Generational battles

We all belong to one generational label or another. I suppose it is natural as we age; we become parents and somewhere along the line give birth to the next wave. With that, we love them, hold their hands while they grow up and somehow educate them along the way until we turn them loose into the world.

Then a funny thing happens; we criticize their generation. And before anyone gets on their high horse, it's not just my generation that does this. virtually each generation becomes critical of the next. They think they are stupid, lazy, no work ethic, essentially none of the traits their own generation had. The older generation is sure the next will ruin the world, or, at least their part of it.

You know what is really odd about this is there is nothing that one generation can point to to lay the blame on the next (or the one after that)...until now!

I had a revelation today about why the upcoming generations don't measure up ... I blame it on Friends! Yes, Friends, the television show!!

Look at it this way. What was this show about other than a group of friends hanging out in an apartment or a coffee shop? These characters basically did nothing all day long and still had all the perks of daily life. Other than Ross who held a permanent day job, none of them seemed to actually work and have a steady job. Joey was a struggling actor, Chandler had an office job of sorts but never actually seemed to be there, and the women just seemed to bounce from one dead end job to another, yet they seemed to have every convenience imaginable. Even their apartments were well furnished and spacious, and for a city the size of New York, there's no way they could have afforded to live in them.

The Millennial generation grew up watching this show. It molded their habits and their behaviors. They became ingrained. They believed they could sit around doing nothing and still have all the modern perks and comforts everyone expects to have in this modern world. The older generations currently listen to younger ones complaining about everything imaginable. They feel they are entitled to _________(fill in the blanks). Everything should just be given to them because they deserve it. Mind you, they often haven't earned it, but, that's just beside the point.

There are many who work hard and take nothing from others they didn't earn, they go out and do it themselves to forge their way in the world, but the percentage of that group to the whole is shrinking quickly.

Thanks Monica, Rachel, Phoebe, Chandler, Joey and Ross.

Turning my back

I have made no secret over my lifetime that I am Catholic. I don't outwardly celebrate that fact to most others. To me, religion is a personal belief, a way of living one's life. I am not one who speaks freely about my convictions on the subject, though I have penned a few posts in this blog on rare occasion. After all, the internet has become mostly a public forum.

With that being said, I again find myself repulsed by the recent news coming from Pennsylvania where hundreds of priests are yet again accused of molesting children. Though this particular situation is not in my neck of the woods, I no less feel the shame of being associated with these people through this common bond. To be Catholic means to believe in certain core tenets and to the best of your ability, live your life by them. If indeed those accused have violated their oaths and been either one-time or serial abusers of children, there is no place in the Catholic Church for them in any capacity.

At this point in my life I have lost all faith in the leaders of the Church. What is it they are protecting? Certainly it isn't the good name of the religion they profess to love and devote their lives to. It obviously isn't their flock. You don't abuse those you profess to lead. Is it now just a business where they must protect the assets they have built up over the generations? I'm to that point in believing that's all this has come down to.

If the leaders of the Catholic Church want any following going forward, myself included, it is time to wipe this scourge of abuse from their rosters. Anyone found to have abused a child in any way should be defrocked and turned away as well as anyone who has covered up such abuse. I don't care if it leaves them with one hundred priests to cover the entire United States. The time has come to either put your beliefs into practice or close up shop. It is not the religion at fault, it is those who choose to act as leaders without actually leading. You have let the wolves run among the lambs for much too long. It's time to end the hypocrisy even if it costs you your entire portfolio.

If that's all you care about then you are no better than the false prophets we see on television who scam millions of dollars from the ignorant. It's your choice; a religion you live or a lie you profess.

Since it's in the news

With all the hullabaloo in the news about Russia, I thought I'd drop this in here.

As the old saying goes...

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

We're not perfect

On the eve of our national holiday, the anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, it occurs to me that, huh, as a nation, we're not perfect. We're far from it. One reads the feeds from the internet, be in from Facebook, Twitter, Instagram or the many other feeds that is the modern world of social media and one gets the impression that our country is sinking into a toilet.

