It's June -- a special time of year when we dump 3 million fingerling seniors into the ocean of adulthood. As graduates of the "we will love you until you learn to love yourself" school of helicopter parenting, you don't want more advice. But you're going to get it anyway. Most of you just want to head west or south to find sun and towns with no police blotters or curfews. Good luck with that.
Many of you were born in 1996, the Chinese year of the Pig. This explains the state of your bedrooms, motor vehicles and your penchant to leave wrappers wedged between pillows on the couch.
When you were born, most of us read something by Malcolm Gladwell or an article in Parents magazine telling us that if we desired high-performance outliers, we had to hold you back a grade. As a result, your graduating class is an uneven skyline of red-shirted college students and over-achieving youngsters. Some of you have been driving since your sophomore year -- a few legally.
When we were born, before the Civil War, the midwife gave us a swat to make sure we would cry. It was also a preemptive punishment for all the stupid things we were likely to do. When you were born, swatting was considered child abuse, so the obstetrician merely asked you how you were feeling. You naturally did not respond and so you got a few free nights in neonatal intensive care and we got a bill for $900,000.
1996 was a wild year. A computer called Deep Blue beat the world chess champion Gary Kasparov. Kasparov later found a website on cheats and shortcuts and subsequently beat Deep Blue.
In 1996, a wonderful microcosm of America passed away before you could get to know them. You know their iconic images but you never really felt their physical presence. Gene Kelly was a star who danced, while George Burns reminded us that age was merely a number.
Erma Bombeck told us never to give the car keys to a teenager and Timothy Leary, well, let's just say he explored inner space while Carl Sagan came back from outer space to tell us we were not alone.
Ella Fitzgerald improvised her way to become the first lady of jazz while militant and talented Tupac Shakur died as violently as the lyrics of his brilliant raps. Tiny Tim was our first trip through the tulips in light loafers.
You were pretty normal. Like all children, you loved the notion of having special powers. We played Pokemon, watched "Dragon Tales" and "Arthur," read "Harry Potter" and observed you with fascination as you got your first taste of dystopia in "The Hunger Games." Up to that point, your idea of dystopia was a house without a pimped-out basement and any kind of "because you live here" chores. A few years later, we all went to Washington, D.C., for a family vacation, and got a real taste of futuristic dysfunction.
We tried to stop you from using violent video games but found them so much fun that we joined you on "Black Ops" missions. You always shot us in the back. When it came to inappropriate movies, it always seemed that you managed to see gory cinema du jour at someone else's house. We still can't figure out whose house because we all claimed that we did not allow blood and guts programming -- unless, of course, your mom was out for the night and then we agreed that you would not tell about my smoking a cigar if I let you and your friends watch "Jeepers Creepers 4."
For many of you, your biggest problems have arisen out of how to deal with a caste system borne out of prosperity. In life, as in nature, the seeds of true character only germinate during the wet winters of personal crisis. Some of you have already felt the sting of broken homes and tragedy. Green lawns and clean streets don't immunize us from life. Some of you handled your challenges with incredible grace. Through these challenges, you guys cared for and loved each other. That capacity to put someone or something ahead of you is a sign of great emotional intelligence.
Like all of us, you don't like trials and tribulations. Hell, some of you don't even like the dentist, although it is 10 times better now than when we were clutching the chair having cavities filled by escaped war criminals. I digress. The fact is, you will need to have your fair share of failures and would prefer to avoid them. Woody Allen once shared, "I'm not afraid of dying. I just don't want to be there when it happens."
You are part of a demographic cohort called the "Millennials." Authors Strauss and Howe educated us that your tribe is characterized by extreme confidence, social tolerance, a strong sense of entitlement and the narcissistic tendency to take photographs of yourself and post them 100 times a day.
Like the generations that preceded you, you are regularly accused of being pampered and unprepared. Yet Strauss and Howe boldly predict that you will become civic-minded and in the face of some yet to be defined great crisis, emerge as a hero generation. It will reassure us if you occasionally start looking up from your phones -- if for no other reason than to see the bad guys when they are coming. Read Full Article
We see you seniors like Internet start-ups -- full of promise, cool ideas and with a market cap that far exceeds the fact that you still don't make any money. However, our irrational exuberance for you keeps us investing.
