The Angry Generation-Xer.          Copyright© T. Riggs 2016

If I had any alter-ego that fulfilled all the animosity of my psyche not being addressed by the bitchy 15 year old that forever resides in a quiet corner of my brain – it would be The Angry Generation-Xer. Juxtaposed, the two give balance to my anger. The 15 year old is the thinker, re-watching old movies, re-reading books, and providing a running commentary when she finds something particularly annoying or amusing. The Generation-Xer is the drill sergeant.

I remember in my early-twenties, first hearing the term “generation-x” and wondering, first; why the heck we needed to label it, I mean real 1980’s recession survivors took a seam-ripper to their Members Only jackets to remove the logo. Kids in the 80’s refused to be labels and walking advertisements. Anarchy was the way… we were too cool to have labels.

Secondly, I wondered; why the heck one generation was shouldering the blame of the generation that came before us? But I didn’t think about it much past that point. I was busy.

I was still in my 20’s after all. I was still feeling my way around a world that valued male contributions to the workforce over female. I mean, if only I could bring myself to become a topless dancer, I could match the income of my boyfriend and not have to work 2 to 3 jobs, or insane amounts of overtime just to get by. It was all in what society expected of you after all. You just had to fit the mold.

As children and teenagers, we were sold bullshit stories like “If you build it, they will come”, and “if you believe, you can accomplish anything”. *fairy dust and unicorn farts*

What a load of crap! I came from lower class stock. You cannot tell someone, “Yes! You can build a house, if you believe!” And then fail to provide them with hammer, nails, and a building plan. Don’t forget about teaching them how to apply for the building permits required by the city, and the agreements and prepayments to the utility companies to include service. A loan for supplies? No, you can’t get that, you don’t have any credit.

Realizing the idiocracy I was surrounded by, I simply shook my head, steeled myself for the years to come, and built a life for myself.

As the years passed, and as I had children myself, I was even further dismayed and confused by this need to label and classify whole generations of people. I mean, did gen Y pick that name? Or was it created by the generation before them? When did this practice become ‘normal’?

Then, I came to a conclusion that had nothing to do with my ponderings about the source of the labels.

Drill Sergeant X barked out the following order:

If my children make it to the age of 20 and they are ‘confused and lack direction’ as was said of generation-X and Y… the blame is on ME. Not them!