"How could you throttle
Kevin Arnold?!?! I loved him when I was growing up!! I wish I could
marry someone like him!"
Responses like that one justify why it needs to
happen. Not because of jealousy, although what boy born between 1978
and 1986 would've turned down a shot with Winnie Cooper? Not out of
real animosity for the show, because it really was one of the finest
television shows of the late 20th Century.
So why do I think Kevin Arnold should be
throttled? Because even leaving aside the obvious Freudian implications
of every young girl loving a television character who was supposed to
represent her father, the Wonder Years helped prevent my generation
from discovering its own unique identity.
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| Just remember, he's
your father
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Think about it. When else in modern American
history has a generation failed to even begin to define itself by the
time it reached its twenties?
The Greatest Generation was
defined by two events, the Great Depression and World War II. Staid,
conservative and businesslike, they endured two of the greatest
challenges to the American system, gave us suburban sprawl and
meat-loaf, and have been defined by Steven Spielberg films and Tom
Brokaw books.
Then we had the Forgotten Generation.
This undersized group was born during the depression (when people were
too poor to have sex), grew up during World War II, and came of age
during the tranquil 1950's. They've been immortalized by shows such as Happy
Days and movies such as Grease.
After that came the mother of all generations, the
Baby Boomers. Raised in the
comfortable bosom of post-war American prosperity, they went absolutely
buckwild in the 1960's. They helped end a war, marched against
segregation, and permanently polarized America. A domineering presence,
as they grew older they fell in love with disco, cocaine, Ronald
Reagan, junk bonds, SUV's, exotic coffees, and botox. They're our
parents' generation and, as such, they should naturally be our enemies.
But they're not, and we can blame Paul Pfeiffer for that.
Next up was Generation X!
Overshadowed by their narcissistic predecessors, this batch was raised
by the Forgotten Generation, and thus often
neglected. This may have been for the best, because bad parenting gave
us Pearl Jam, Winona Ryder and lots of flannel.
And then there is my generation. The only
generation without an identity. Hell, we're the only generation who
hasn't figured out what our name is! We've been called Generation
Y, the MTV Generation, the 9/11
Generation, the Millenniums, Generation
NEXT (OK, just by Pepsi), and a whole bunch of other crappy
names. I suppose I prefer Generation Y because
the other options are just insultingly ridiculous. For the purposes of
giving it an age range, let's just say that Generation Y is between 18
and 28.
So what happened? Where did the wheels fall off?
It's hard to point to any event in particular, but because I'm picking
a fight here, I'll say it all began to unravel the day Kevin and Winnie
kissed for the first time in the woods.
Why is that to blame? Because instead of watching
a show about people of our era sharing that first kiss, we watched our
parents' childhoods. Instead of rejecting everything our parents
represented (as we're supposed to), we actually began to identify with
them. The Baby Boomer juggernaut succeeded in doing what was seemingly
impossible, it actually defined the youth culture of another era.
And because of the vanity of the Boomers, people
my age are the most historically-aware generation alive. Not in the
classic academic sense (we've all seen those surveys that exist mainly
to point out how poorly educated we all are), but in terms of cultural
knowledge, we're remarkably well-informed about prior eras.
People my age are listening to Bob Dylan as much
as their parents did, college kids are still putting posters of Che
Guevara on their walls next to the ones with lame jokes about "beer
goggles", and we have ALL seen The Breakfast
Club. Every last one of us, with no exceptions.
Some people would say that this is a
good thing, after all, we're really just appreciating the "classics".
We're not listening to Todd Rundgren, we're listening to the Rolling
Stones. We're familiar with speeches made by the Kennedy boys and
Martin
Luther King, not George Wallace.
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Thank goodness we've
forgotten Todd Rundgren
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And on some level, I'd agree with "some
people," but only to an extent. The problem isn't that we're aware
of other generations, but that we've let that awareness swallow us up.
We've identified ourselves so heavily with nostalgia for other eras,
that its almost as if we've collectively decided that everything good
has already been done and so we shouldn't even try anymore.
Sure, we're making music, but where are
the defining bands of my generation? Where are the Beatles, the Rolling
Stones, Bob Dylan, The Who, Michael Jackson, Prince, Madonna, Bruce
Springsteen, Nirvana, U2 or Pearl Jam? Is there a single band from
"Generation Y" that is even contemplating an effort to make that list?
Where are the gifted young writers competing to be the "voice of a
generation?" Has anyone seen our Douglas Copeland? Where are the
leaders and icons who explain us to the wider world?
Unfortunately, it looks like they just
don't exist. We're remarkably cynical about the modern world,
disbelieving and skeptical about everything us. There can't be a
spokesman for a generation when your generation refuses to believe that
there even could be a spokesman.
There are plenty of reasons for this
generational malaise, but among them is the reality that we've been
spoon fed the idea that the America of today isn't nearly as great as
it once was. Every generation has experienced their elders telling them
about the glory days, but we're the first generation to buy into that
nonsense. And shows like the Wonder Years were instrumental in
brainwashing us at an early age. Who wouldn't want to live in Kevin
Arnold's world? Sure, there were problems, but "wasn't it great time to
be alive?"
So what should we do? How do we create a
sense of generational pride and identity? I'll hold off on offering
solutions until I get that book deal I've been pining over, but believe
me, it will certainly involve book burnings (The Electric
Kool Aid Acid Test and The Slaughterhouse Five),
steamrolling records (Jimi Hendrix and *gasp!* Bob Dylan), and torching
effigies of Kevin Arnold, Paul Pfeiffer, and even Winnie Cooper.
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