This week was a particularly arduous one for failing to meet the needs of a new generation of the “best” and the “brightest.”
I have in the past ranted about the youth I now hate as a stuffy, grouchy aging woman. It’s really the millenials with their T-ball trophy winning, helicopter parent indulging ways that cause me the only real pain as I strive to keep a paycheck coming.
Cursed as I am with a modicum of self-awareness, however, I have to think maybe I was an asshole once, too. After all, the family still remembers me for my pre-school “genius glasses,” as I insisted I was a genius and all geniuses must wear glasses. Now I realize not only that I’m an idiot, but I sit typing this post out with bifocals. Fucking bifocals. (OK, progressive lenses, because no one need know my eyes are indeed middle-aged and nerdy.)
It is my family that also reminds me of my compulsive need at the age of seven to announce to everyone who would listen (and many, many adults who were too busy to listen) in a sing-song voice, “I got a double promotion.”
Doubtless at my first job, I too, smarmily, smarty-pants-ian, proclaimed how all things good be done better if only my ideas were enacted. At least, I assume I acted like that, because I have the 20-somethings now telling me such things. Maybe it’s a universal?
If it is a universal, I am sorry. I am sorry if I ever said to any co-worker, “Oh, that’s just me, because I read books.” I understand now that telling people I read books, while implying I’m different from them, also implies that they don’t read and, by extension, are not as educated as me. To say you are used to talking with your friends and it’s a “rarefied” atmosphere is to suggest to the listener that their little, leaden world is earthbound and mundane. If I ever did that, I’m sorry.
If I ever suggested to someone 20 years my senior that our life experiences were on par and equal and really quite the same, please accept my apology. I minimized anything you may have done in that extra couple of decades by presuming my shorter existence included the same activities. I minimized your contribution by suggesting what I have learned from books is essential and identical to what you learned through living. I elevated myself and my meager contributions thus far to equal your demonstrable, documented successes, and I see now that I may have left some things out of my logic chain.
Further, I apologize for assuming that I was in a position to question how you live or offer advice on how you should change. For example, if I questioned the need for a man in your life to even need a suit, let alone two or a tailor-made one, because I had one suit since I graduated high school and found that it was enough, I’m sorry for my shortsightedness. Obviously, all sartorial choices should involve not just the age of the person, but the circumstances in which they live. I hadn’t thought of that when I told you your behavior was unnecessary, sorry.
If ever I cried, literally or figuratively, because I was so full of emotion, because no one was understanding my issues and my needs, please accept my sincere regrets for missing the larger picture. Older and wiser, I now can grok a universe in which everyone, literally everyone, has their own mountains to climb and shit-stream to swim. Crosses to bear abound. All people have emotional needs. I am not a special ray of sunshine who needs extra care and tending. And, if I am, frankly, I now realize it’s on my shoulders to get the care I need.
For unaware tears I shed, because I felt misunderstood, I apologize for ignoring your pain and misunderstanding your motives. More than that, I am sorry for the shallow tears, the tears of minor setbacks and small issues. In retrospect, death, tragedy, a broken heart, a troubled friend beyond hope or reach, paralysis, disease, illness, suffering, these are situations in which tears are earned and a needed balm. A hangnail or badly run meeting is not.
Today, sitting here and typing on a computer that wasn’t imagined in 1984, I have learned that often people’s actions are not intended as I think. Sometimes someone is brusk or unable to help solve my problems, because they need their brains and hearts to deal with their own junk. Or maybe beyond my vision, someone else’s need is greater than mine. Maybe there was a death in the family or a prolonged illness that has kept a co-worker from sharing completely my sense of urgency that my flight was delayed. For my inability to see your forest for my trees, please accept my humility and penance.
