"If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them."

I saw the mother and her son from a distance. He was probably four or maybe five years of age, straw-like blonde hair poking out from underneath a baseball cap, a smile from cheek to cheek. He was running full-tilt in his Oshkosh overalls, past the oak trees that line Cedar Street. Carefree and confident, he was having a blast! Mom was laughing and exclaiming how fast he was and how someday he might grow up to be a famous athlete. It felt like happily ever after. Like black and white television. Like a white picket fence. Like Mayberry.

But then I began to wonder how long it might last, this childhood innocence, this thinking that anything could be done. How soon before he would head off to school, to the real world, where adults with good intentions, would set him upon the lathe of life and begin to shape and bend him into conformity; forced to learn the ways of the world—the world you and I live in.

I feel sorry for the children. For it seems they only get about five good years of living fully in the present moment, before the ways of the world begin to aggressively reel them in. Like a young marlin fighting to break away and escape capture, they pull hard against the line, until finally, unable to pull any longer, they succumb to the pressure. The challenge to their freedom came and went and like a wild horse, they were broken.

The same challenge came for many of us baby boomers just after John, Paul, George and Ringo came on the scene. But luckily for some of us, before the lathe could snag us—before the screws could be tightened—we rose to the occasion, pounded on our chests and stood up against the establishment. Just to prove our point, we grew our hair long and adopted a radical dress code—blue jeans, sandals and t-shirts. Let's face it, back then earrings or body piercing would have landed us in the loony bin or worse. Tattoos? Forget it. They were only for sailors.

So our hair became our badge of honor. Beautiful locks, long and flowing—symbolic of our indifference to a culture seemingly gone mad and definitely a unique way of setting ourselves apart from the mainstream. It also pissed off every adult within viewing distance. That of course would never happen today. By today's standards, our looks would have been considered mainstream or even conservative, but back then, baby, we were radical! Don't let anybody tell us to conform. We were going to stand our ground, change the world and make a difference! I'm "talkin' bout my generation" here!

But the decades rolled by and our acne cleared up. Everyone except Dick Clark got older. We began to drop our guard instead of acid, get real jobs and become just like them. Some of us learned the art of "Dressing For Success," of tying neckties or shining our wingtip shoes, while others figured out how to manipulate the system and buy the big mansion on the hill. By the time we rolled into the eighties we were worshiping "Reaganomics" and becoming virtual clones of our mothers and fathers—more obsessed with stock portfolios and BMW's than with the issues of the world. "Forget feeding the homeless," we declared, "where are we going for sushi tonight?" Heaven help us, for we did not know what we were doing.

For those of us who took it seriously, there was supposed to have been a significant change in the world sometime before Nixon lied to us and just after Marilyn sang Happy Birthday Mr. President. There was supposed to have been a radical shift in the way we viewed life and love and politics. The change was all about rock and roll and braless women. About free speech, loud music and Fender guitars. We played our records backwards and waited for a sign from the Walrus. We believed in love and peace and passive resistance. We were hippies. We wanted to make love not war.

Somewhere near Woodstock in upstate New York, on a farm in the middle of nowhere, peace was supposed to plant a seed that would grow into a beanstalk and lead us to the path of light. On one solitary weekend in a muddy cornfield, we caught a brief glimpse of the "Wizard of OZ" and it was ours for the taking. But instead of following the yellow brick road, we looked up at mom's bronze silhouette as she stood in New York harbor, took off our baseball caps, and let the lathe of life steal our dream. Mom kept holding the torch but we let the fire go out. Plain and simple; we freaked out. Lennon's "Imagine" faded away. Manson's "Helter-Skelter" was off and running.

The clock was ticking as those of us in bell-bottoms and tie-dyes fought the good fight. We taped and bandaged the wounded, regrouped and took another run at it. But regardless of who started the fire, we couldn't find a way to put it out. Maybe the drugs finally took their toll or maybe we just got tired of pushing against the wind. Maybe it ended with the death of Janis or Hendrix or Morrison. Maybe Watergate made us so sick all we wanted to do was go home and have a good cry. Whatever it was, we all retreated to our chambers while the dream died a slow and painful death. Then along came disco and well...I'll save that for another story.

Nowadays it seems that, not unlike our parents, many of us simply go through the motions of life instead of really living it. The idea of turning out like Ozzie and Harriet may have scared us to death when we were younger but have you looked in the mirror lately? Now that we are in positions of power, and actually running America, we seem to have given up on the notion that we can make a difference. Let me get this straight: When we were young and had no power we thought we could change the world. Now that we have the power we would rather sit on the couch and watch our big screen TV's. In the words of Pink Floyd, we have indeed become "comfortably numb." Prozac has never been more en vogue. If we ever actually "checked in to see what condition our condition was in" we would pronounce the victim dead.

Remember when some of us were proud to stand up and be counted, like the Chinese boy who stood face to face with that tank in Tienamen Square just a decade ago or the kids who were shot and killed at Kent State by Nixon's tin soldiers? We despised complacency. We wanted the truth. We would stop at nothing to get it.

In the days of our generation there was something in the air, other than pot, that convinced us "all we needed was love." I think we were on to something—something big! As the spiritual tide has begun to return in America, as a relationship with God has become increasingly more important to many of us, I believe that back in the "old days" we may have been more than just a little bit right.

When I look around today, I see a million causes and organizations crying out for volunteers, hungry for boomers just like you and me to step in, roll up our sleeves and believe enough to make a difference. I see so many striking similarities between the passion these groups have for their causes and the passion we had for ours that I can't imagine why more of us don't get involved.

Jefferson Airplane's "Volunteers of America" has never been more relevant. The issues we felt so strongly about back then are resurfacing under different names today. Activists are still needed. Only this time, because of our socio-economic position, we are better suited to affect change and make things happen than ever before. You don't need to grow your hair long (even if you still had some) or drop acid to make a statement. Just go to work on improving our world right where you are, right now.

But what about love and peace you ask? Can we still include that in the mix? Absolutely. There's a spiritual renaissance taking place all over the world. No one is confining themselves to a bed in Montreal but people of all walks of life are connecting or reconnecting to love and spirit and God in record numbers throughout the world. Prayer and meditation are making a big come back as alternative forms of medical treatment. Suddenly the postmodern world is focused on improving the health of the soul. It truly is time to get ready, for the train is coming. Now, as in the past—you don't need a ticket to get on board.

I'll make you a deal: Take just one day a month, thumb your nose at the establishment and do something really radical—take a day off from work! Get involved in your community, your church or synagogue. Become a big brother, drive the elderly to the grocery store or work at a homeless shelter. If after 3 months of doing so, you don't feel absolutely wonderful and just a little like you did when you had more hair, less wrinkles and a lot less concern for what people think, then I will personally buy you a lava lamp. I'm serious—a brand spanking new one! Just like passion and commitment and courage, they're suddenly back in style.

Some Things To Consider

Try and remember that magical time in your life—we all have one—when you felt you could do and be anything your heart desired. Now ask yourself, what happened to that passion? Where did the fire go? If you look deeply enough within, you will find that there's still a few embers glowing. Recapture that feeling, reposition it towards a new cause or goal and get going! Time is of the essence.

All Rights Reserved © 2002 By Jeffrey Alan Hall