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Ever since the Purity Police seized power a few years
ago, and especially since questions about Texas Gov. George
W. Bush's youthful blood chemistry began to circulate, we
have been exposed to What Baby-Boomer Parents Should
Tell their Children about Their Own Salad Days.
I've been fortunate, since my reputation is such that there is very little in my past which could damage it.
Granted, there are some potential embarrassments -- a job application at IBM, brief service as a director of the Kremmling Area Chamber of Commerce, occasional wearing of a tie when I had a day job, removing a junked car from my yard without a court order -- but those are easy to explain.
It's harder to be honest when encountering old
classmates. They are often quite complimentary: Gee,
Ed, everybody else sold out to be a corporate drone, but
you haven't really changed since you got sent to the office
for putting out an underground newspaper.
The truth is that I was eager to sell out
if
anyone made an offer. But no one ever did, presumably
because I wasn't worth much in the great American
marketplace. To avoid humiliating myself in response to
those compliments, I generally just smile and change the
topic.
To get back to parenting, those friends from days of yore can be a major source of embarrassment for a Baby Boomer parent, so one good way to reduce the number of annoying questions from your children is to move far away from where you went to high school and college.
That helps, but it doesn't totally eliminate the questions. And it isn't always drugs that children ask about.
For instance, there are many events that seem rather recent to me, but which now appear in school history books, like Woodstock and the Vietnam War.
My kids were disappointed when I confessed that I wasn't at Woodstock, and neither was their mother, and further, as far as we were concerned, there wasn't any music on earth worth three days of rain, mud and brown rice.
As children will do, they compared us unfavorably to a local family whom I'll call the Aquarians. Through the 1980s, Mr. and Mrs. Aquarian wore tie-dyed T-shirts, drove a florid VW Microbus, and often took their children, even during the school year, to Grateful Dead concerts.
Why do we have to go to school? Why can't we go on
fun trips all the time like the Aquarians?
The best
answer I could muster was Because I don't make my living
by selling beads and candles to nomadic Deadheads. I have
to stay home and write.
Vietnam was easier to answer. I explained that I avoided the draft as long as I could with a college deferment, in the hope the war would end before I got the greetings. That didn't work, so I spent seven weeks at Ft. Leonard Wood, Mo., before the Army and I finally agreed on something -- that I wasn't military material -- and sent me back to Colorado with an honorable discharge.
I also explained that if my father had been wealthy and powerful, he could have pulled some strings to get me into a National Guard or reserve unit, so that I could run for high political office someday. I presume that the Bushes and Quayles also explain this to their children.
The drug questions do come up, since our schools have programs like D.A.R.E. that encourage children to take an interest in drugs.
If our government followed its own constitution, I would explain, then what is or was in my bloodstream or yours would be nobody's business.
But then I'd talk about the real world. If the
social workers ever think that you've touched a forbidden
substance, they'll grab you at school, hold you in a little
room with a counselor for hours until you tell her what she
wants to hear, and then put you in a foster home.
And if the cops suspect there are drugs in our house,
a whole bunch of them will come over some night. First
they'll kill our dog. Then they'll kick in the doors.
They'll trash the house. They might even shoot us when
we're lying on the floor, terrified. They'll confiscate
what little we have in the way of cars, money and other
assets that we might have otherwise used to pay a
lawyer.
That accurate answer satisfied their curiosity, but for some reason, both our daughters now have serious attitude problems about the American political and judicial systems.
So, I don't really know how we Boomer parents should answer. Lying is wrong, but the truth, at least to date, hasn't produced any children who appear likely to follow lucrative careers so that they can support us in elegance during our sunset years.
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