After the presidential election, Bill O’Reilly decreed that old
white guys like him have become a minority, a virtual fringe group.
As you can well imagine, I felt pretty bad about this at first,
until I realized that, in fact, this now makes me part of a
soon-to-be new hip ethnic group. Maybe we didn’t help re-elect
Barack Obama but we won’t be silenced. For now, like Obama, we can
only hope for change.
Old white guys have trouble getting much media respect these
days, but our sudden position as outsiders should change all that.
Being old, and white, and guys, makes us a triple minority, with
diminishing power every day. We’re on the outside looking in at all
the fun that the now-trendy former outliers — Hispanics, women,
blacks, Asians, gays, Native Americans — are having, just partying
the night away.
Clearly, this new elite doesn’t need us and ignores us, even
laughs at us, ridiculed it seems by everyone except skinheads
(making us even further scum). We go virtually unnoticed, but if I
know America this won’t last long. Formerly disparaged ethnic
groups are sure to take pity upon us in time. The new GOP and
Democratic parties, in an effort to seem all-inclusive, to show
their diversity, will surely want to bring aging male honkies into
the big tent, if only to mollify us.
I’m sure there are middle-aged white guys on the horizon who, to
paraphrase Dr. King, will be recognized for the content of their
character, not the pallor of their skin. I’m certain there are good
men out there, white and over 65, who will be welcomed into the
mainstream again; even the Democrats may give us a minority voice
at future conventions.
None of this is new to me. For 20 years I’ve realized that I am
now part of the counter culture, which once ruled. I listen to
Frank Sinatra, I wear a belt, even a tie and slippers, my head is
not shaved and I don’t sport a three-day stubble. I don’t eat at
food trucks, bicycle, wear jeans or a baseball cap, listen to rap,
go to dance clubs, drop “F-bombs,” enjoy casual hook-ups, or carry
a bottle of water with me. I’ve never read a graphic novel and do
not own a Kindle. I am not even a vegan — shocking, yes, but there
it is.
Now and then, if nobody is looking, I will order a steak, use
butter not olive oil, and consume products containing white sugar
and corn starch. I do not smoke pot nor do drugs, unless you count
baby aspirin and Lipitor, aging white guys’ drugs of choice.
As a member of the emerging counter culture, I subscribe to
newspapers and magazines, watch movies on a TV screen, do not use
an iPhone or have an account on Facebook, Twitter, or LinkedIn. I
don’t download tunes on an iPod. OK (full disclosure), I do own a
cell phone but I don’t know the number and keep the cell in the
glove compartment for emergencies only. I’m not afraid to admit
that I watch the “CBS Evening News,” Jay Leno, and “Cheers”
reruns.
Despite feeling left out of American political, social and
cultural life, I remain a proud old white guy whose time is sure to
come. One day, an older white guy might be elected president again,
but only after a woman, a Hispanic, an Asian, and a gay have served
in the Oval Office. Probably by no later than 2050, an aging white
male will be returned to the Rainbow (formerly White) House, and
one might even be appointed to the Supreme Court again. It’s not
entirely out of the realm of possibility. After all, this is
America, where anybody can grow up to be president, despite their
race, age, or gender.
