This article first appeared in the St. Louis Beacon, Feb. 11, 2010 -The U.S. Census Bureau defines the baby boom generation as those persons born between the years 1946 and 1964. I reject that definition as overly broad. In my estimation, you had to be old enough to remember where you were when Jack Kennedy was assassinated to qualify.
After all, a kid born in 1964 would have been 3 or 4 years old during the riots at the Democratic Convention in Chicago during the summer of '68. If you missed out on hippies, yippies, the Summer of Love, Woodstock and Kent State because your mother limited your TV viewing to Disney cartoons, I just don't think you qualify. On the other hand, if you recall all that madness as vividly as I do, there's no way to deny your heritage.
We boomers were the first progeny of THE BOMB -- the first generation to grow up with the understanding that the complete and immediate destruction of humankind was a distinct possibility. Air raid drills and backyard fall-out shelters were staples of our formative years.
Living in the shadow of utter annihilation that we were powerless to thwart probably had some kind negative impact on our collective psyche, making us more inclined to instant gratification and a bit nuttier than our forbearers were. Then again, there was also the matter of the flying saucers ...
Of course, all generations are diverse and ours is no exception. Many of our members served with distinction in Vietnam and many more simply did their duty when their country called. But remembered collectively, we are best known for the peace movement, which at times grew rather violent.
We took illicit drug use from the back alley to Main Street where it could do more harm. We gave the nation disco, bell bottoms, E-Z credit, free love and pay television. Our Profiles in Courage were Bill Clinton and George W. Bush.
Now that the country's teetering on the brink of collapse, it's time to face a truly inconvenient truth: Our tenure as the adults-in-charge is drawing to a close. Our love affair with youth eternal is headed toward an unhappy ending, and all the botox in Nancy Pelosi won't change that awkward fact.
Not that our campaign against the inevitable wasn't valiant. A couple of decades ago, 40 was the new 30. Ten years later, 50 was the new 40. Unfortunately, 60 is presently upon us and it still is what it always was -- old. If we're going to ameliorate the damage we've done to future generations from our have-it-now-to-hell-with-tomorrow reign, it's time for civic-minded boomers to step up to the plate and do the right thing by dying.
Let's face it: Social Security is on its last legs and Medicare's in worse shape yet. If we don't start checking out in timely fashion, our final legacy to our debt-ridden nation is going to be an unpaid bill for a sea of Depends.
To be sure, I'm not calling for a lemming-like plunge into the abyss or a Jonestown-style punch party, but it's time for those of us who are true patriots to start acting our age. All I am saying is give death a chance. Allow me to explain:
Once a month, I attend a pre-work breakfast with several city officials and their chiefs of staff. The purpose of the gathering is to share information and better coordinate efforts among the various agencies represented. I go to the meeting with my boss, the sheriff. Most of those present are my approximate contemporaries.
We get together in the back room of a local eatery where the owner arranges the tables in a horseshoe configuration to facilitate conversation. Everybody chips in $10 to defray the tab. Here -- so help me -- is what the people on my side of the room ordered last week:
Boomer #1: black coffee
Boomer #2: fresh fruit medley
Boomer #3: grapefruit & small orange juice
Boomer #4: black coffee
Boomer #5: oatmeal w/fresh banana
Boomer #6: oatmeal w/ fresh banana & whole wheat toast
Boomer #7: Raisin Bran w/skim milk
How in hell are we going to do our part eating like this? $10 for a cup of coffee? Or a grapefruit? C'mon guys, it's too late to die young; we might as well get our money's worth.
After the impetuous exploits of our misspent youth, why are we suddenly dining off a menu that wouldn't pass muster in the ICU? Have you considered the actuarial implications of this sort of reckless caution? In a nation suffering an epidemic of childhood obesity, the old farts eat like anorexic rodents...
Seated between black coffee #2 and hot oatmeal #1, I had two eggs over-easy, pork sausage, hash browns and a short stack of buckwheat pancakes with extra syrup. Nobody asked me if I was scheduled for a date with the electric chair later in the day, but I thought I caught an annoyed sideward glance from one of the oatmeal guys.
When the meeting was over, I adjourned to the parking to light a cigar. Now that's patriotism. Get with the program, boomers: Ask not what your country can do for you; ask for a side of bacon.
M.W. Guzy is a retired St. Louis cop who currently works for the city Sheriff's Department. His column appears weekly in the Beacon.