not quite as much as the next guy

Men and women of earlier generations are often lovely. Occurring in various shades of gray, they float through our lives offering wisdom, family stories, and gifts from Nordstrom's (the twenty first century version of the cookie). I look forward to doting on grandchildren, walking slowly and not being ashamed, and celebrating my Golden Anniversary with my husband. However, the excuses we've made for them throughout the years are simply ludicrous. "Racist Gramma Betty," should not get a pass on being a bitch just because she's lived through the depression.

I'm no champion of being politically correct, in fact I would classify myself as an essentialist and think I may have done better in my math classes had I been given a Y chromosome. However, I have not only been feeling the generation gap since my grandfather and his wife have stopped by to visit my mother, it has been pummeling me. Maybe I'm sensitive due to the fact that this grandfather has never exactly considered me a favorite, taking pleasure in the fact that he has always been able to make me cry, and only recently finding that his usual methods are stifled by technology (the availability of laptops make conversations that are nearing verbal psychosis completely avoidable). But I don't think so. Over dinner, he went over the names for different races and individuals that were accepted in his time, and how he thought that everyone was too damn sensitive these days. It was only yesterday that I felt such an overwhelming affection for this man has he sat his baseball cap back on his head and ate a banana split with a simply joy that could only have been matched by a seven year old after winning his t-ball game. I love my Gramps dearly and eternally, but an anger is stirred by this man that is often overwhelming.

Constant jabs to Barack Obama, anything involving equality or elsewhise mentioned on MSNBC can be expected, but not moving into a mindset of acceptance, in fact a clinging to a mindset of biggotry, was shocking to me. Older people cannot pick and chose what the world experiences around them. They cannot take advantage of advanced technology so they can watch their baseball teams or breathe efficiently and not realize that segregation was toppled, was wrong, and is now just an embarrassing mar on our history. My grandfather should not be able to fly on a plane if he cannot see that calling a Japanese person a 'jap,' is wrong. The world goes through changes, evolves, realizes, and these people are a part of it. They cannot go on ignoring what the rest of the world knows, refusing to learn as their neighbors and grandchildren learn. However, as of now it's not really their fault. My mother never chastised her father for things she knew that he knew to be false.

The elders of our communities, our countries, are invaluable in learning who we are, what we come from. My grandfather taught me how to build a birdhouse. My grandmother taught me how to be kind... The lives led by people past a certain age are hard and lonely. I cannot forget that their friends are dying, their bodies are sore, and that they watch the world with a slight sense of detachment. Perhaps racism, clinging to old ways and ideas, is a natural defense...but maybe we should try to offer our appreciation and love and let this defense become obsolete.