Yo!! It's right here, right here. It's right through the fence...
As I collect more grey hairs and even more forehead -- I sometimes wonder what the youngsters of today think of
US, the generation prior. If they weren't the way we were at their age, so much the better. They seem bright, amused, talented, and very much involved with, and concerned about, what's going on in The City, the country, and even the world around them.
A Saturday afternoon ago, I was trapped at the
Alemany Farmers Market, lurking with these fascinating characters. The fumes were at unbearable levels, and the camera contact just short of annoying (to them), but the views were excellent (to me).
Also the aroma...intoxicating.
Contempt was not what I was feeling. Listening to the feverish and generally literate conversations, shouts, grunts, and clichés, I reflected that maybe our schools aren't so bad, after all. It is possible, of course, that the Under-21 crowd is made up exclusively of youngsters who went and go only to private schools, but there must be a fair sprinkling of public schoolers, too, and they come off as reasonably educated. Aside from an unfortunate "addiction" to writing their names in graffiti on the wall, they are what used to be called "good kids."
To put it plain to you, my 8 loyal readers, I wish these San Franciscans would hurry up and start running things on the underside of our prized peninsula. Shades of
Mike DREAM and
TIE ONE have long ago taken over the sunny skies of an alley near you. The ancients have been running and ruling The City long enough, and there's an election this year that doesn't promise anything to them or even, WE. Fortunately for The Establishment, the young of today are not near as revolutionary as their
predecessors. But those days will undoubtedly come. There has been, is, and will always be a youthful voice that one hopes, will never die in cynicism.
That said, I raise my empty fist to The Young San Franciscans, gathering in groups, yelling, laughing, and chattering away. The mood right now is still as mellow as the weather, as redundant of The City's long history, that as long as the foghorn has sounded occasionally. I am reminded briefly of my own youth, of making the rounds in The City That Was, hitting up freshly buffed walls; returning home not until the wall was full of OUR names, the cup was empty, and the eastern sun was awake.
Gradually, the youngsters moved off in all directions but my own, and I wondered if they thought about the miracle (too strong a word?) of being San Franciscans, building up their own memories of a city that will one day seem strange and changed to them, too. We
Old-Timers are burdened with the most beautiful of yesterdays, a steady mix of what they will never know. The kids of today will have their own memories --
HUF, Saturday nights at The Metreon, and a
new Bay Bridge -- but I wouldn't trade my memories for a million tomorrows.
Well, wait. Uh, let me think about that, OK??
Inspired by the Late, Great Herb Caen
