I'm one of the dreaded Baby Boomers

I was born on the tail end of the baby boomer explosion. You may have heard about the boomers; we were the ones born after WWII.

The war had shaken everything from 1939-45 and as slowly as it ramped up it stopped. Or so the men and women newly released from service thought. Marriage and producing children were the primary goals. A surge of children were born from 1947-1952. I was born in 1953 so I am not technically considered a boomer, I am not a Gen X or Millennial and as an outsider, I have remarkable observation skills.

Much has been said of the boomer generation, most of it bad. Apparently, we are the reason for climate change, the debt ceiling being higher than Mount Everest, and the empty morality in the nation. but is that true or are we a convenient scapegoat for a drift that started before WWI started?

A question to ask is when has any generation wanted to change the status quo? For fun, examine past generations that clung to a dead lifestyle rather than adjust to a new reality. The monarchy pre-WWI, the Roman Empire pre-burning and blood-letting, or how about the Bronze Age Collapse of the twelfth century B.C.? (If you don't know that one, check it out on YouTube, it's fascinating.)

The boomers went through radical changes. Many were needed, but many threw out the baby with the bathwater if you catch my drift. Let's start with the assassinations of a few public leaders. President John F. Kennedy Jr. November 1963, Malcolm X June 1965, Martin Luther King Jr. April 1968 and Robert Kennedy June 1968. The Vietnam War troubled Americans in one way or the other.

The 1968 Democratic Convention in which a presidential candidate was to be selected had riots from August 23-29 1968. It was the ultimate protest in a country filled with race riots, war riots, and political unrest.

An unspoken thing that was common was we boomers outnumbered the adults in every room we were in be it family dinners, classrooms, or church groups. Consequently, we raised ourselves. Yeah, give that a thought. Kids raising kids.

Remembering the Lessons from Grad School

Attending Graduate School in Chicago, I'm sure is very different these days. I applied and auditioned for the Theatre School under the Depaul Paul University administration way back in the 80s. To be fair I was delighted to attend The Theatre School. I never missed a class, applied myself to the fullest, and was willing to listen. It was my willingness to listen that gave me points with the teachers.

Why was I so willing to listen? I think it had to do with taking ballet classes since I was fourteen and, let me tell you, you had to listen to the ballet master. If he said your foot wasn't in the correct place, you did whatever you could to get it to the correct place. If he said, "Higher, get your leg higher." You did.

To be honest, I was shocked when I was in my first acting class and I heard how much the student argued with the teacher. In my estimation, the teacher was there to do his or her best to help you become the best you could in the role. So, why argue? Ask questions, obviously, but argue?

When I reached graduate school, I naively thought the arguments would fade and what would replace argument was dialogue, conversations, and a search for meaning in the text so one could bring that to the performance. Yeah, right.

It was in my Shakespeare class that I met Ann, a slim blue-eyed brunette. From day one she struggled with Shakespeare's monologues. Our teacher was a London-born transplant who was an actor going through a messy divorce and wanted a break from England and teach 'overseas'.

I thought he was clear, and concise and gave assistance in dissecting difficult passages in which American ears struggle. Ann did not think that was what he was doing and usually broke down in tears after every class. Our teacher was direct about that as well. He told her, Randall of us, that she wasn't willing to do the work to improve, what she wanted was approval and admiration. Wow, to the point eh?

I think of Ann these days especially when I struggle with hearing critiques of my writing. I have broken down in tears. I've begun to ask myself, How much am I like Anne? Unwilling to hear criticism as a boost up and not as a means for others to tear me down.

Cause if I am that thinned skin, I need to toughen up.

My best, Brie