Let’s be real: my childhood soundtrack was nothing like that of my friend Lucy, who was serenaded by the heartfelt tunes of Dan Hill (seriously, try not to sing along: “Sometimes when we touch…”). While she was glued to her “If” 45 (or was it an 8-track?) by Bread, I was jamming to The Beatles—who, for her, felt too intense. Back in my day, when I was 12 or 13, my mom wasn’t beside me, adjusting the dials on our ancient Marantz stereo and raving about U2’s War while saying things like, “I am totally excited about that Edge solo.”
Fast forward to 2014, and parents everywhere are having this all-too-familiar chat with their elementary-school kids:
Us: “Can you hop on Spotify and add ‘Shake It Off’ to our Sunday Afternoon playlist?” Them: “Sure, right after I finish this level.” Us: “Thanks! (Five minutes go by). Okay, done with that level? Time to put the iPad down.” Them: “But I’m not finished with my game yet!” Us: “Time’s up.” Them: “But I’m about to get my stripey next to my wrapped candy!” Us (voice escalating): “What level are you on? Are you messing up my level 127?! HAND IT OVER!” Them: “MOM! Chill! It’s MY turn!”
It’s a family affair—my mom plays Candy Crush, I play Candy Crush, and even my 8- and 5-year-olds are in on it. Have you checked out Tiny Thief? It’s incredibly fun. Phineas & Ferb is genius, and I totally vibe with the Ninjago crew. Let me confess: I enjoy Taylor Swift, and I know all the lyrics to Frozen and Matilda—not because I was forced, but because I genuinely want to. My kids even have their own dance routine for Miley Cyrus’ “Wrecking Ball” because it’s just that good! They also jam to Beck, Arcade Fire, Dolly Parton, Bob Dylan, Radiohead, and Beyoncé. The list goes on!
I get it—8 is the new 15, and 40 is the new 13. It’s pretty rad that my kids and I share so many interests and cultural references. But here’s the kicker: if parents and kids around the world are vibing to the same stuff, does that mean parents are growing younger or are kids maturing faster?
Sometimes, as I dive into a new app, I wonder if we adults are engaging in a losing battle against our own mortality and fading relevance. My friends and I have become like that elderly lady in a miniskirt, clutching her iPhone, trying to elbow the youngsters out of the limelight. In the process, we might be raising a generation that talks like Stewie from Family Guy and wears skinny jeans over their diapers.
If families are all reading the same post-apocalyptic teen novels and swapping playlists, what will remain hidden from the parents? What unique experiences will teens have to reflect their individual lives? We’re limiting our children’s rebellion opportunities. Isn’t it a rite of passage to roll your eyes at your parents for being oh-so-out-of-touch? Can they really do that when we’re all at a Katy Perry concert together?
It’s like if flower children grooved to Perry Como, or Judith Light rocked out to Pearl Jam on Who’s the Boss—there’s just no order! What will they vent about in therapy two decades from now? That Mom excelled at Minecraft? That Dad embarrassed them by declaring Kanye was better before Kim?
I can’t predict what it means for our kids, but I already know what it means for me. By the time my mom reached my age, she was free to geek out over Loggins & Messina and rock those sweatpants anywhere—she earned that right! Society deemed her responsible and mature; she wasn’t a target for cool marketing. She was the margarine demographic, enjoying her life without a care.
Now, we’re expected to be not just good parents but also the cool ones. I need to look like I’m trying, but not too hard—think Tom’s flats instead of wedges, which are for the college crowd. Comfort? Forget it! I’m supposed to know that Jack White is “totally lame,” but ironically liking the White Stripes is okay. I can’t admit I like that catchy “Why You Gotta Be So Cruel?” tune, so I roll up the windows to hide it while driving through the neighborhood. I even have friends who are surgeons using Emojis!
The pressure is real. In the ’80s, the adult who played Frogger and binge-watched cartoons was the quirky Uncle Jim living in the basement. Now, that’s just Dad.
Kids and parents have morphed together—children are witty and savvy, reminding us to update our devices, while we’re responsible adults who secretly love juvenile tastes. We’re part of their world, but not too much; just enough to enhance our credibility. Kids are effortlessly cool these days (where was geek chic when I needed it?), but we’re also delivering the same “just be yourselves” message—while trying to fit in ourselves. Are 40-somethings that insecure about our place in pop culture, or is it just an awesome time to be young?
I know you’re thinking this is all my fault. My kids shouldn’t be glued to the iPad. I don’t need to care about my jeans or music choices. But I enjoy staying connected and engaged. I love sharing these moments with my kids. Pop culture is sharper and funnier than ever, and I’m not about to let my kids have all the fun. And hey, if I’m at level 400 and they’re stuck at 296, they have no business using that tone of disdain with me. If they do, I’ll just school them on the best explosive candy techniques and send them to their rooms!
Summary
The author explores the generational overlap between parents and children, questioning whether parents are becoming younger or children are maturing faster. Through humor and relatable anecdotes, the piece discusses the shared cultural experiences, the pressures of parenting in today’s society, and the challenges of finding individuality amid shared interests.