When Generations Collide

Last night I had the unique opportunity of having dinner with someone forty-eight years older than me and someone five years younger than me whose father and grandfather were both born in the 1800s only a few years apart. The one born in 1859, a famous geologist. The other, Clarence Oscar, was a one-arm chemical engineer turned inventor by necessity to survive. By survive I mean rigging up a lighting system on his car so that he could shift, drive, and signal at the same time using only one arm. How unique that I had had very frank conversations with the older about the wild nights with the younger and felt completely elated about both. How odd that I looked on with amazement and listened open-mouthed at the similarities between this 77 and 25 year old. I don't know if it was the vodka martini or the glass of wine or the beer I had before dinner, but it all gave me a warm blushing feeling on my cheeks. To share a moment with another old soul and two ACTUAL old souls was so comforting to me. I can't begin to describe my surprise at the love the older has given me just on the basis of friendship, not obligation. Even more, I can't believe the youngest one at the table thanked me later for inviting him to meet these special friends of mine and say how neat it was for me to have friends that age. Friends, not family. Nobody we HAD to spend all day with laughing at our inabilities to read a map, parallel park, and pretend that we don't hear the gas passed when the one of us stepped out of the car to pay the parking ticket. Yep. This is the same lady who has a pink cover for her phone and taught me how to experience a breathtaking piece of art and appreciate it in a way I never have.

On the ride home from dinner when my young friend and I were alone, he changed the station from opera to hip-hop and finally to old 1940s blues and jazz. The "1940s" that the oldest of this dinner party had described earlier the night by sharing the memory of one night hearing the same broadcast coming from every station and called to his father to ask what was the matter. World War II? Yes. I commented on how we are so spoiled today. Yes, we have war and poverty and recessions, but somehow it doesn't seem as big as it was then. We also talked about change. How much changes now in even three months, but back then three years could go by with everyone doing the same old thing.

This causes me to ask the question: were we happier then? I've heard my dad speak of the simple days. Is he right? Despite sickness, wars, no cures for disease (even my 77 year old friend's mother died of spinal meningitis when he was only four) were we happier then? Did we value life and not long for what we did not have? Are we truly this spoiled now? If so, how do we get back to the old ways? More realistically, how do we blend the old and new? Why do we only make friends with those in the same exact stage of life as us when we are missing so much from those a little bit older than us. A little bit slower. A little bit, yes, I'll say it: wiser. I mean, they've seen no less than, how many wars in their life time? They've lived through how many recessions (or depressions)? How lucky I feel tonight at the chance to see "old" friends, to share new friends with the "old" ones, and to understand and appreciate the sense of urgency to share more of these moments together soon.