Special Edition: A Letter To The Aging

SPECIAL EDITION: A LETTER TO THE AGING


Dear people aged 35 and older:




I’ve drafted this letter in earnest, as the result of the triumvirate catalysts of drugs, alcohol, and The Beatles Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band album. If you’re familiar you know the track “When I’m Sixty-Four”. For research’s sake, I just looked up Paul McCartney’s age: he’s 76 (and the lead on the song). The point is, Paul’s way past 64. Mr. Lennon and Mr. Harrison been gone. Paul was 24 when the sessions began. He spoke of 64 as if it meant being old and decrepit. It was blatant humor, tongue-in-cheek game spit to one of Paul’s young tenders. But my wasted interpretation leads me to the topic of this letter and tonight’s blog...old niggas gotta stop career hating on my young niggas. I’m absolutely tired of it. And I’m finna call each and every one of youse out. And you deserve it. Young folk, sit back and kick your feet up. I got this.


SIDE NOTE: Sgt Pepper’s... is such a fly album. I feel the R&B influence in it. The reprise of the title track ain’t nothing but a Clyde Stubblefield drum beat (Mr. James Brown’s drummer to the youth and ignorant old fake music aficionados). Oh yeah...You MF gotta stop faking and listen to Rock and Roll. Good music is good music.



BACK TO REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING...


It’s about time that you old heads (I’m a certified old head but I’m not a certified hater) stop with the young nigga player hating. It’s quite disgusting. Totally. Being the journalist I am, I’m going to be as impartial as possible and call it 50/50.


So, I’ll begin with my age group. True indeed, a lot of these young MF are absolute weirdo material. You dress crazy, your music is trash, and you let an electronic device control your little fucking entitled lives. There, I said it. It’s the fucking truth. Period.


Now I shall proceed with my spin: I FEEL YOU YOUNG NIGGAS. COMPLETELY. ABSOLUTELY. Now, now...some of you dress like you’re mildly retarded (my bad, exceptional). And yes...73% of your music is absolute, utter basura. And yes, you are entitled. But guess what??? It’s your MF thing! Not mine!!! SALUTE TO MY YOUNG NIGGAS!!! DO YOUR MF THING!!!


Now, I’ll place my scholar cap upon my forehead and appease the journalistic part of this blog and break my argument down atom by atom...

1. IT’S MY GENERATION’S FAULT. Sincerely, it is. I’m not a dad. But I have had a hand in raising these chillin’, age 20 and under. I work in America’s public school system. I see what some of you parents are unwilling to admit every day...we dropped the ball. They know nothing about THEIR OWN HERITAGE. Therefore, there is no true pride of self with this generation. I figured I’d be disappointed if a kid don’t know who Huey P. was. Never did I envision the day my babies don’t even know who Frederick Douglas or Jackie Robinson were. We know from our own education that many of our schools weren’t teaching us shit about our own history, mostly HIS-story. So it was up to us. And we failed. Again, I’m only taking a corporate L for this one. I tell my babies about who and what we are (Moreno y Hispanico) all the time. So, in conclusion, we can’t be mad at our babies for not knowing about themselves. We failed to do what our parents did for us; we didn’t educate our babies on who and what we are.
2. STOP CAREER HATING FELLOW OLD HEADS OF AMERICA...once upon a time in America, you were a young nigga. Can you remember the vibe? You didn’t give not one absolute fidduck about a damn thing. That is, if you were living and not existing. But that’s a tease for my final atom, err umm, point. It was all about living for the day. Fuck the world was the anthem, whether “1979”, “Smells Like Teen Spirit”, “Bucktown”, or “The What”, the vibe was anti-everything our parents and authority deemed mandatory. Then, all of the sudden, one day you wake up 40, your oldest kid’s in high school, already fucking, and you’re like WHAT THEE FUCK!!!
3. For my last argument, I shall present the masterpiece...I HAD MY TIME. I AIN’T MAD AT THESE LIL DUMB ASS NIGGAZ. I, TOO, WAS ONCE A LIL DUMB ASS NIGGA. I can’t speak for you lames, but I’d did my thug thizzle (shouts to my girl Diddy...love you girl). Translation: I know what it’s like to be a teenage dummy. And, like I tell my babies, the difference between me and you is I was an AP and Honors student, National Honor Society AND Quill & Scroll (National Journalism Honor Society). Meaning, the 17 year-old T could run mental laps around the 18 year-old youse. And yet, still, I managed to be a dumbass anyway. I kinda figure over time that it has less to do with intelligence and more to do with being a kid. But the point of it all is that regardless, we all managed to make our share of young mistakes. To error is human. Stop being so judgmental to our babies and listen to their stories. Then relate and build. Simple and plain. DISCLAIMER: Ass busting is still pertinent and vital when necessary. I didn’t go pop on my folk. I’m still ole Monday.

In conclusion, I feel like it’s time to end the generational divide and try to come to some type understanding. And if that’s too ambitious, let’s just employ reciprocal respect. Next time you’re shaking your head at the actions of 17 year-old, remember what it was like when you were 17 whole years old and how rebellious you felt. But don’t get too nostalgic. Pay that damn cable bill before Verizon cuts your WiFi off. To the projects I’m ghost shorty rock, one love.


Sincerely,


Ty Thompson, God’s Favorite​