A Generation X Survivor

Each generation has its challenges, unique difficulties and obstacles, shaped by the social, economic, and technological events and phenomenons of their time. In thinking about my generation, Generation X, I’m really not sure how any of us survived.

I stumbled across a video last week that pointed out some of the challenges Generation Xers have faced in our lives. I figured that I would relate to one or two of them. In reality, I checked off most, if not all, of them. I really am lucky to be alive. Here’s what I mean:

—Seat belts? PUH-LEEZE, give me a break. When Generation X members were kids, we didn’t have travel ball or travel leagues that you see nowadays. At least I didn’t. But that didn’t mean we didn’t have our own adventures. When I played Little League Baseball or Midget Football, the coach or a father of a player would load the team into the bed of his truck. He would tell us to squeeze in. We went over rolling farmland, crazy curves, and anything could have happened. We didn’t think anything about getting strapped in or wearing seat belts, that’s just the way things were.

Images by Pexels.

–The race is on. It gets better. Besides sitting in the back of trucks beds, there was no thought of safety. I remember one time riding with a coach. He was transporting his son, another kid, and myself in the back seat of his Ford Mustang convertible. I don’t remember much of the trip. But I remember thinking that he drove faster than any speed my parents had driven. And I lived to tell about it.

—The Peleton rolls on. We jumped wheelies and rode our bikes everywhere. Our bikes were our primary mode of transportation and nary a bike helmet was found. I would ride my bike on a busy back country ride to get to a friend’s house in the summer. Cars would race past me, oh so very close. Even at that age and in those times, I was amazed that harm never came to us. No one was watching me. If I had gotten hit and taken to the hospital, it would have been hours before my parents found out. No questions were asked. It was just the way it was.

—Keeping a stiff upper lip. In first grade, I fell from the Monkey Bars and onto the concrete base. (Yes, concrete base.) A couple of years ago, we visited my mother. I happened to complain out loud about the dry skin on the back of my head. Right on cue, my mother chimed in with a “d’uh” like attitude. I asked how she knew anything about my scar. It was the first I remembered ever saying anything about it.

“Don’t you remember your fall from the Monkey Bars. The doctor was worried that you had a skull fracture.” Um, hello. The news was a surprise to me. I vaguely remembered missing out the end of my first grade year. I thought it was due to problems with my legs, not a skull fracture. The underlying message: suck it up Johnny!

Images by Pexels.

—Death by Dodgeball. I loved Dodgeball as an elementary student. We played it all the time in gym and it was a blast. The goal of dodgeball was simple. You split up into two teams and eliminated players on the opposing team by hitting them with a ball. You could also eliminate players by catching a ball that they had thrown. It was a great game, but then something happened in the Ninth or Tenth grade.

A few of the guys in my class started to develop into real athletes. They developed muscle over night. When they wound up and threw, a thunderous sledgehammer came flying out of their hands. You’d be looking the wrong way and get whacked on the head by one of those thick red balls. You’d fall instantly to the ground as if you were shot. The gym teacher would chuckle to himself and shout my last name from the stands: “Get up Brian! It doesn’t hurt that bad.” A little sympathy? Forget about it. I started to realize that Dodgeball wasn’t my favorite gym activity anymore. Heck, I’ll go one step further. I was convinced that when I died, it would be because I took a ball off my noggin. I still curse those rock-like red gym balls.

—Going up in smoke. I’ve never smoked in my life. I never saw the need. I figured my lungs as a kid were black enough on their own. Second hand smoke was a huge thing throughout our youth. My father started smoking in the Army and spent the rest of his life trying to quit. He smoked like a fiend. Long car rides in the winter were the worst. You would sit in the back seat and the tainted air had nowhere to go. I hate smoking today because of those experiences, but back in the day we didn’t dare say anything. Oh, I protested in my own way, but that didn’t always end well for me.

—Safety first? I have a game for you. Close your eyes and think of all the safety precautions in our society today: Airbags; seat belts; medicine bottle protectors; Amber Alerts; back protectors and vests; yellow safety vests; safety goggles; safety harnesses, safety checkpoints, reverse beepers when a truck is backing up in reverse; and front and rear car cameras. The list is endless. Got a good list of items in your own mind? Oh we had none of those things. It was every man, woman, and child for themselves.

—In the hands of experts. After I passed kindergarten, I rarely had a babysitter. I guess my mother deemed me responsible. My brothers, five and three years older, were always charged with watching me. Boy, did they hate that. And the one time my mom did hire a babysitter, she took a friend and I to a drive-in movie theater to see the supernatural horror film Carrie. Brian DePalma directed the movie based on Stephen King’s 1974 novel. The story is about a bullied high schooler, who develops special powers and uses those powers to get revenge on her tormentors. When I think of Carrie, I think of lots and lots of blood. Oh, a great thing for a shy 8-year-old to watch. I can’t think of anything better for his entertainment. Ugh.

Images by Pexels.

—Live and let live. My parents had no idea what was going on in our lives. I feel pretty confident saying that it was that way for most of my friends. Oh, yea, I had friends who had parents who demanded good grades and made sure their children took school seriously. But many parents took a back seat. I’m a planner now because I had to do it, no one else was going to do it for me. Miss an event? I couldn’t go to my parents, I had to live with the consequences.

—Boom, boom. We played with cherry bombs, sparklers, and fireworks and no one batted an eye.

When I was a kid in the seventies, Hersheypark, the large amusement park in Hershey, Pennsylvania, owned by the Hershey Chocolate Company, used to sell t-shirts that celebrated the park’s biggest ride. The t-shirts had a park logo and read: “I survived the SuperDooperLooper.”

I feel like I need something similar. My t-shirt might read: “I survived growing up Generation X.”

What a strange world we live!