Vintage Americana

Vintage Americana; a term that brings to mind apple pie on the windowsill, American flags, victory gardens, and an era of when our nation was bonded together by a common cause. I often find myself in places surrounded by people too young to know about such things anymore, and those that do can barely recall the memories. The war babies and baby boomers are on their way out, and we will never see their like again.

The world continues to change, and in many cases, not for the better. With the constant bombardment of different ideals being imposed on the next generation, the human race has never been more divided. Politics, religion, and science seem locked in an eternal battle for our souls, and it doesn’t take long before we begin to agonize over the fate of our progeny.

But then a glimmer of hope presents itself, and for one fleeting moment, we are given a glimpse of faith and courage. Not very long ago, I was given one of those rare glimpses into the heart of a younger generation, and with it the reassurance that all hope is not lost ... at least, not yet.

My teenaged son, usually engrossed in video games and anime, decided to join his mother and grandmother in the living room for movie night. Given his enthusiasm, we allowed him to make the selection. To our surprise and delight, he chose one of our all-time favorites, Rio Bravo. While his education in western movies has always been abundant, I had not realized the extent of his appreciation for the classics. I watched him, as he watched John Wayne, and before I knew it, he was singing along word for word with Dean Martin and Ricky Nelson, then cheering on the Duke and his raga-ma-tag team as they took on the Burdette men.

I suddenly realized that despite the best efforts of all those outside influences: the politics, the atheists, the so-called sciences, that some of my ideals managed to make their way into my son’s heart and mind. He had listened to the important things I’d tried to teach him. He still can’t manage to put his socks in the hamper, and it’s a constant battle to get him to finish his homework. But he believes in the Bible and the John Wayne Code, he knows how to give a firm handshake, to look people in the eye, to open the door for women and elders, and to thank any veteran he meets.

I now know that I have successfully passed on my own idea of Americana to my progeny, for he knows that serving his country is his responsibility, and that freedom has never been free. He knows that it is up to him to make the difference. And so, my war babies and baby boomers, take heart; Vintage Americana, though rare, is not dead. It is merely dormant in the young hearts of those who have been taught to appreciate it.