The insult “Hey Boomer” doesn’t bother me, much to the chagrin of younger generations. The reason is simple: people born between 1954 and 1965, give or take, aren’t actually Boomers. Sociologists classify us differently. We missed the defining moments that shaped the true Baby Boomers—Woodstock and the Civil Rights Movement—and we were too old to share the cynicism and independence that came to define Generation X.
When I first entered the corporate world, the hierarchy was clear. Upper management and many of the seasoned worker bees were World War II veterans. Lower management was composed of older Boomers. My promotion opportunities? Zero. Advancement required either waiting for someone to die or for the structure above me to finally shift, and neither was moving quickly.
Eventually, author Jonathan Pontell gave us both a name and an identity: Generation Jones. The label fit. As he explained, our cohort carried a constant “jonesing,” a craving for the opportunities that earlier Boomers had enjoyed but that were never truly available to us. While they had open doors and postwar prosperity, we faced recessions, oil embargoes, stagflation, and brutal job competition. They thought we were cynical. We knew we were simply pragmatic and self-reliant. If we wanted opportunity, we had to build it ourselves because no one was offering a step up.
Now that earlier Boomers have retired (and, increasingly, departed this life), my generation is entering retirement with a mix of realism and resignation. Many of us aren’t in the best shape; diabetes, obesity, heart disease, alcohol, tobacco, and the long grind of stress have taken their toll. We spent years caring for our parents and our children, leaving little time for backpacking through Europe. Our lives were not glamorous, but they were grounded.
On the bright side, we had disco, punk, and early MTV—a soundtrack for self-invention. We didn’t have the Internet; we built it. I personally worked on the transition from the ARPANET to what became the modern Internet. We watched the birth of personal technology: the first black-and-white televisions, rotary phones, and the original “bag phones”—early cell phones powered by lead-acid batteries the size of car starters. I had one of those, too.
As children, our world was almost entirely natural: textiles, wood, paper, glass, and metal. Plastic was rare. The only plastic object in most homes was the rotary phone, made of a black plastic called Bakelite. Televisions came in wooden cabinets. Milk and soft drinks arrived in glass bottles. The idea of selling bottled water would have sounded absurd. Lunch came in a brown paper bag, with a sandwich and a Thermos bottle—a delicate glass vacuum chamber inside a metal shell. Drop it, and you were drinking warm milk for the rest of the year. Where I grew up, there were no McDonald’s or Burger Kings yet. We had Gino’s Hamburgers, which later became Roy Rogers after Marriott bought them.
Different times, indeed.
But we weren’t just a generation of frustration; we were builders. Many of us, knowing we’d never climb the corporate ladder, started our own companies. Quite a few succeeded. Among our ranks: Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, Elon Musk, Jeff Bezos, Tim Cook, Meg Whitman, Michael Dell, and, yes, me. I founded CyberSoft Operating Corporation, a government-centric cybersecurity company.
In music, we gave the world Sting, Bono, Bruce Springsteen, Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston, Madonna, and Prince, artists who defined eras and redefined culture.
Looking back, I think we had a good run. Generation Jones may not have been offered much, but we made the most of what we had and built what didn’t exist. We’re practical, inventive, and persistent. The world didn’t care much about us, but that never stopped us. And if history is any guide, you can still expect plenty more from us before we go off somewhere to drool into our oatmeal.
© February 2026 by Peter V. Radatti