Few Euro-American families living in major cities have a third generation living within earshot.
Time was when a subdued fifteen year old lad, aching from his first romantic rejection, would find himself out in the back forty helping Gramps and Great-Uncle Frank replace a fence post. Unbidden and without explicitly commenting on the boy’s sullen cant, Uncle Frank would spin a yarn about his first lovesick heartbreak. Seems a slightly older neighbour boy had just completed repairs on a 1946 Indian Chief (motorcycle) that hadn’t worked in years and he offered Frank a spin.
"Fifteen minutes later, I couldn’t even remember her name!" says Frank.
Gramps laughs so hard, tears come to his eyes.
The young lad picks up the shovel and spiritedly starts back filing the post hole.
There are some things a son can discuss more easily with Grampa or Uncle Jim than with Dad. There are certainly things a daughter can discuss with Grandma, or even a female peer, that might ruffle Mum too much.
Thus, my motive in starting this blog is to offers aging boomers some sweaty, fly-swatting third generation lore from the virtual back-forty.
Awash with existential angst over our disappearing roles as parent or professional prodigy, people entering the third round in this life will find Club6290 a useful reframing of what it means to live the proverbial three score and ten... and then some!
That task will begin in earnest with my next post and will depend, even more than most blogs, on input from us all..