At the Bryn Mawr last night, I was having a great time performing. As I did my Medley, it suddenly occurred to me that my generation, The Boomers, are in real trouble.
There I was, singing “Five foot, two, eyes of blue . . .” when the thought crossed my mind: “what are today’s teens going to sing to me when I’m aging comfortably in a rest home somewhere?”
Somehow, “In Da Gadda Da Vida” doesn’t seem to cut it, although the drum solo would be pretty nifty if performed on bedpans. Dylan’s “The Times They Are A Changing” may be better, though the song may have more to do with incontinence than a revolution.
And it suddenly occurred to me that we’re not very ready to age gracefully. The reason? No singalongs!! Our senior members of society today have such great songs as “Bill Bailey,” “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling,” and “When The Saints Go Marching In.” Our generation had great songs too, but sitting around singing “Eight Days A Week” or “Hound Dog” just doesn’t seem right. And don’t even mention “Feelings.”
When you think about it, this is just the tip of the iceberg of a problem facing the Boom Generation. Today, when you visit a retirement home, there’s craft classes, bingo, knitting, crocheting, square dancing and a host of other things to do.
But what are we going to do to enrich our lives in another 20 years? Go to an hour of investing each day? Attend bottled water tastings? Sit through classes on the history of brie? We don’t have hobbies because work was our hobby. We were too busy being Yuppies, Yappies and Dinks (Double Income, No Kids) to have any real life. So now we’re destined to live out the rest of our lives sitting in front of the boob tube watching endless reruns of “Gilligan’s Island,” “Bewitched” and “Bullwinkle” for lack of anything better to do.
I can just see it know, a bunch of old geezers gathered around the T.V. Ratty old Itzod sweaters draped over our shoulders, a plate of senior sushi in front of us, a bottle of Peptic Perrier by our side, and Gucci slippers keeping our feet all snuggy at $550 a pair.
At night, it’s off for a hot time in the Club just down the hall. Tonight’s disco night and we’ll do the Bump to Chic’s “Le Freak” — only we won’t be bumping butts, but wheelchairs. On those really special nights, we’ll all gather in the dining room for a Consumer Reports review on denture adhesives. And afterward, we’ll meet one last time with our investment manager to find out why we don’t have enough money left over for one last trip to Vail for ski season.
I for one, am not ready to admit that I’m going to be pathetic in my retirement years. There’s still time to find a useful activity. In fact, I think I’ll just hop in my car right now and drive over to the mall to find a hobby.
I wonder if they still have that paint-by-number set of the Last Supper. Now thats a hobby!
‘Til Again,
Robb