I heard the biting comment first from our own grandmas. (as you would have guessed, grandfathers on both sides are always of the silent type). Anyway, such comments had become a regular part of the nanas’ daily litany whenever they disapproved of our actions. And growing boys that we were during that time, the frequency of such was just a click below often. In congruence with that age, that very much translated to empathetically-mean, almost daily.
Then, as though that became the official mold from which every related comment by other elders was based on, we heard it time and again, repeated by our own parents, our friends’ parents, older relatives and the rest of their generation. As boring as that was, by then, almost every elder I encountered was harping the same tune over and over. “what is wrong with all the young people these days?”
Of course, that had been years before the age of internet. Whether this was considered lucky or not for our generation, I couldn’t really say. On one hand, I reckon we could have made full use of the available knowledge and inputs the web offered us, thereby being able to come up with witty repartee to the criticisms thrown at us by our critical elders. However, opposite that, their critique of our generation would have also taken on a wider reach and influence, and in real time at that.
And so, we all grew up with that “what’s wrong with us” poser hanging over our heads, as though it were the basis of Santa’s naughty list every Christmas. Then eventually, as boring as the two generations’ non-stop query of what was wrong with us came to be, the time finally came when it was our generation’s turn to become parents and look after our young. True, while the first years of parenthood were fun and filled with discovery, by the time our children had become adolescents, it took a while before we realized, we were asking the very same question our grandies had asked of us way back then. What
the heck is wrong with the children of today???” A generational loop, a teacher and friend offered. A black hole, I countered.
Because I am technically now a great-grand by my brothers’ and sisters’ children, the question still lingers, not only in my mind, I am sure, but straight down from nephews, nieces to our beloved apos. Straight down and farther beyond the rabbit hole of life.
Thus, I christen it the never-ending question.
