I was watching an episode of the British television series Grumpy Old Men recently and it was one I found entertaining and illuminating. It was certainly easy to relate to.
Confessions of a Baby Boomer #1
About Philosophically
I think, therefore I am.
The quirky individuals with their equally quirky stories made for great entertainment. Their reflections on their youth, which most viewed as a much simpler time offering so much hope, were certainly illuminating.
Given that I was born in 1957, and am already viewed by some as a grumpy old man, I found it very easy to relate to.
One of the things I found most engaging about those interviewed was their honesty when confessing about their behaviour in their youth. I suspect that most were anything but religious, but in some cases, it seemed like interviewees were in the confessional, almost seeking absolution and forgiveness.
Read more: Was life really any better back then?
Well, I am not seeking absolution and I have no need for forgiveness. What I do find interesting is the idea of fessing up and sharing some confessions from my youth. I would also be fascinated to read the confessions of other baby boomers. The 60s, 70s and 80s were interesting times. What were you up to.
These days I work hard and for very long hours. For this reason, most people who know me consider me persistent, diligent and committed. And they would be right. But this was not always the case.
In my youth, I was incredibly lazy and far more interested in creating the perception that I was working hard, rather than ever actually doing it.
From as early as second-year high school, now Year 9, I remember going to class stoned or speeding, in a state that made it almost impossible to concentrate. The fact is, I could not concentrate, just dream. They were pretty good dreams, but not at all productive.
This was neither conducive to hard work in class, or even remembering what homework was set for me.
By the time I was in fourth year, now known as Year 11, my parents were starting to put more pressure on me to study in the evenings, so I could get prepared for university entrance the next year. To encourage this, they used to lock me in my father’s study, come library, for three hours each night.
This provided an excellent opportunity for me to read and re-read the smutty passages in my father’s Harold Robbins novels. I confess to doing very little study, beyond addressing the tasks that needed to be tabled in class the next day.
By fifth year, Year 12 - and the final year of school before tertiary study, something my parents expected me to do - I was starting to question the merits of going to school at all.
By third term, I had a car, which my mates and I frequently used to drive to the beach, drinking beer with our girlfriends rather than attending class. I was probably attending no more than two full days in a week. It was much more fun drinking, swimming and pashing.
Come exam time, I thought it prudent to use the three hours of lockdown each night to study. And I did study. Back in those days, we had to sit two exams every day, Leaving Certificate in the mornings and Matriculation (university entrance) in the afternoon. The three hours between these exams provided some with an ideal opportunity for last-minute study - and me with the opportunity to join my mates at the pub. I used to enjoy a cold ale and a counter meal.
I thought this would all change when I went to university, but it didn’t. Alcohol was so much more available, as were all manner of mind-altering substances. UWA has so many attractive women, fantastic gardens, a very comfortable tavern and a sensational drinking culture. Study, or just about any kind of work, was an optional extra for many students, including me.
It was not until my Honours year that I discovered the work bug. I think I started to enjoy the work I was doing and I have enjoyed it more ever since, to the extent that very often, I did not consider it work. During these periods, I did find the work more demanding, but I had a discipline that kept me going.
Today I work very hard. When I was at school and university, I was bone lazy. Perhaps this is why I had empathy for my son’s complete laziness when he was at school.
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