We turned 40 and 50, even with Botox. We were alive at the turn of the century. We worried about the end of the world and Y2K. We began to realize we were no longer young. We liked jeans, even if they were plus sized, and country music. We drove SUV’s , watched Oprah, and made fun of Martha Stewart, even though we secretly longed for matching dishes, cabinets filled with homemade jellies, and hand sewn quilts for our beds. Trading in our cheeseburgers and beer for chicken and wine was tough. We worked on Gateways and Dell’s and exercised on treadmills. We were upset when they threatened to take Celebrex off the Market. We found out so many of us took Prozac that our fresh water fish were even happy. Viagra filled our medicine cabinets. Then, we watched as Twin Towers crumbled to the ground, taking many of us with them. The end of our world had really come. We were shocked, we were sad, and we were angry. We looked for someone to blame. We wanted someone to pay. We cried a lot, got our flags out of the attic, and flew them proudly. We had once again become the baby boomers, believing in the good guys winning, longing for the days of cookies and milk, and picket fences. Once again, a war was started. This time, men and women are dying. This time, we are all involuntarily thrust on the front lines, searching crowds for suspicious faces, putting metal detectors in schools, and clutching our children close beside us.
We are a generation like no other before us and probably no other after us. We are 80 million strong and a force that has changed and will continue to change history, for the better and the worse. Our labels remind us who we are and where we have been.