My Silent parents had the whole suburban cocktail party thing down to a science. At least once a month they would host sad little parties where all their middle-aged friends drank too much and dressed up too much and laughed way too much. In the background would be the feel-good tinkling pop of The Fifth Dimension, Sergio Mendez and Brazil 66, or the Percy Faith Orchestra. The men all dressed like Austin Powers and flirted with the women with their bleached hair, miniskirts, and garish makeup. It was all very Mrs. Robinson. One morning after one of these parties I caught my mother standing at the kitchen sink with tears rolling down her cheeks, listening to Peggy Lee's "Is That All There Is?" on John Gambling's morning radio program. She never told me why she was crying, and she insisted she was not, but I know she was and I think I know why.
As much as being a late Boomer sucks, I think being a mid-wave Silent woman was much worse.
It's like a bug high on the wall. You wait for it to come to you. When it gets close enough you reach out, slap out and kill it. Or if you like its looks, you make a pet out of it.
- Charles Bukowski