Recently, my brother asked me if I wanted to make a road trip to Richmond, Virginia. When I was learning to play tennis, my tennis hero was Arthur Ashe, who grew up in Richmond. I wanted to see his statue that the city erected on Monument Avenue, and his burial place. I’m not a “bucket list” person, but this trip became an exclamation point to my 55 years in tennis.
Though, that wasn’t all. My brother determined that Richmond has a vibrant craft-beer scene, as well as a number of good barbecue restaurants. Hazy IPA and brisket? I’m in!
The Scott’s Addition section of Richmond was once an industrial area. Some of those buildings have been converted to restaurant and brewery space. Other buildings have been repurposed as “curated apartment living.” At least, that’s what the advertisement for one of the buildings said.
“So, what’s ‘curated living’?” my brother asked. I took a sip of my pale ale, and thought. I replied, “Maybe the tenant gets to select what he or she wants to do with the space. I do that in Clearfield, for a lot less money. Maybe I do laundry, maybe I string a tennis racquet. Maybe I listen to music at night, maybe I write articles that no one wants to read.”
It soon became apparent that we were among the older minority at the breweries. We’re both “baby boomers,” which is another way of saying that we’re old. Most of the clientele at these places are what is known as “Generation Y” and “Generation Z,” or in other words, people in their 20s to mid-30s. It was a chance to see if my sometimes dismissive attitude towards many of them was correct.
I learned right away that I made a bad investment decision years ago. Instead of starting an IRA, I should have invested my money in a company that produces tattoo ink. A tattoo or two is OK by me, but some of these people were absolutely covered. My brother, being the more intelligent one of us, commented, “Well, if they work from home, then no one has to look at them.”
We saw another thing that caught our attention. It seemed that hardly anyone had a significant other. Of course, it’s hard to find out if you’re attracted to someone if you are looking at your cellphone all the time.
There were plenty of attractive women at these establishments. However, many of them had a dog with them. And, they paid more attention to the dog than anyone else. My brother commented that he would never take his dog to a brewery. I replied, “I can understand why someone would rather have a relationship with a dog than a person. The dog will never argue with you over who gets the TV remote. The dog is always happy to see you when you get home. And, food will square up any disagreement that you have with a dog.”
It appeared as if we were in the midst of a lot of young adults who seemed to be in a down mood. I guess that for them, the realization that a degree in medieval studies doesn’t enable one to afford curated apartment living is a downer.
Then it hit me. “I have the answer” I said, loudly enough to get the attention of a few customers and their dogs. “Bring back the military draft!”
My brother stared at me as if I had just chugged a pint of triple IPA. I continued, “No, not the full, two-year commitment. And, not for this group; it’s too late for them. But, we could save the next generation. Just make high school grads go to basic training right after graduation. Then, they can go on to whatever they want to do. If they want to go on to college, fine. If they want to have cotton-candy colored hair and wear enough piercings to show up on NORAD radar, that’s their prerogative. But, I bet they won’t want to. They will have discipline, and they will have purpose in life.”
I’m sure that such an idea would horrify and anger most teenagers. They might even come after me. Though, I think I can elude them. They wear untied sneakers. I keep my sneakers tied at all times.
Not to worry; the military will teach them how to tie those sneakers.
