This time I was grand-slammed by my nine-year-old boy.
His assignment for school was to make and adopt a pet rock, and we were having a discussion about it. A pet rock. Those of you who are my age know about these. But my older daughter, who was listening-in on the conversation, really didn’t, so I explained.
“You actually had a pet rock?” she asked me, not understanding how a fairly intelligent person like me could have paid good money for something so silly.
“Yes, it was quite the craze back in the ‘70’s,” I answered.
“I can’t believe people actually bought those,”she said.
I told her it must have been the brain-child of a marketing genius. Selling rocks that were probably found in his/her backyard. Ridiculous.
My nine-year-old boy heard me reference the ‘70’s.
“Wait,” he said. “You were born in the ‘70’s?”
“Uhh, actually no. I was born in the ‘60’s, if you can believe it.”
“Wow,” he said. “You were?”
“Yep,” I answered, and was a little surprised at his surprise. I am his mother, after all. And it wasn’t all that long ago.
“What?” He asked in astonishment, raising his eyebrows. “You were alive in the 1600’s?” He thought he had a dinosaur for a mother.
“Whatt??” I asked myself. “Not the 1600’s, you goofy kid. The ‘60’s. The 19-60’s!”
“Oh, good,” he answered. “I thought you were really old.”
And there is my latest anecdote portraying a modern-day generation gap. (And obviously, the fact that my son needs tutoring in social studies).
K. L. loves noisy clocks, fuzzy blankets, anything pink, and all things Santa Claus. And she HATES the word normal. She is a member of the Women’s Fiction Writers’ Association and the Writers’ League of Texas. Please visit her at www.klromo.com or @klromo on Twitter.
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