If ever I interrupted you or took more than my share unthinkingly, please know that I am sorry. In youthful exuberance, I no doubt shouted or spoke when it was not my turn. I probably conversed by over talking the other participants, because my ideas were bursting from me and so good and so well-formed. There was no reason to listen to other people speak, because what could they offer that I did not already know? More true if their voice was soft or they were too weak to be as assertive as me. If they mattered, they would speak up.
So, check. Rudeness, my bad. I’m sorry.
Most of all, I think my biggest crime might have been buzz kill. In my 20s, full of energy and life, full of opportunity, busting at the seams with determination and enthusiasm, I just assumed what you were doing was stupid. My choices in activities had depth and knowledge and were vetted by my superior mind, so clearly if you weren’t doing what I was doing, you were wasting your time. For eye rolls and sighs, let me bow my head, contemplative and contrite.
Now, today, in the here and now, I can see those kids over there enjoying a kickball game in the sun, or those adults high-fiving a solid base run in league softball, are just having fun. Yup, F U N.
My condescending attitude, my feigned, fake cheer, my “whatever” or “duh” isn’t fun. It’s not witty. It doesn’t further life’s dance, it slows it the fuck down. Who, I say looking back, who the fuck do I think I am or did I think I was?
If philately gets your pulse up, enjoy. If sports are your theater, play ball. If television, radio, video, YouTube, music, movies and mime all provide your window to the world, rave on. If sitting on a rock alone is your thing, let the world roll on by as you wish. Rock your Celine Dion, roll with your light contemporary jazz. May your boat float with whatever liquid keeps you aloft.
You don’t need my approval or my opinion or my permission. And, you certainly don’t need me bringing you down. For judgment, especially unsolicited, and for sucking the joy out of anyone else’s pleasure, for that and for my condescension, please accept my apologies.
Denise, You are totally a CALIFORNIAN.
welcome to middle age….You are way too hard on yourself.
In full disclosure, most of the examples above were uttered TO me by the youth of today. But, I’m afraid I might have said similar.
It seems to be that you are a quite normal, highly intelligent person who is till able to learn. Of course you have your kinky sides, but don’t we all? The trick is to recognize them and enjoy them when we can, and maybe others will to. I enjoy yours, Dee. Thanks for sharing.
Shit, the lack of dripping sarcasm clearly indicates you have been away from Boston too long. Other than the fact that that borderline flirted with an almost “Footsteps” like missive/prayer, that was well written. In fact, if I have learned anything in my 30’s it is that people 20 years older ALWAYS know way the hell more than you. All of this is to say well written (God forbid I just compliment you), and I honestly feel better for having read it.
I think Sarah just took over your computer. You can’t be the Ted I know.
you forgot to appologise for vietnam
that was your fault as well
and Nixon and Carter
Regan i think was Maggies fault for encouraging him
right thats sorted that out now shall we move on the the good stuff in life
like hateing the young twee things for being so sodding bright
dave
ear girl how did you manage to predict there is a special circle of hell reserved for a certain paedophile
wooooo scarie
have you seen his other glove
dave
ear dee nip down the hospital and bulk up the crowd i recon there are a couple of hundred at the most
hmmm bigg fan bace
oh dont take the neighbourhood kids
it might be misunderstood
veda
and sir paul wants his beatles records back
When I was in my 20’s I was very sarcastic. Honestly, I thought I was being “funny”. It is so much nicer to respond to someone’s pain with “I’m so sorry you’re felling that way” than saying “Jesus! I told you he was an asshole and you wouldn’t listen !!!! This is what you get!” Well, I don’t know that now and I couldn’t have known it then. I am not a mind reader or a fortune teller. Never have been (though I thought I had true clarity and vision) and probably never will be. It is the folly of age Madame. However, it does take every once of strength not shove the little pissers off their pedestals . . .I identify with you Dee
shock horror
lily allen found the missing glove at gladsto
when you gonna come dee rob
you did the bid ED
come on do gladsto comic tent
dvea
For the record, you were never any of the self-absorbed things you worry about. You were, however, damned funny!