Generations Going; Generations Coming; Not Their Fault:

I am 50; I am not “young.” I am not the target group for many advertising campaigns if any at all. I am not the future of the United States and certainly not the future of California, where I live (“high atop the Sierra Nevadas”). I am simply another white male European who can trace his roots to a Scottish/German ancestry, the son of a man who fought in World War II and, then, served his country in the USAF reserves and went active duty during Vietnam. He moved when it was necessary, married a beautiful young woman from Sacramento and fathered three children. I am the youngest of the three.

My father joined the US Army Air Corps and flew heavy and medium attack bombers. He taught pilots to fly the B-25 Mitchell at Mather Air Force Base. He knew General Jimmy Stewart. He met and consulted with Klaus Von Ohain, the father of the jet engine. He had his trained hands on the cockpit yokes of B-17s, B-25s, B-29s, flew the F-80 Shooting Star, C-119 and C-124 transports — I like to say: if it had rivets, he could fly it.

And fly them he could. Bi-wing PT-17 Stearman Kaydetts, AT-6 trainers, anything the USAAC could throw at him. He took the test and it was determined he was team player, not an individualist. He was sent to bombers and not to fighters.

And here we are: Memorial Day.