Gregory Freeman: Man Nearing 40 Becomes His Father. P-D 11/24/1995

Headline: MAN NEARING 40 BECOMES HIS FATHER
Reporter: By Gregory Freeman

Publication: ST. LOUIS POST-DISPATCH
Last Printed: Fri., Nov. 24, 1995
Section: WAR PAGE, Page: 15D, Edition: FIVE STAR LIFT

`WHAT ARE YOU watching?" I asked my teen-age son, who was looking at some group or other making interesting sounds on MTV.
   "That's Better Than Ezra, " he said, matter-of-factly. "Who's Ezra?" I asked, "and why are these guys better than him?"
   My son rolled his eyes, as if an alien from another planet had just asked why humans need oxygen.
   Better Than Ezra, he told his clearly out-of-touch father, is the name of a rock group.
   Another weird name for a rock group, I thought. Where do they get these names? Names like the Insane Clown Posse, Tha Dogg Pound, Smashing Pumpkins, Fragile Porcelain Mice and They Might Be Giants? I even like the songs by Hootie and the Blowfish, but what a strange name. No one in the group is named Hootie. And no one in the group answers to the name Blowfish, either.

As I ponder the names of these groups, it becomes clearer and clearer to me: I am slowly but surely turning into my parents. Like the guy who turned into the Wolf-Man, I'm finding myself transforming, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. And unlike the Wolf-Man, I know I won't change back when the moon is no longer full.
This has been coming on gradually. How many times as a parent have I said things like, "You'll put your eye out, " "Because I said so, " and "If Joe gets buck naked and goes down to the Mississippi River, are you going to do it too?" Those are all phrases that I heard when I was a kid and vowed at some point or another never to say to my own kids. Yet all of them have come pouring out of my mouth, uncontrollably, at one point or another.

Music's an area where I can clearly see myself making the transformation into my parents. I can remember them wondering about the music I used to listen to as a teen-ager and shaking their heads. I can remember a conversation my mother had with me once. "What's that music?" she asked, as I played the latest disc.
   "Kool and the Gang, " I told her, nodding my head to the tune of "Jungle Boogie."
   "Kool and the what?" she asked.
   "Kool and the Gang, " I repeated.
   "Funny name, " she said, wondering what ever happened to music by folks like Nat King Cole, Mel Torme and Eartha Kitt. Meanwhile, I enjoyed music by groups with sensible names like Rare Earth, Parliament/Funkadelic, Three Dog Night and the Chi-Lites (what is a Chi-Lite, anyway?).

I feel the transformation when my son jumps into my car and turns on the radio at decibels that could be heard by the most deaf person in America.
"Please turn it down, " I shout, so I can be heard. "Does it have to be so loud?"
And as I mouth the words I see my parents' lips moving to them. It's frightening.

Maybe it's because I turn the big 4-0 next year.
   No big deal, say some of my older friends who've already crossed the wide divide between 39 and 40.
   Easy for them to say. They've done it already.
   Even Jack Benny was smart enough to remain 39 throughout his life.
   Not so easy for me. Next year I'll be 40, and I'm turning into my parents. How soon before I find hair growing out of my ears?

And it just keeps happening. Our son notified us the other day that he needed a new pair of jeans. The pair he was wearing that day, he said, were "high waters." I looked at the pants and they didn't look that short to me. In fact, they seemed to be at a normal length.
I was then informed that pants are supposed to be baggy, and that these were too short to be baggy.
I was ready to let loose with one of my "in my day" stories, but caught myself. When I was his age I wore bellbottom pants and thought I was the coolest guy in town. The way kids wear their pants these days is no more ridiculous than when I was a kid, I suppose.

Still, deep down, I think I'm one of those folks who long for the '70s once more. Where are the Village People, Gloria Gaynor and MFSB (who played "TSOP") when you need them?
My wife is the one whose feet are firmly planted in the present. She's much more likely than I to buy records by today's funny-name groups. "Some of them are pretty good, " she says, gradually coaxing me into the present.

But the present keeps moving, and I know that even if I get to know - and like - Better Than Ezra now, two years from now they'll be passe and I'll have to get to know - and like - Worse Than Hell or some group like that. Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping into the future.
I guess it's good to have teen-agers around. They keep you from falling too deeply into the past.

Daniel Schesch - Webweaver

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