June 20, 2000
Looking ahead, with one eye looking back - THE COMMENTARY
By Joseph Planta
VANCOUVER -- “Autumn, shall we all meet in the autumn?”
The prophetic words, previous, were a lyric that Maury Yeston wrote and put music to and which became the underscore for his successful Broadway musical, Titanic. His Titanic, which hit the boards of Broadway in 1996, preceded Jim Cameron’s blockbuster chick-flick Titanic, which starred a chap named Leo DiCaprio and a British dame named Katie Winslet.
The lyric could also apply to those who have just finished the school year and who are awaiting with genuine and unaccustomed anxiousness: the summer. Holidays.
The kids of either elementary school or high school can breath a collective sigh of relief and relish in the upcoming break with plans of reading, working, movies and all the other things that young people do. Fun stuff or not. The grade 7’s have bid farewell to their “homes” of the last few and wait, perhaps terrified of the upcoming monster - high school.
Been there, done that.
Being a member, by logistics rather than choice, of the Class of 2000, we were invested with great hopes 5 years ago, when people, mostly the media and think-tank groups began spotlighting the entire gimmick of being the so-called new or next generation. CBS’ Dan Rather, I remember, followed a gang of American teens through this time period and although I wonder what happened to them, the network’s whole Class of 2000 segment has disappeared. Hot air or shameless capitalisation? Both, if you ask me.
As I’ve previously stated, my high school years have gone by in a flash. Sure, they may have been painful, educational and sublime, sometimes all at the same time, they were a genuine experience. Perhaps, it is safe to say that this time has helped or formed what is to become of my life. Perhaps.
What can be said, as can be said of the class of 1990, the class of 1980 or 1950, or way back to 1900, is that those outside (rarely inside) of the group invest hope and optimism into a group of people, just because the group they belong to, has been christened with a name that involves a year, that in turn, involves something milestoneish.
Sure, 5 years ago, we stood in amazement that we would evolve into the class of 2000. The others who have gone before got either The Class of 1998 or The Class of 1993, the ones after would simply get The Class of 2001 or The Class of 2007; ours was to be a milestone.
The turn of the century, a new millennium.
Sadly, due to the commercialisation of life, as per Father’s Day, Valentine’s Day and Halloween, ‘the turn of the century’ or ‘the beginning of the new millennium’ has reared it’s giant ugly head as a giant billboard for us to buy that rationed champagne or that useless Hallmark tin box we would transform into a magical time capsule.
A sham, a gimmick.
5 years ago, being of the population that would be the Class of 2000, we were looked upon as the future of the nation. The future leaders, doctors, teachers, welders, receptionists, and or mothers and fathers. 5 years later, we are simply spit out of school, yet again because of logistics and are looked upon now as people. People who will now be able to pay taxes and contribute to the apathy of life. Or life’s apathy. Pick one.
Unlike those elementary school kids or the high schoolers of next September, the Class of 2000 of Tupper, like all those of all the other schools, in all the other towns in all the other worlds out there - we won’t be meeting in the autumn. Unlike previous seasons, this fall, we’ll be on roads that we’ve never travelled before. These are roads that people have gone before and no matter the number of pep talks or information sessions, it’ll be new for us. The people we’ll be eating lunches with, the people we’ll be bitching and complaining to - about this and about that - will be a new group of people.
The threat of growing older has hit us, and if you are unlucky enough, it’ll hit soon. We are worried about what’s in store for us, no matter how smart, tough, angry or pleasant we appear to be, it’ll be tough. Some will make it look easy and deep down we’ll rationalise that by thinking they know no better.
We are young. We have plans. The older generations have been bombarding us in the last while on where we’ll be in the upcoming autumn: “School or work?” “University or college?” “No plans? No worry, you have time.”
Do they really care or not? Do they really want to know or are they wanting to make conversation, since it may be the last time you’ll ever chat with them? Or are they part of the greater conspiracy to undermine the shameful arrogance written upon our collective faces? Ready to strike down every confidence of ours: that we’ll take over the world, we’ll make a difference. Only, in the twilight of our years to remember how idealistic and naive we were. Finding ourselves in the same place of those who have gone before, now: grumpy, short of fuse, angry, cynical, brash, intolerant, conformists to the status quo and refusing to change when everything around is or already has at supersonic speed.
Autumns are a lovely time of the year. The summer we thought would never come and we hoped never end, finally does end and a chapter in our meager little lives ends too. Not knowing that like the cherry blossom or maple leaf outside our door, modifies its vibrant life-filled colours into drab, dying-like colours; we start new chapters ourselves. Full of promise, full of hope, and always wary of the upcoming coldness of December which we hope warms ours and everyone around us’ hearts. Always hoping for that spring, that summer and then that autumn to bring us around again, full circle. We may never meet again, but that cycle is with us. All of us. Whether we realise it now or never again, we are a part of each other. That’s what life is and that’s what scares a lot of people. Onwards...
Questions and comments may be sent to: editor@thecommentary.ca
An archive of Joseph Planta's previous columns can be found by clicking HERE .