We are boomers, hear us roar!

hear me roar

I saw a Tee-shirt the other day that had a profound message.  The front said “What is, is.”  The back said “What ain’t, ain’t.”  Oh man, I’ve got to get me one of those shirts.

I thought that message pretty much described my generation as we enter our second adulthoods.  We’ve spent a lifetime trying to hone our skills and live up to someone else’s standards. We’ve wrestled for decades to find our place in society and determine what we want to be when we grow up.

boomers Suddenly, I think we may have “arrived” at our destination only to discover the landscape is eerily similar to Mars, and we’re still aliens.

In my late night discussions with friends, that seems to be a universal concern for women of a “certain age.”  All the dainty lessons instilled in us by our Southern mothers, seems to have flown out the window as we inched past 50.  It’s a mystery cruise to an undisclosed destination in wildly unpredictable weather conditions.

It all reminds me of my adolescence when I asked “What is happening to my body, and who am I?”  No one ever told me I would be asking those same questions a half century later.  No fair.

Suddenly, I’ve lost my desire to be pleasant and accommodating at all costs.  Heck,  the only thing I worry about is what words might come out of my mouth next.  I seem to have developed a mild case of turrets…all sweet and innocent one moment, and choking the checkout clerk who double charged me for toothpaste the next.

I’ve always been the kind of woman who apologized to a table when I accidentally bumped into it.  Now I kick the table, load it into my truck, and cart it off to the Salvation Army.  That’ll teach that table to mess with me!

I don’t care if I am dressed appropriately or create a scene in the store.  In fact,  I  went to Fred’s the other day dressed only in my swim-suit cover-up.  Whose business was it that I wasn’t wearing a swim suit?

And, dog-gone-it, I WILL wear white shoes after Labor Day and before Memorial Day if only to break the rules. My bag won’t match my shoes, because I won’t be carrying a bag.  My lipstick and credit card will be in my date’s pocket. What else does a girl need beside a good lipstick – and an occasional date to carry it for her.

Helen Reddy  – anyone remember her?  She had a hit in the 70s called “I am woman, hear me roar.”  I never got it, ’til now.  So all together now Boomers, “We are older, hear us roar, in numbers too big to ignore. And we know too much to go back an’ pretend.  Cause we’ve heard it all before and we’ve been down there on the floor, No one’s ever gonna keep us down again….

One thing I’ve learned: The older we get, the more material for humor we drag along with us.  And NEVER, ever leave home without at least two credit cards and friends you can laugh with.

3 thoughts on “We are boomers, hear us roar!

  1. Dunno ’bout that bein’ on the floor bidness. I’m more worried about someone being there to get me up off the floor than someone holding me down on it. At least I’ve learned to see what else I can get done while I’m down there — you know, ’til help arrives.

    My, the times they are a changin’!

    Any a ya’ll noticed how often things match, purely by accident! I quit trying to match things years ago. Back when I did try to match things, I found an easy way to find things in the same weird colors of the season…er…maybe last year’s season. Whatever!

    We had this place where hand-me-downs (new things that wouldn’t sell at the first two stores where they tried to sell ’em) were sold as a last resort. What I found out was that if I’d bought a pair of slacks in one of the new season’s colors the year before, that I could match that color perfectly by digging through the sock stack at this deep discount store. Sometimes they’d even have both socks in that stack, if I was really lucky, so I’d buy ’em, and bring ’em home. Sure ‘nuf, they’d be a perfect match. Everyone would ask me how I managed to have socks that matched my slacks so perfectly. Sorta gave me status, ya know.

    Don’t ‘spose any a ya’ll over in Miss’sip ever do things like that, do ya?


  2. You write like a real “Missipian,” and no, I don’t have a matching pair of socks, come to think of it. Let’s make it a status symbol to wear unmatched socks!

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