The Lost Out Generation

Finally I know where my place is in this big wide world. I am a member of the “Lost Out” Generation. I thank our President George W Bush for my epiphany. In pitching his social security reform he kindly reassured those 55-and-overs not to worry because their benefits would be secure. Then he promised the Generation Xers and Yers and I guess this century’s Zers that privatization would add up to big bucks for their golden years. That leaves people like me, sandwiched between these two groups, out of the money. We are too young for the AARP and too old to know any Google gazillionaires. We couldn’t even cash out our 401Ks before they dwindled to 201Ks.

Sociologists say there are about 76 million Post-War Baby Boomers .Yo, GenY that would be the Second World War. I was born at the very tail end of the boomer birthing bonanza. However I’ve spent my life feeling as if I’ve been teetering on the cusp of that “us”-dom. By the time I realized I was part of the boom it was more like a burp. I honestly don't remember the era of peace and love and Formica. Not because of drugs but because of my youth. Unless Pepto-Bismol is considered a hallucinogenic. (Although, that pink color is kind of psychedelic.) “The day the music died” I wasn’t even born. When the sisters were burning bras, I was too young to need one. By the time I was ready to join the radical ideologues, they were into Land's End catalogues. When it was my time to protest, I didn’t know if I was supposed to be for the Contras or contra Contras.

However, I am no closer to the Gen Xers who semi-officially started arriving in 1965. There are lots of generation gaps between us. As a “Lost Outer” drinking the Kool-aid actually means imbibing a cool refreshing beverage. “Rappers Delight” made me tongue tied. And back in my day, computer professors taught FORTRAN. Don’t get excited Xers. It may sound like a position to enhance sexual pleasure, but only if you think batching punch cards is a turn on.

My friends with whom I share our ‘Lost Out’ nom de generation have tried to stay hip and relevant. But, it always seems to come with a reminder that we don’t belong. For instance, take loading up my iPod. An unusually high number of artists were automatically listed in the “easy listening” genre. When did I become an easy listener? When did I become my Grandmother? It’s not like I’m downloading Lawrence Welk. I know there was a time when Barry Manilow was cool. Like when hot pants were hot and I didn’t worry about cellulite.

People my age showed up at the end of a time when you weren’t supposed to trust anyone over 30. Of course those folks are now trusting in me to fund their social security. And I do, every two weeks. All year long. Now I must somehow trust the 30-and-unders to fund my retirement. I should live so long. But I hear Barry Manilow is making a comeback.

by Stephanie Becker