You were born when I was 36. It’s not an extremely advanced age for motherhood, but it’s far enough above average to make me contemplate the following:
When you were born I already had almost two decades of adulthood behind me. In contrast, when my mother had me she was barely out of her teenage years – and there’s always been a generation gap between us. She hated my hippie and punk styles, and never shared my tastes in music, even though so much of the music I love is as much the music of her youth as it is mine. The year I was born it was still under twenty years since the end of WW2, as recent a memory as the fall of the Berlin wall is for us now.
You are four now, nearly five in fact. When I was four, the world was an entirely different place. Colour television was the next big thing, and it wasn’t till I was about 13 that we finally got our own. Cassette tapes were a new invention. This was the year of the Summer of Love, Sergeant Pepper, Vietnam and the Six Day War. Men had not yet walked on the moon. No one had heard of SUVs, DVDs or MP3s, IPods and CDs.
You don’t know a world without mobile phones, digital cameras, home computers or the internet. People my age can still clearly remember a time when things like these were little more than the wishful fantasies of science fiction.
I went through the entire school and university process without going near a computer. I first started using one – an Amstrad - when I was 25, and that was early compared to many people I know. When I first surfed the net and got onto e-mail (about 1995) I was in my early thirties. At four, like most children your age, you already know how to use a mouse, and we created an e-mail address in your name the week you were born.
When you’re 14, I will be 60. My mother hit 60 the year you were born! What will you be into? Will I be able to handle it if I don’t like it?
What will our particular generation gap be like?