BOOKS

MA N in the house COLIN HOGG

BOOMER Not okay,

I’ve never held out many hopes for my older age, but one of them might have been that I’d get a little respect. Perhaps for the idea that my generation has left the world a better place than we found it, perhaps because we’ve made things a little easier for those coming on behind. Or maybe just because we’ve been nice to have around. But no, that isn’t how it’s turning out for me and my fellow baby boomers. And, while we’re at it, I do not like that “baby boomer” phrase, not one little bit, and not just because these days those two words often come out of younger people’s mouths sounding like an accusation. I didn’t ask to be a baby boomer, to be born between 1946 and 1964 –which makes it an awfully big generation. I grew up not even knowing I was a baby boomer, mainly because the term wasn’t actually invented until 1970, when it was first used in a newspaper article in America to describe the massive increase in births after World War I. The next generation after we baby boomers was labelled Generation X and ran until the late 1970s, when they were replaced by Generation Y, or the millennials, who are the ones who seem to pick most on we poor old baby boomers. They say we’ve made a frightful mess of everything, especially the housing market and the price of milk, not to mention the environment. And having spent our lives ruining the world, we awful boomers are apparently now set on living out our later years staying on shamelessly in our over-sized, over-priced houses in the middle of town and taking holidays around the world on cruise ships the size of cities. Not me, I hasten to add. I’m not even sure I have a place to call home. We’re between over-sized, over-priced houses, having sold the Wellington one while not yet having found a new one back in Auckland –where it will most definitely be over-priced, though possibly under-sized and not in the middle of town. We’re in the process of adjusting our expectations ahead of our return, though I’m pleased to discover we’re going against the trend, with more and more people looking at relocating from the city to somewhere smaller with a farmers’ market and easy parking. And good on them, but the small-town life isn’t for me. I’m looking forward to being back in Auckland’s steamy madness and slow-motion traffic. I can’t wait to not find a park in Ponsonby and turn up late (“sorry, traffic”) for every meeting and dinner date. I’ve loved Wellington, but it’s over. I won’t miss the wind but I will miss almost everything else, especially the people. I was at a dinner party just the other night and the news of our coming departure was out. “So you’re leaving?” several of them greeted me in tones that made me feel a bit sad and a bit guilty, though I’m not sure why. I’d been hoping this could be an amicable separation. WHEN DID THE GENERATION GAME GET SO AWKWARD?