Recently, I heard this remark: “What is it with your generation?” I have a problem with labels, and this is one I especially get revved up about.
I never considered myself a member of a ‘generation.’ I was once doing a newspaper column about the deteriorating health of the Baby-Boomer Generation. The physical therapist I was talking to found out that I was born during World War Two and said, “Oh, you’re a Baby-Boomer too.”
That stopped things dead in their tracks. “No,” I replied, “I was born during the war, so I can’t be a member of the Post-War-Baby-Boom, which is of course how that generation gets its name.”
Well, she said it didn’t matter—I was still a Baby-Boomer. “Now wait a minute,” I said (I told you the interview stopped dead). “It’s called the Post-War Boom for a reason—because it took place after the War. I was born during the War.”
Close enough, she said.
Sorry, I guess that’s why I’m a writer. Words—and the phrases they construct—are important to me. I am not (cannot) be a member of the Baby-Boom Generation. And by now, you’ve probably become quite aware that this is a sore point with me.
I don’t like being categorized—in any way. I’m not a member of the Greatest Generation, nor a Boomer, a Gen-xer, a Gen-yer, a Gen-zer…I’m me. And therein lies the root of a problem in our culture. People have to be pigeonholed—branded. And why? So we can be targeted by a marketing campaign.