No.Nonsense.

I was watching one of my favorite pop culture podcasts last night as this 30-something millennial was on a well-spoken rant because all of the influencers of his generation were being told they didn’t know anything about social media. His was the generation that ushered in social media and he took offense at the short sidedness of the remarks. But as I was laughing my backside off at his rant, I began to wax nostalgic about my growing up. I realized that my gen-x cohorts are the last of a breed of kids who were built tough.

We were children of the 70s, teens of the 80s, and budding adults in the 90s. We were raised by Boomers who were the post WWII survivors who fought for civil rights and against the Vietnam War. Our grandparents survived The Depression and a world war. And we were built to withstand anything.

We had three network television channels. In the early 80s when cable was in its infancy, we were overjoyed to add ten more to the dial. We all gathered to watch Walter Cronkite give the evening news as we ate dinner and the television turned off after Johnny Carson when you got that striped screen that signaled they were all going home for the night. Our favorite shows were interrupted by the ear-piercing beep that signaled the Emergency Broadcast System and we could recite the speech after the beep.

We made it through school with paper and pencil. There was no calculator in math class- we had to do it all in our head and show our work (the only exceptions were Trigonometry and Calculus). We had tests in PE and received actual grades. We learned cursive and were graded on penmanship. That perfect slant to the cursive was my personal hell. We took tests on scantrons with #2 pencils and if you didn’t fill in that damn bubble just so the answer scored as wrong.

And oh, what horror awaited us on the playground! It was the merry-go-round, otherwise known as the kid-launcher where we would see who could hold on the longest as we spun faster and faster. It was the monkey-bars where we hung recklessly upside down with no regard to landing on our heads on the hard ground below. Oh and don’t forget balancing on the top of the bars as we walked from one end to the other. Our dodge ball was in the round where there was no avoiding getting hit with that damn rubber ball that smelled like toxic waste. We played Red Rover where the goal was to clothesline your opponents. We pushed our swings to the limit and then jumped out at 20 feet above the ground. Our slides were metal and 800 degrees and would shoot you to the other side of the playground.

Our neighborhood play was climbing to the top of the tree and racing our bikes with no helmet. We were kicked out of our houses after breakfast and told not to come back until dinner. We roamed the neighborhood, bouncing from house to house. There was no location service and no phone pinging because they didn’t exist. Our parents just prayed we came home.

Our first computers took an hour to boot up and used floppy disks to store files. Our internet was dial up and we would cross our fingers that it would connect. And forget making or receiving a phone call during that time because your computer was on that line. Our first cell phones were connected to our cars or in a leather satchel and cost 25 cents a minute for a call. If you were like me, you called and said “on my way” and hung up because that’s all you could afford.

Our bookshelves were milk crates and our entertainment center was the spool we picked up from the side of the road (if you don’t know what that is, message me and I’ll explain).

We lived big. We partied hard. We danced in the club. And then we went to church the next morning (at least I did).

We were no snowflakes.

We would not be found with trigger warnings. There would be no crying because someone offended us. There was no micro aggression. You pissed us off? We’d just punch you. We were the “stop crying before I give you something to cry about” kids.

In many ways I love that I’m from this generation. I’m not easily offended and can hold my own no matter the challenge. At the same time, I’ve had to teach myself to be more sensitive to those around me who didn’t have the same upbringing. One thing I know for a fact, though, I am who I am today because of every one of those experiences. And I earned that scar when I crashed my bike while racing the boys on my block. I’m a tough chick and I make no apologies for it.