“Okay Boomer,” said my teenaged granddaughter to her dad one day, teasing him with the verbal equivalent of an eye roll. Informed that an actual Boomer (me) was sitting next to her, she responded, “Yeah, but Gran’s cool. Well, not cool, but for her age she’s really cool.” Best. Compliment. Ever.
I’m not fond of the term Boomer, which makes me think of oil wells and large tubas, but I’d rather have that label than some others applied to my age group. Golden Ager implies the best of all possible eras, and that’s unlikely when so many phone calls with my peers include what one has dubbed the “organ recital”: a list of the new body-part doctors we’ve acquired and the ailments they’re treating. Nor do I like the expression older people. As a grammarian, I’m obliged to ask, “Older than whom?” and wait for someone to complete the comparison. I’m okay with being called elderly, though I’d prefer to be known as an elder, a term implying that I’ve learned something valuable during my years on the planet. I’m also okay with old. That’s just accurate.
The term I really hate is senior citizen. I’ve been a teacher my entire adult life. School is my default context. If I’m a senior, what am I graduating to?
I mention all this because today is my birthday. A complete complement of candles would burn down the house, but I’ll take a symbolic, celebratory few. That seems the right way to mark this step on the path. As for terminology, this sign gave me the answer:
Where there are Minors, there must be Majors. That’s me, folks. Major, cool-for-my-age Woods.
Well done, well said! Salutations for your birthday 💐
Thanks!
Happy birthday, Major Woods. My birthday was last month, at which time I morphed into an octogenarian. This, of course, places my birth during WW2. Am I then a boomer or do I outrank you, as in Colonel Cooper?
Well, Colonel, I believe you do indeed outrank me! Happy belated birthday!
And a very happy birthday to you! May the clarity of language you uphold continue to bring joy and enlightenment to our linguistically benighted times!
All the best,
David
Thanks so much, David!
Happy Birthday again, fellow Libra!. I still remember years ago when my best friend at the time turned 50. She threw herself a “new Crone” party and invited all of her middle-aged friends!” I wonder if she’s going to throw an “old Crone” party for herself now?!
For me, “old age” is a time that always seems to be receding! Parody of Mad’s “What, me worry?” kid: “What, me old??”
I just feel/think so darn young – except physically. (I love your “organ recital” – ha, that’s exactly what some of us do!) I think most of us from the hippie era are like me and feel young as well. Or… does that apply to *everyone* from any era, who reaches their 70s?
All I can say is, let’s hope for lots more years of learning, surprises, friendship, fun, and love!
I join you in that hope!