Generations

Frank Buckles died this week. You may have heard about it; at 110, he was the last living U.S. World War I veteran. Just a few days earlier, I was browsing Life magazine's gallery of the last living Civil War veterans. Walter Williams, who claimed to be the last man standing, died in 1959, when I was ten. Even at that age, I was aware of my place in history: Baby Boomer. My older brother and I were the leading edge of that population bulge created by the Greatest Generation in their relief and joy at finally being able to get on with their lives after the Great Depression and a World War.

As a Boomer, I am used to being noticed, even when the attention is unwelcome. At some point in my twenties, I started fantasizing about the world I will probably never know: the sunset years of the Baby Boom. Will the media continue to analyze us as we retire, succumb to senility and overcrowd the nation's nursing homes? How could they resist? Will anyone notice when the last Boomer dies? Gawd, I hope not.The last lucky individuals of my generation might actually be able to enjoy a few years of obscurity.

I wonder how Danny feels about being a member of his generation, whatstheirnames.