I give up on the modern generation by Bob Baynes

Roger Gripe was a child of the 1940’s with all the values of that generation.  Britain had just stoically endured a second world war with Germany in 25 years. Roger grew up when there was rationing in Britain, but not in defeated Germany.  Cold houses and beds were the norm, his mother struggled to keep her family fed and clothed, his demobbed father chased the few jobs available.  Things weren’t thrown away until they really had to be; they were mended, recycled or stripped of useful bits that might be used to fix something else.  Cars and telephones were a luxury for most.  He remembered test cards, the small disappearing dot when the black and white TV was switched off, when they had one.  Couples stuck together through thick and thin.

Roger’s children were born in the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s into a glorious generation of plenty; lots of travel, sports and leisure.  Careers or jobs for them did not carry the same imperative as for Roger’s generation, a relatively job rich world underpinned with generous social security meant that they didn’t worry about careers for life; and the same approach tended to be taken towards other permanent commitments, like marriage.  Children were things they had at the last possible moment so responsibility could be avoided for as long as possible.

Then along came Roger’s grandchildren, born into a confusing world of ever expanding lunatic ‘human rights’ with virtually no responsibility apart from observing politically correct, woke and virtue signalling ‘rules’.  Roger’s traditional values were turned on their heads, individuals can decide which toilets and changing rooms to use; gender is a choice not an accident of birth, everything now is someone else’s fault.  The lunatics are now ruling the asylum.  The latest electronic devices came and went with the days; no one was careful with belongings; just go out and get a better one if wanted.

Whatever, that was Roger’s view of life, and didn’t his stoic wife, long suffering children and bewildered grandchildren know it!

The day came when all three generations ended up under the same roof.  Small but valued objects ended up broken, charging leads for Roger’s ipad disappeared, plants in the garden got knocked over, doors were left open in the winter, lights were left on everywhere, mud was trampled into the house, Roger’s blood pressure climbed through the roof, what was a florid face was turning puce; but magically no one was to blame, perhaps it was a poltergeist his daughter suggested.  Nobody cared if someone lost a mobile phone, they just went out and bought another one.  Roger couldn’t stand it any longer, and unwittingly took it out on his wife.  One evening at supper, Roger vented his pent up emotions and laid down the law as only Roger could do.  The very next one of his lines that were crossed, there would be a grand inquisition and a suitable punishment meted out on the guilty.  They had been warned.

For several days nothing happened.  Then Roger accidentally knocked over a large plant pot in the garden, and broke it!  He looked around, thank god no one had seen it happen.  But they had, his sharp eyed and sharp witted granddaughter had witnessed everything through the upstairs window.  She quietly told her grandma and all the others what had happened. 

After supper that night, grandma kept everyone sitting at the table, reported that she had found her favourite plant pot in pieces, the plant snapped off, and now even she had had enough!  There would be an inquisition by grandad right now!  The family sat expectantly round the table staring poker faced at grandad.