general, than I was. He really IS a Baby Buster. And, thus, don and I are from different generations.

We don't talk about it often anymore. Don got tired of defending himself from an Angry Mommy. But the truth is indisputable. I married a man who's from a different generation than me. So, Mommy's 75 and Daddy's something much less. I guess I ought to be thankful he loves me despite my immense age.