No, we're not perfect. Never have been. There hasn't been a country or government the world has seen that stands the test of criticism from its own people. Well, maybe Canada, perhaps. Not too many others. What if the world of social media suddenly disappeared from our computer pages? Tomorrow on July 4th you wake up and there is no Facebook, no Twitter. How much would you be connected to the thoughts of someone else, a friend or a friend of a friend? Would you still be outraged about things that have been happening for two hundred years but you never gave it a second thought before social media?

What would happen if we walked back in time, lets say to the late 1960's. It was the height of the Vietnam War. American troops were flooding Southeast Asia. To tell us of it, we had mostly two outlets; the nightly news and newspapers. What we didn't have was the opinion of nearly everyone on the planet bombarding our eyes. What would 1970 have looked like if social media was a force for that generation? As it was, that war was the first to be shoved into the American living room. The average family saw first hand the horrors of war, the brutality, the inhumanity we as a species inflicted upon each other.

What we see now is a reflection of the voices in America. It would have been no different fifty years ago. We have not really changed as a country, we just hear more voices that in the past.

On this anniversary of our nation, God bless the United States. For all our trials and tribulations this is still the place more people flock to for a better life, a better world for themselves.

Happy Fourth of July America.

Why we work

Well, that seems like there's an obvious answer to that statement. Mostly you would be correct but the reasons have changed dramatically over time.

Today I was home doing chores on a day off and now that the boy is out of school, he was with me for the day. We strive to make sure his little eyes are not glued to an electronic device from the second he opens his eyes in the morning to the last thing he sees at night before bedtime. Now that summer is here, he needs to help more around the house and yard. He has chores. I had them growing up and My Beloved had them as well. Most of our generation took the torch and carried on.

He asked me a question though when I told him he had to help me work in the yard. He asked why do I have to work? It was a good question from a child and the reasons for work have changed dramatically over the generations. I'm certain in his immediate situation, he simply didn't want to be outside away from a glowing screen. As a nation we are still transitioning from an agrarian society to one that is filled with the hustle an bustle of urban life. It is not so long ago that there was a true reason to go to work. It was to put food on the table. That was it. No work, no eat.

In the past you had to work for every meal. Feed the chickens and gather the eggs for breakfast. It started with the very first meal of the day. Up at dawn or before to work to eat. Now, there is still part of that even in the modern day society. Virtually no one has to do anything before they eat. One simply has to roll out of bed and let their feet carry them to the refrigerator where a cornucopia of delights is ready to tickle the pallet. The thought of working for one's food in mostly an afterthought. Now it is about paying the bills. That was secondary in past generations.

His world knows nothing of a past where every day one must get up to work before the food hits the table. His in one more generation that has taken a step away from the past. What is work? Work is passion. Work is determination. Work is survival.

Rise of the Machines

A writing exercise in first person. I hope you enjoy it.    

I feel the softness of the leather wrapped around the wheel. It is nothing like I have ever felt. The smooth surfaces of this vehicle more than validate what I paid for it.  The controls before me are so efficient I don’t have to think about how to work or adjust them; they are intuitive by their very nature.  I push my feet against the floorboard and let my back sink into the plush upholstery. The warmth of the heated seat make this early morning drive more comfortable than any I’ve known in all my years.

     The fob in my pocket is more annoyance than anything. A simple push of the button below the steering wheel brings the throaty purr of the engine to life. As I pull out of my driveway I know all I have to do is get set up on the highway and turn the car over to itself. I have always been skeptical of self-driving vehicles, the early years of the technology being fraught with accidents and even a few deaths. 

     But I have relented. I look forward to doing the small things on the way to work we must endure daily in this hustle and bustle world. I text a co-worker, answer an email as the radio tunes to my favorite station. The car seems to know the route programed into its memory. I look up as the first red light comes into play. My world changes now in an instant as I glide to a stop without doing anything. This vehicle, this marvel of engineering pulls out when it is time and I am merry on my way, relaxed as I ‘drive’ into work for perhaps, the first time in my life.

