To the Lucky Ones

To those born between 1952 and 1979 —

We are the bridge between two eras.

The last to grow up before everything went digital—

and the first to step into that new world, wide-eyed and unprepared.

At our high school, the class of ’76 had more in common with the graduates of the 1950s

than we ever did with the classes that came out in the ’90s.

We wore uniforms. We stood when teachers entered the room.

We learned respect, mostly the hard way.

And we learned responsibility—long before we understood what it meant.

We were the kids who played outside until the streetlights buzzed on.

We shouted names from the sidewalk, not a phone.

We scraped our knees on pavement and came home bleeding—with no one suing anybody.

We ran errands with crumpled grocery lists and came back with exact change.

We spun records, made mixtapes, danced with Walkmans.

We marveled at CDs, then DVDs, then the idea that music could just… disappear into the cloud.

We blew into Nintendo cartridges and felt like hackers.

We rewound VHS tapes with chewed fingernails and patience.

We remember houses that cost $18,000.

Our parents bought them.

We’re still not sure how.

We were raised on The Flintstones, Bonanza, Ultraman, Combat! and G.I. Joe.

We fell asleep to the hum of radios, not podcasts.

Saturday mornings were for cartoons, cereal, and jingles we still hum under our breath.

We rode bikes with no helmets.

Cars with no seatbelts.

Beaches with no sunscreen.

And somehow—we survived.

We drank soda from glass bottles, dropped food on the floor,

dusted it off, and ate it anyway.

We shared soda, sandwiches, secrets—

and the occasional bout of lice.

Vinegar solved it.

We took road trips with no screens, no playlists, no WiFi.

Just static-filled radio, endless rounds of “I Spy,”

and siblings poking each other across the backseat.

We carried backpacks that weighed more than our book reports.

We memorized phone numbers, used payphones,

and rewound tapes with a pencil—because that’s what you did.

No smartphones. No TikTok. No 5G.

But we had marbles, jump rope, freeze tag,

and truth or dare whispered beneath the stars.

Friendship wasn’t filtered or posted.

It was earned—through bruises, loyalty, and laughter.

We weren’t avatars or handles.

We were the quiet one, the fast one, the one who always got a laugh.

And somehow, we all belonged.

We didn’t learn from TED Talks.

We learned by trying, failing, and getting back up.

We remember the world before it sped up.

And we held on tight as it did.

❤️ We survived it all—with grit, with soul, with heart.

And no—we wouldn’t trade it.

Here’s to us—

to those who lived before and after.

To the ones who still remember.

To the lucky ones.