c. 1999 Religion News Service

(Dale Hanson Bourke is publisher of RNS.)

UNDATED _ As the summer of ’99 winds down, it seems that we have spent most of it reminiscing about the summer of ’69.

We have relived Woodstock, revisited the first moon walk and remembered the Vietnam War. They were the best of times, they were the worst of times, but those of us who lived through them seem to be consumed with a sense of nostalgia that is greater than the sum of the events.

Sure, we were young then.

But more than that, we were passionate. We believed deeply in fighting for peace, justice and a better world for everyone.

Even kids like me, growing up in a small Midwestern town, felt the pressure building and the promise of change to come. We didn’t know what might happen or how it would happen, but we knew that even teen-agers had the ability to make things different.

We frightened our parents by dressing strangely, listening to music about revolution and demonstrating with the hope of being thrown in jail. We joined hands with people we didn’t know, united by causes we fervently believed in. We shed tears, raised voices and applied youthful energy to speaking, writing and rallying. A ubiquitous bumper sticker of those days said,”Give a damn,”and its message was almost redundant.

Somewhere around the middle of this summer I realized with a start that my own son is the same age I was in 1969. I look for signs of rebellion in him but see nothing akin to what was stirring in my soul 30 years ago.

I see no signs of anti-establishment tendencies. His biggest rebellion is to wear clothes from Target instead of Abercrombie and Fitch. He doesn’t care much about current events, although he does get excited by e-mail rumors that float his way.

That’s not to say he doesn’t care about justice. He long ago fulfilled his school’s community service requirement and continues to work with disabled kids because he cares about them. He jumps at the chance to volunteer for Habitat for Humanity projects.

But what he and most of his friends seem to lack is the passion for change on a larger level. They seem to feel unable to affect the bigger issues. Instead they find identity in a group of friends and specific causes.

I can’t help thinking that those of us who lived through the summer of 1969 have forgotten to teach some of its positive lessons to our own children.

We shake our heads at school shootings and teens who are drawn to violent video games and dressing like goths. But what have we given them instead?

We keep our kids busy with lessons and sports and let them fill in the rest of their time with television and computers. They live in worlds that are individualistic and tailored to their personal interests. They talk of being”stressed”by busy schedules and the pressure to perform.

They are mesmerized by comfort and hypnotized by entertainment. If they get frustrated over a perceived injustice, they don’t organize others. Instead they rebel personally _ sometimes with tragic consequences.

If they want a better world, it is for them and their small group of friends, not for others they don’t know.

As we spend the last few weeks reminiscing about the summer of ’69, those of us who were young then and are parents now should ask ourselves where we have gone wrong. We were full of hope and passion and have produced teens who are often depressed and self-absorbed.

One of my strongest memories of that summer 30 years ago is arguments I had with my parents over their beliefs. What stands out in my mind is less the subject of the disagreements and more the amount of time they took.

In my memory, my parents are always around. We may have argued, but we were communicating. We may have disagreed, but we had dinner together every night. They may have disliked what I wore, but I can’t recall leaving the house without them standing at the door and waving.

The world is a different place today and so are families. Perhaps it’s time for those of us who fancied ourselves as revolutionaries to revolutionize our own lives.

DEA END BOURKE