COMMENTARY | I was born in 1983


I was born in 1983. Fuck me…

My mother nearly held out till ’84, but that wouldn’t have made a difference.

The end of ’85 like my brother, though? Lucky little prick. He may have snuck in there before the cut-off. Probably landed in the grace period, if nothing else. That’s probably why we don’t talk much anymore.  I landed in dead man’s land.

It’s a dangerous and taxing location to find yourself in.

It was fine in the beginning; coming up with the old guard. They had their shit together. WWII vets, Boomers, and the bad ass grandmas that kept both in line.

War stories from Pa-Pa, toys from Mom and Dad, and food and spankings from gray matriarchs. Fist fights and BB gun battles with cousins. Ass kickings from the eldest of those.  Yeah, the old ways were fine.

But they don’t like weed. Or cocaine. Or strippers and fornication.

They go to church and work 40-hour weeks. Mow their lawns and gossip about people who don’t live the way they and their ancestors did and still do. Adult shit for people who are still comfortable living out the old definition of what a post-17-year-old human being should be.  They don’t play Skyrim.

Fuck that. I like titties and blow.

I love the people that raised me and they somehow bite down and find a way to continue to love me, too- but I have no plans to relocate to their side of the line. I’ll call them on Sunday evenings from the Devil’s Den and tell them not to worry, but they’ll pray for my corrupt soul before climbing into bed anyway.

They love me. They don’t really want me back, but they love me. Born too late to assimilate.

Blame it on Mario. Never should’ve let me see him eat those magic mushrooms.

The shame my straight-laced forbearers feel towards their wayward son, however, cannot compete with the hatred and disdain that the new breed feels for me.

It seems that while I came too late to be molded in the form of the traditional American grown-up, I was also born 1000 days or so too early to fit in with the modern cool millennials…

Fucking ’83…

I’m one of the unfortunate saps who still remembers and respects the principle of “I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.” I’m a filthy fucking thought-criminal. Too stubborn to indoctrinate.

I also happen to be a white male from a Red State who learned to fire a rifle before I could write my name (Not an exaggeration). And as I mentioned before, I like me some titties. I have privilege to atone for before I can be accepted into the land of honey and blind tolerance.

I’m, like, totally the worst. Literally Hitler.

So here I sit, stuck smack in the middle of the goddamn crossfire with no faction to call my own; an unrepentant and irredeemable sinner to one side and an inherently evil white-devil spewing racism and micro-aggressions to the other.

And all because I was born in 1983.

Fuck me…