Talk about Taking One to the Face

Every six weeks or so, I make the five-hour drive to visit my grandparents, who are both in their mid-'70s and whose daily routines include reading three newspapers in the morning, watching "Judge Judy" and whatever college games are on, going fishing, taking foreign language classes at the senior center, and talking smack about local and national politicians. It's like going to Valhalla for the weekend, except Odin and Bragi listen to Aretha Franklin, make biscuits every morning, and sometimes invite over the neighborhood cranky octagenarians to smoke cigars and argue about how steroids changed professional sports.

At least once every visit, however, my grandfather will inevitably ask me what the hell is wrong with kids my age. My usual response is that it's not us, it's that he's gotten older or that we're much better than his generation was because we're smarter, healthier, and more globally conscious or that there's nothing wrong with us at all.


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But after watching that, I just don't know what's wrong with us, Grandpa. I just don't know.