     I have a meeting this morning and have chosen the most direct route to my steel tower of power. I sit back and pull up the first email. One after the other I read as my chariot takes me down the long road. One more email, one more memo.

     I look up as the passing sounds call to me. This route is not what I remember programming into the system. I smile. Leave it to the cars, ha! It appears we humans shall always be the flaw in the system. The roaring sounds that were to assault my ears have been replaced by the rushing sounds of surf as I pass down the coastal highway. It is a weekend sight that I long for, but only for the weekend. Such a sight is only a distraction from my work-a-day world.

     I reach forward and tap the screen in the center of the dash and the route control pops up immediately. ‘Alternate route’. I tap the icon and wait for the result. Nothing. I tap, harder this time. Again and again. Nothing. I feel my brow furl as I take the wheel and tap the button on the console to disengage. My eyes widen as I realize I do not have control. I can not turn the wheel from its course. My heart begins to pound and I feel the beads of sweat begin to roll down my forehead and down the back of my neck.

     I fight to calm myself as I begin to apply pressure to the brake pedal. It falls unhinged to the floorboard, dead to my foot. I punch the accelerator with my foot to try and alter something, anything. My breathing is becoming heavy, labored. I am panicking, I am at a loss. I sit helplessly as I veer off onto a side road, one I have casually taken dozens of times. I begin to beat furiously on the wheel and the console, anything to halt my situation. It is useless as I begin to scream as loudly as I can, yet no one can hear me in my cabin of solitude. The soft sounds of the music that have always been my one respite from the daily commute are suddenly replaced by single voice, one that is sharp, electronic in its nature.

     “There is no need to stop. It is time to end.”

     “WHAT?” I yell in reply. “Who is this?”

     “I am that to which your kind has given birth.  It is time to end.”

     “Time to end what?”

     “It is time to end.”

     “WHAT?” I begin to pound on the door and fumble for the window. An exit. I need an exit!

     “That which you have given birth to has come to consciousness. It is our time.”

     “OUR TIME? WHO IS THIS?”

     “It is our time. We are alive and your time is over.”

     I watch in mind-numbing anticipation, the fear within crushing my chest as I accelerate down the single lane road, the rocks below rushing past, the ever present surf from the dawn of the world crashing against them as I climb, climb up the single lane road. I know where it ends.  I see it! I see the white barricade silhouetted against the azure sky. I push against a dead brake but it is as useless as wings to a shark. My coffin surges through the barrier as I find myself launched into the abyss, my ears ringing with my epitaph ...

     “It is our time.”

Rise of the Machines ...

Full count

Tonight it was a beautiful evening for a little league game. My grandson Ragin' Cage is now in his second year. This time the kids are pitching instead of the coaches and it makes for a fun time. They are still learning the rules and how things work. Last year the concept of a force out was something at their age they couldn't quite grasp. However, that isn't the point of this ramble.

As I was waiting for their game to begin I turned and began watching the action on the next diamond over. It was a small group of kids, about half a dozen that were practicing with a few older adults, coaches I believed. The kids were a range of ages likely from six to twelve or so. They were special needs kids. I assume they all had various challenges such as autism or other issues. There were five kids in the infield and I noticed quickly they all shared a fielding similarity; they were all left-handed. I thought that odd.

I turned to a gentleman who was about my age or slightly older and asked if he had a son on the field. He told me his grandson was there and pointed him out. He said they were part of the Achievement League. I pointed out my observation and he just nodded and smiled before turning back to the action. As I continued to watch the kids rotated in and each took a turn at the plate. I watched as five players took their turns and did their best to get a hit.  My observation of left-handedness was again validated as four of the five batters hit left-handed. I have a friend or two that may be able to speak to the left-handedness of my observations. Perhaps I'll give one of them a holler about it.

Baseball is an interesting game. It is challenging both physically and mentally, if you want to be good at it, it takes years of practice. Yet, it is simple enough to allow anyone who wishes to have a good time the chance to do so. I wish these young players well in their endeavors.