Adults vs Kids
In the numerous catch ups (via Zoom, FaceTime, WhatsApp and sometimes even phone) with friends and family over the Christmas period about who was doing what, a change has occurred. Where once it was all about the adults, their jobs, careers and aspirations, now it is all about their/our children – who always used to get the short end of the stick but are now on the zeitgeist. One is an inventor, one takes photos, another makes music, another paints amazing pictures and is applying to Slade.
Suddenly, the adults are obsolete, just there to support their kids (and hopefully brag about their talents). The adults have jobs, mortgages, partners, the kids. Their life is set, apparently – nothing they do now is of any interest. It’s all about the kids, no matter what they’re doing. At school, taking exams, applying for college. It’s fascinating. One of them is always reading a book (my parents have both read a book a week for the last sixty years but no one would find that interesting – or ever ask them about their reading habits).
Sigh, the cult of youth. To me, youth are useless, boring, hollow, selfish and I’m sure there’s a quote about how youth is wasted on the young (Oscar Wilde I thought, actually George Bernard Shaw). I rarely find young people interesting until they’re at least forty years old. You need some life experience first. As a society we generally don’t care about old age (hoprfully COVID has made us value it more). I don’t understand the interest in innocence over experience (managing a team of mostly-retired volunteers at Oxfam, I am constantly fascinated by their fascinating life stories. And the customers: there’s an old gent who comes in who remembers attending the 1948 Olympics in Wembley; another who met Lou Reed and David Bowie in Studio 54 in the 1970s; people with real life experiences).
We value youth in general, and obsess over the child prodigy in particular, especially when it comes to music, sport, art or writing. The Guardian fawned recently over “social media star” Dara McAnulty (also autistic, which helps), whose recent book Diary of a Young Naturalist has received rave reviews. McAnaulty, 16, makes Sally Rooney (their previous poster girl), 29, seem ancient. Indeed, she could almost be Dara’s mum.
Child prodigies generally don’t grow into adult geniuses; they get burnt out, bored, or their talent just fades. Whether it be Alma Deutscher, Bobby Fisher, Mozart or Michael Jackson, being a prodigy comes at a price. And not all geniuses were prodigious. Bach, Beethoven, Kant and Da Vinci were famously all undistinguished as children.
As Malcolm Gladwell believes, the explanation for prodigies is more mundane than magical: “Really what we mean… when we say that someone is ‘naturally gifted’ is that they practice a lot, that they want to practice a lot, that they like to practice a lot.” To be precise, genius is 10,000 hours practice, according to Gladwell (a theory since disproved but it makes a good sound byte).
I was thinking about prodigies when a video from 1982 recently surfaced online of my partner’s brother, Robert, winning the Best of Brass award, aged 14. He played his winning piece on the coronet in the Royal Albert Hall; it was watched on the BBC by millions. The video has garnered thousands of watches and comments in a few days; a combination of nostalgia, perhaps, as well as fascination with the prodigy: what became of him? What’s he doing how? Well, he gave up music completely and became a doctor. So there you go.
Bob Dylan, 79, last year released one of the best albums of his career, Rough and Rowdy Ways, full of wit, mischief and darkness in gravelly vocals, which all added up to the voice of – experience.
Previously on Barnflakes
Notes on having a baby
Growing old gracefully
Busy bein’ boring
Busy bein’ busy