GENERATIONS

It is sobering to note that, had my father still been alive, he would be 100 years old this year. He was just five when the Titanic sank, seven at the outbreak of the Great War. He must have seen so much through those eyes of his.
I’m 52, so you can work out that he was 48 when I was born. My grandfather died the year before this event, at the age of 84. A little bit of arithmetic shows that, for a few brief months, he breathed the same air as Charles Dickens.

My wife, Yvonne, is from different stock.

Whilst there is only 11 months age difference between us, she was born when her mother was 18, and her mother was born when HER mother was 19. It is strange to note that my father was older than her grandparents.
In effect, this meant that, in terms of chronology and influence, I was from my wife’s mother’s generation. Yet it is strange how, despite parental influences, we seem to even out to our actual age.

It’s a matter of rebellion.

Being brought up in a deep sense of tradition, it was inevitable that I would rebel, living the full life the late 60s and 70s demanded. Alternatively, whilst Yvonne also lived life to the full, her main influence was her grandmother rather than mother.
Hence, it was the case that, when we met, we had equalized our differing parental influences and we were much of the same mind.
Today, there are often arguments that parents are losing control, with culture and peer pressure overriding the influence of the parent. Yes, this seems to be the case with such a pervasive media.
Yet, in a way, the story of our generations suggests it was always thus.

© Anthony North, September 2007

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