Generation Me

One of my favourite movies in the last fifteen years is a Disney/Pixar movie called The Incredibles.  It is the story of a family of superheroes, forced by society to hide their super powers and live ‘normal’ lives in suburbia.  Frustrated with his dead-end, mundane office job, the father bickers with the mother constantly.  One day, they argued about the upcoming celebration for their son completing the fourth grade.  One line that struck me was when the father said, to paraphrase, that everyone seems bent on celebrating mediocrity. 

Now, I remember the feelings of joy when I graduated from one grade to the next.  To be honest, I was more relieved that school was over, and summer had finally arrived.  It could have rained every day from the end of June through September, and I wouldn’t have cared, as long as I didn’t have to go to school.  And I think most kids, whether they thrive in school or not, feel the same way.  I also remember that my grandfather always had a $20 bill waiting for us grandkids if we ‘graded’.  In the years before we could earn any real amount of money, that was like a windfall from heaven.  $20 is nothing to slouch at.  I got $20 in a Christmas card from KFC this year, where I still work a few hours here and there, and I was tickled pink.

Any of my classmates reading this can correct me if they like, but I don’t recall any big celebration for grading.  Maybe a class party, maybe a field trip to King’s Landing or across the ferry boats to Borden and back, but nothing like a graduation-style ceremony.  And I certainly don’t recall a bounty of high-priced gifts waiting for me at home.  Just Grampie’s $20, which was to me the same as getting a third paycheck in a month today. 

Everyone who knows me knows that I am a collector at heart.  It is a weakness.  Collecting has many beneficial qualities, but for the most part, when I get ‘into’ something, I am all in, to the point that I tend to obsess over it.  As I’ve grown older, I’ve learned to temper my addiction to the point that my hobbies do not dictate my day-to-day life, although at one time they used to.  Case in point:  I have been a life-long Star Wars fan and collector.  I’m proud of it.  I spent many years, especially during my university days, hiding it for fear of being teased.  As a young adult, with secure income and a partner who also had a secure job, I was able to amass a huge collection of toys, meticulously displayed and catalogued.  I even had insurance taken out on it.  And during the peak of my collecting days, I became a father.  Not only to a beautiful son, but a son who is an awful lot like me.

Kieran opened his eyes to the collecting that was such a strong aspect of my life.  He naturally fell in love with Star Wars just like his dad, but not likely for the same reasons I became interested.  There was all the excitement, colourful characters, and artwork all around him, of course.  But he probably liked it so much because he knew I liked it so much.  He looked up to me.  He also saw that being a part of that world meant being closer to me.  When he was three, he could name most of the characters.  And naturally, he wanted Star Wars toys of his own.

So, when a line of Star Wars toys came along marketed for young kids—with minimal loose parts and cartoonish, neutral poses—Kieran was hooked.  So was I.  In actuality, I had begun to collect them, but when I saw how much he loved them, I gave them to him so he had a line of toys to ‘collect’.  Now, at age three, it’s hard to find a job, so supplementing a hobby can be tricky.  Christmas and birthdays account for 2 out of 365 days in a year.  The ‘Galactic Heroes’ toy line was producing dozens of figurines every year.  How could he keep up?  Simple.  I just bought them for him.

Every few months, new waves of figures arrived on toy store shelves, and without fail, I picked up every one I could find.  Like all collectible hobbies, though, the toys became harder to locate as months and years went by.  Sometimes you had to get doubles to get that one ‘exclusive’ figure.  Some of them were only available in the United States.  Dropping a $10 bill here and there became a deeper financial commitment.  To Kieran’s credit, he didn’t become demanding.  He didn’t wait at the door to see what toys I came home with that day.  Quite the opposite, actually—he began to lose interest.

Over time, he knew that when possible, the figures would arrive.  He would beam with excitement when he opened new ones at Christmas, and he had his favourites that he dragged around with him.  Still, the whole thing just felt, well, normal.  It was nothing out of the ordinary for him to get new figures, so it became nothing special when he did get them.  He was no happier or sadder for having collected the Galactic Heroes.  Today, he’s glad he has them, but they are generally a faded memory of childhood; the toys themselves are kept safely in a storage tote.  He keeps saying he wants to get them out and set them up in his room, but he never does.  Naturally, he has moved on into more age-appropriate interests that most twelve-year-olds do.  Life moves on.

My years of enjoying Star Wars with Kieran bring back a lot of memories.  Most of that time was happy, but I would be lying if I said I had no regrets.  Every parent wants to have something in common with their children.  Every parent lives to see their kids smile.  Seeing them disappointed is one of the worst feelings in the world.  I would say that seeing indifference in their eyes is almost as bad a feeling.

I’m telling this story because I want to convey to everyone who reads my opinion pieces that I have been guilty of spoiling my children too.  My second son Colby fell in love with the movie Cars.  I did the exact same thing for him.  One day, he had decided that he had grown out of ‘Cars’ cars, and just like Kieran’s Galactic Heroes, the cars are all in a tote, stored away safely so they’ll stay in good condition for when he passes them on maybe to his own children.  Once again, the indifference to the hobby, entirely because it was nothing special, had crept in.  Thousands of dollars were spent between the two hobbies, and their lives were not any richer for it.

I told my story because the following opinion is going to be somewhat harsh.  I will likely offend people.  I’m prepared for that, and I am at peace with it, because I am not trying to be judgmental.  Far be it for me, a lifelong collector who instilled those values in his own children, to judge anyone.  There is nothing more personal, and potentially defensive, than a parent’s opinion on child rearing.  However, as an educator and a father, who has a lot of friends, family, and acquaintances with young children, I have observed a startling trend.  And I am not alone.

