The attempt to define my own generation, as we get ready to enter our third decade, is an ongoing one. Perhaps, in the end, fruitless, in a world that exists between the niche market and mass market, individualism and mass movements, entitled Liberal Arts graduates and long term underemployed youth, but useful to ponder nonetheless.
Lately, my thoughts have revolved around the thousands and thousands of my brothers and sisters, kids I grew up with and probably lost touch with, or the many who are invisible, whose lives were largely put on hold and whose souls have been battered by years of military service. The focus on the recent pull out of the last American troops from Iraq really drives this thought home as images and articles in the media portray the decorated and the devastated.
True, some of my more successful friends are vets who have come home and used their skills and connections toxins their place. But when I look at the state of veterans of war from generations before my own, and I hear stories of all those people who I don’t see or know, whose lives have been ripped apart, I admit a degree of fear for what could happen to this new generation of my peers, in the US and in every country whose people have faced the violence of the past decade.