Please understand we do not like regulating your every move as teenagers but we are now being told that we are bad parents if you screw up. The headline seems to now be that life is over if you get caught doing something stupid. Here's the good news: You'll recover. America loves a comeback -- just ask Bill Clinton, who is the only head of state in U.S. history to generate successive budget surpluses, be unsuccessfully impeached, have an affair, stay married, be president and possibly become a first lady.
You are smart. You adapt rapidly. Some of you resemble human thumbs. But please don't use your handheld devices as an excuse to avoid social interaction. Nothing will ever replace the joy that comes from helping and interacting with other people. Be fearless. The only thing that seems to really scare you is Tony's Deli being closed on a snow day.
You are a tolerant contrarian bunch that doesn't seem to buy into any rigid dogma that excludes others, labels them or requires a greater than 30-hour workweek. You are like the French. You appreciate the finer things in life and prefer to be on vacation when you are not eating, making out or sleeping. You look great in shorts and capris while the rest of us are putting in 25-watt Blanche Dubois GE light bulbs -- ostensibly to conserve energy.
You have a chance to fix the financial mess we have left you but you have to decide between austerity or trying to grow your way out of the hole.
Just remember that a strong middle class anchors any society and the true measure of any civilization is how we treat the least among us. Don't watch MSNBC or Fox, you'll live longer. "South Park" is OK. Life outside our bubble is hard -- and not everybody wants to play by the same rules.
Being a humanist is hard. If any of you start a new political party, count me in -- especially if it includes eating Nutella crepes and drinking cappuccinos.
Focus on other people, because as a rule of thumb, most of you are your own worst enemy. You will spend your lives on a schizophrenic quest for interpersonal unification -- trying to merge the tripartite of personalities that is you -- the person you project to the world, the person you secretly believe yourself to be, and the person your mother knows. The day those three people become one, you will be officially self-actualized or possibly doing 30 days in the can for having the guts to throw a shoe at a public official.
Life is messy, like your bathroom. You will fail and it will seem weird the first time you don't immediately hear that familiar whump-whump of the parental helicopter on the horizon. You'll have your Khe Sahn moments, isolated, no air support surrounded by circumstances that trigger all your self-centered fears. It's in these moments you will find your capacity to dig in and fight harder. You'll appreciate everything that you truly earn more than what is given to you.
That sore thing on your hand that you once got shoveling snow is called a callous. It's a badge of honor suggesting that you worked hard. We can tell when we shake someone's hands if they have ever met a rake or put in a day's hard work. Although, be careful being fooled by golfers, they have callouses, but tend to avoid late afternoon meetings.
If you choose to attend college, don't waste your next four years. Get your butt out of bed and go to class. It costs about $2,230 per class, so go and learn something.
There's more to life than knowing how to make a mean mai tai. To succeed in a flat, competitive world, you'll need the equilibrium of a jet pilot and the guts of a burglar. You acquire those skills in alleyways, not in your room watching six consecutive seasons of "Breaking Bad."
Don't be a victim. I assure you that whatever higher power you worship has the same desire for you that we do -- for you to be happy and to leave the world a better place than when you found it.
Just remember: People are not FTEs or head counts, we are souls on a spiritual journey. Everyone has value. Be a rock of predictability and an oasis of empathy. Never take the last of anything. Make your bed when you stay at someone's house and strip the sheets. Don't wear shoes without socks. If your first roommate is nicknamed "Lysol" or "Candyman," ask for a new one. The semester won't end well.
Remember Rome was not built in a day, and it rotted from within because of weak politicians, foreign wars and the fact that everyone was inside with their air conditioners on and could not hear the Vandals coming. For that reason alone, always keep a window open.
Be French and live well. Study history and remember the famous line of De Tocqueville, "When the past no longer illuminates the future, the spirit walks in darkness."
Class of 2014, vive le difference!
Read Mike Turpin's blog at trexdad.com.