This generation is being referred to as ‘The Millenial’ generation.  Loosely, children born between the 1980’s through today, like all generations before them, share on the average a series of characteristics.  They are not always flattering.  Raised with the internet, children of this generation in particular have shorter attention spans, higher expectations, and less ambition to achieve something on their own.  Kids and young adults today know that they are just one click away from being an internet phenomenon.  Why not?  Justin Bieber got famous that way.  Social media provides a safety zone, so interacting with people in real life is less important.  You can text whenever you like.  You can post a ‘selfie’ as often as you want.  In fact, photographs have very little value today, because they are potentially infinite.  A twenty-four-picture roll of film you had to wait a few days to develop leant a more urgent nature to taking a snapshot of not just anything.  The scarcity of the product made it more valuable.

Music is the same.  Even if you don’t download illegally, you can legally stream anything you want on YouTube.  Even $1.49 individual songs on iTunes are going the way of the Polaroid.  As a result, the product itself is no longer special.  If you know me even marginally, you also know that I collect music.  I would rather buy only a few select titles in a physical copy I can actually carry in my hands than have infinite digital music.  If my hard-drive was wiped out tomorrow, my records will still be here. 

Millenials are coming of age in a disposable society.  When I managed KFC, I remember wading through piles of resumes and interviewing for the best candidates to work at our store.  As years went by, though, younger people stopped applying.  Those who did were changing from the older guard.  They felt they had a right to check their cell phones as they pleased.  They could show up late.  They could arbitrarily miss work because something more important came along.  And they knew that if this job didn’t accommodate their demands, the next fast food joint would.  Good help has always been hard to find, but today it is seemingly impossible.

This generation, for whatever reason, has learned that there is always an excuse, always a back door, always greener grass, therefore there’s nothing to really worry about.  Can’t afford to move out?  Mom and Dad will keep them.  Not enough money for the weekend?  Here’s another $20—or $50 if you’re going to the movies.  Parents that have to work longer hours to pay for all this stuff often feel guilty, and buying things to fill the void is a short-term solution that always gets the ‘pop’, or the wide-eyed elation upon receipt, but ultimately, like the Galactic Heroes or Cars-cars, at best are forgotten, and at worst are expected.

It isn’t enough anymore to just wake up and run around the house looking for chocolates.  It isn’t enough to get $20 for grading.  It isn’t enough to even get through the day without someone commenting on your Facebook, Instagram, or Snapchat.  It isn’t enough to get hundreds, even thousands of dollars’ worth of big-ticket items for Christmas, Valentine’s Day, and even Halloween.  It isn’t enough to go to the movies when little Billy’s family down the street went to Cuba again for two weeks.  It isn’t enough when the Tooth Fairy leaves some kids a toonie when the rest of the class gets $10 per tooth.  It isn’t enough to play a team sport when every kid on the team expects to be the next Sidney Crosby. 

It is infuriating to see so many young people filled with so much entitlement.  It is frustrating trying to teach children who expect that someone will eventually do their work for them.  And it is mind-numbing to see young people have absolutely no idea how to do the most basic of things, like write a cheque, make a simple phone call, or write a resume.  Regardless, I can’t for the life of me blame them.  I am a teacher, and I love what I do because of the kids. 

I blame the parents.  And I have to count myself among them.  It is my generation, ‘Generation X’ that has somehow allowed this generational landslide to happen.  People, this is serious business.  There is an entire segment of our population, perhaps the most crucial segment, who is ill-prepared for the world that awaits them.  Last year, Time magazine published a cover story discussing this very problem.  In it, the writer suggested that the Millenial generation most closely matches that of the early 1900’s.  They were also a devil-may-care, freewheeling generation, who faced young adulthood in a hurry when the Great War began.  Ultimately, they had no choice.  Life came crashing through the window, and the sniveling, entitled brats suddenly had to go to war, work in factories, or raise their younger siblings.  They ended up seeing their own children go through World War II.  They suffered through the Depression in between, and passed on their experiences to their children, who grew up with a crust of stale bread for dinner and a raggedy stuffed teddy bear as a Christmas gift.

It is frightening to think of a possible future—not to be apocalyptic—where a global crisis forces today’s Millenials to come of age in such a cruel and unforgiving way.  The article in Time suggests that when the chips are down, ‘Generation Me’ will get the job done, just like their ancestors did one hundred years ago.  How millennial it is for any of us to think that it will all just sort itself out.  Today’s youth is deficient in the skills and, quite frankly, the wherewithal to commit to a five-hour work shift let alone save us from a global crisis.  What’s even more scary is the fact that one day, when we are retired, these people are the ones who will actually have to take care of us. 

I’ve tried my best to learn from my past mistakes in parenting.  There has never been a perfect parent, and never will be.  Most parents I know love their children, and do their best to raise them right.  Most are doing a decent job.  Buying a gift for your son or daughter for Easter is not going to ruin them, just as my collecting-by-proxy habit didn’t ruin my own.  Still, it’s logical to extrapolate the outcome of spoiling a child.  Every time we shower our children with the notion that they are beyond special, we are doing the exact opposite.  They are children, therefore they are precious.  They aren’t that special.  They’re all potential celebrities, just a click-and-send away from a pipe-dream, a guaranteed lottery ticket, a first-round draft pick, the next American Idol.  They are all, and nothing.  Why?  Because we told them so.