Generations Dissed!

The Thurs. Writers (formally known as the South Bay Writers Workshop - southbaywritersworkshop.com) have two galas a year.  In June, we have a potluck picnic to celebrate the Summer Solstice.  This makes us feel all warm and pagan-ish.  In December, we have an annual Christmas lunch in a restaurant or a member's home.  That usually happens only once - in a member's home - we tend not to get asked back for some reason. 

At both events, we are urged to write something funny, stinging or descriptive about the group.  For years Bob was justifiably proud of his "Beautiful Christmas Poem."  This was my contribution at our picnic.
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"I've extracted some of an e-mail I received the other day with some added research of my own.

Remember, if you totally copy someone else's work, that's plagarism!  That's a no-no!  However, if you consult several sources, that's research and perfectly legit. (Ahem)

I am sure that my grandparents told my parents of the hardships they had to live with in "olden days." I know for a fact that my Dad had to walk to school which was two miles away for a four mile, five day, week.  In addition to his book bag, he carried a hunting rifle agains rhinos, which while rare in Kansas, could exist.

My mother, the youngest of eight children (six of whom were boys) did have the luxury of riding in the farm wagon to and from school.  It only became hardship when they were moving the hogs from one lot to another.  Hogs tend to jostle a lot, so she took to wearing a rain coast on those occasions. 

Happily, Richie and I have no children, but I do make a point of telling our young nieces and nephews that I am 113 years old and that when I went to school, we rode our pet dinosaurs.  Richie, wisely, keeps his mouth shut.

Then one sad day I was put firmly and forever in my place and so were my parents and grandparents.  I happened to overhear this conversation among several of our members.  It went something like this:

Dale, 90, "Out on the farm, in my day, we couldn't afford shoes so we went barefoot.  Winters, we had to wrap barbed wire around our feet for traction." 

Joyce, 94, snorted and said, "Well in my day we didn't even have rocks!  We had to take our clothes down to the creek and wash them by beating our heads against them!"

Bob, 87 and a former rocket scientist,  harrumphed and said, "In my day, we didn't have oxgen!  We had to smash together our own hydrogen and oxygen atoms!

Parents, grandparents' feats of hardy determination?  Gone.  Outgunned by true pioneers."