From grandfather to grandson

Societies in the economically developed world are divided, split in two. To young and old. The coronavirus made it worse with its age-related racism – slapping those born after 1960, slashing wood at most, while reaping the children of the Occupation and the first post-war generation. The elderly were declared a protected species during the pandemic. There are too many who – as little Tsiodres – make lofty appeals to save “grandma and grandpa”, to respect the elders “our friends”. I do not know you, but if everyone made me an occasion to pretend to be good, I would long to catch him in the fast, even with my mangoura. Compassion, nowadays called sensitivity, is the most disgusting thing for the recipient. A thousand times I prefer to be scared, to be still disgusted with me – still, than to be saddened and shown to me. Not that the demonization of old age did not precede Covid-19. For decades it has been perceived almost as a disease. Most people do their best to hide their symptoms. They dye-add hair, iron skins, implant sparkling dentures. They become obsessed with exercise or – if they have a very thick bead – mingle with a couple three and four decades younger, transform into vampires who suck fresh blood… Lies end someday. In the eyes of those around you you read that you are a veteran, a sample of a bygone era. All you have left, if you have the travels, is the path of self-exile. Wealthy seniors in the United States are migrating en masse to the South. Florida with its sweet climate and medical infrastructure is largely baked as an elephant graveyard with floral shirts. Northern Europeans resort to Crete and Mani, Sicily and Mallorca. They see their children via Skype once a month, exchanging wishes for Christmas and birthdays. Their children’s children vaguely remember them. Elderly people in economically weaker environments are at first sight more fortunate. In Greece, especially during the crisis, their pension was shown if not in the basic income of the household, at least in the pocket money of the younger ones. Their grandchildren accompanied them to the bank to collect it, then “taxed” them and parked them in front of the TV. Most eighties know every serial out and about. Adonis Georgiadis looks at them more often and more affectionately through the glass, than their cats. As the years get heavier, loneliness thickens and the mind blurs, the more often whenever the newscaster says “good evening” you counter-swallow it… And yet, it was not always so. I’m not just talking about us, that some grandmother, one of our grandparents grew up and remains – even though she has been forgiven for so many years – our point of reference, our little candle. I am referring to the course of the whole of humanity from the Paleolithic era to the prevalence of the “nuclear” family – a couple with children in their own home and the other relatives being kept at a strict distance. Nuclear, which leads – almost completely – to the single-parent family. For hundreds of thousands of years, the elders played the most critical role. While their daughters and sons toiled for their livelihood, they were educating their grandchildren. The “narrative”, the values ​​and principles, of the faction and society were passed down from each generation to the next. Usually distilled from ephemeral passions. One of the pathogens of our time is that people refuse, they are too late to have children because they perceive it as a distraction from their career or well-being. And rightly so. Permits and allowances are, in my opinion, comforting and ineffective measures. I see a solution. To return, in today’s terms, of course, to tradition. The very young to give birth. And their parents – relieved due to age from the stress of career – to take care of the children. “Have children and we will raise them for you!” – is there a more reassuring conversation? Who would not want to bear fruit at twenty, at twenty-five, when the blood boils, the juices overflow? Who enjoyed them does not miss the caresses of the grandmother, the jokes of the grandfather? And who in their fifties – or even seventies – is not longing for a new role, a new beginning? The world at its best is not a sum of individuals, vulnerable and non-groups, who are entrenched, mutually supervised or pity each other. It is a choir. Society of people. Follow it on Google News and be the first to know all the news See all the latest News from Greece and the World, at

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