Each generation imagines itself to be more intelligent than the one that went before it, and wiser than the one that comes after it.
—George Orwell

In our society we tend to name generations. They then represent a birth cohort in a specific historical and cultural environment. But throughout history the words “generation” and “ancestor” are deeply meaningful, sentimental, and powerful. The simple labels that we use are just that, labels.

The Seven Generations (currently)

The Greatest Generation (GI Generation): Born 1901–1927.
The Silent Generation: Born 1928–1945.
Baby Boom Generation: Born 1946–1964.
Generation X: Born 1965–1980.
Millennial Generation or Generation Y: Born 1981–1996.
Generation Z: Born 1997–2010.
Generation Alpha: Born 2010-2024.

While this classification system is convenient and catchy, I want to emphasize that there is much more to a generation than its name. We cannot and must not generalize. Remembering the individuals is critical, valuable, and fascinating.

Here’s a snippet of one person (me) and my relationship with my grandparents. It reinforces the fact that there are subtle yet formidable forces at work. The downstream effects of relationships with one generation can change individual life trajectories, societal views, and even health in subsequent generations.

As you read this, keep in mind the following: I’m a physician, have ample outdoor survival training, love anything to do with National Geographic, have a BA in history, enjoy cooking and sneaking sweets, don’t tolerate much nonsense, rise at the crack of dawn, make my kids handwrite thank-you notes, appreciate humor, celebrate blackberry season, and play the piano. These parts of me are probably not all random. Read on!

I am extremely fortunate to have known my grandparents well. Grandpa Harold, Grandma K, Grandpa Noles, and Grandma BJ. I grew up seeing them at least weekly, if not daily, in Portland, Oregon. Even though it was from an adolescent perspective, I felt that I knew each of them as individuals.

**Left to right: Grandpa Harold, Grandma K, Grandma BJ, Grandpa Noles, the author is seated in a red swimsuit**

Grandpa Harold was a gregarious hardworking ophthalmologist who loved his patients and brought me on his hospital rounds to meet them. He had a not-so-secret stash of Hershey’s chocolate products in the top shelf of his closet at any given time, and he played the banjo joyously in an echoing hallway that kind of hurt our ears. I still have letters that he wrote to me in blue felt tip pen when I was at summer camp. His general motto and toast was “Happy Days and Sunny Skies,” which he would share with a heartfelt smile.

Grandma K could cook giant delicious dinners for 25 people while simultaneously running around with a chainsaw and cutting down trees that she found offensive. She managed difficult renters in various properties, 7 adult children, their spouses, and 18 grandchildren with an iron fist. No one wanted to get busted by Grandma. She could pick a gallon of blackberries in 10 minutes flat. She made a crackling fire every morning at 5am and I always thought that was my special time with her, since no one else was up. I realize now (as a mother) that the peace and quiet was the entire reason she got up that early.

Grandpa Noles went to some mysterious office in downtown Portland and did important things there. But more memorably, he had a den of wonders in his house. It was like National Geographic joined forces with the NRA and a taxidermy company. It was kind of horrifying but amazing at the same time and I always wanted to linger longer. Individual conversation with him was in lecture format, however, so my siblings and I found creative ways to bail out quickly.

Grandma BJ was a journalist and hostess with a quick wit and an adorable giggle-laugh. She authored a cookbook that featured ingredients such as condensed soups and Cool Whip as a timesaver for professional women. She got me a fancy dress and white gloves to wear to ballroom dancing school. She enjoyed back-to-school shopping far more than we did. She was big on etiquette and left her stamp on me.

I wonder what my kids will remember about their grandparents. They didn’t have as many years with them but I hear things that make me laugh. And then I wonder what my kids (and their kids someday) will remember about me and my husband.

We keep our families alive through stories, photos, and legacies. The generations that precede us have more to offer than platitudes. They are far more than Baby Boomers or the GI Generation. They are the humans and DNA that set examples, shape us, and love us.

What’s in a Generation?