I found the words below on Facebook. Ironically, it’s written by a 74-year-old man named Richard. Though I cannot take credit, that’s my age and that’s my name, and I have changed some of the words to my own.

I’ve come to realize something about my generation — we are the bridge. We were born in one world … and lived in another.

A world where summer meant open windows, the hum of a box fan, and the smell of fresh-cut grass drifting down the street.

Where neighbors waved from their porches, and if your bike chain fell off the sprocket, you didn’t Google it — you knocked on a door, and someone came out with a tool.

We lived in a world built on patience. We waited for letters to arrive. We waited for the library to open.

We waited for our favorite song to play again on the radio — and when it finally did, it felt like magic.

Then, almost overnight, everything changed.

Phones shrank in size. Music stations changed to all talk. FM radio was something new. News arrived before the coffee finished brewing.

We learned to type, to swipe, to tap. We learned to talk to machines — and have them talk back.

We’ve seen milk delivered in glass bottles … and scanned our own groceries.

We’ve dropped coins into pay phones … and made video calls across oceans.

We’ve known the deep quiet of a world without notifications — and the noise of one that never stops buzzing.

And sometimes, the younger ones look at us like we’re behind.

But what they don’t see is this: We know both worlds.

We can plant tomatoes and send emails.

We know the weight of a handwritten letter and the reach of a message sent in seconds.

We’ve lived long enough to know you can change without losing yourself.

That you can honor where you came from while still learning where the world is headed.

We’ve buried friends and welcomed grandchildren.

We’ve seen diseases disappear and new ones arrive.

We’ve unfolded paper maps — and followed glowing blue lines on GPS.

We’ve sent postcards with stamps — and emojis with a single tap.

And maybe that’s our gift — the memory of a slower, gentler time, and the courage to adapt to a world that never stops spinning.

We can teach the young that not everything needs to happen instantly. And remind our peers that it’s never too late to begin again.

Our generation has traveled from the dirt road to the high-speed highway.

We have built the between what was and what will be.

If you are inside the age boundaries of the baby boomer generation like me, then I’m going to remind you of some extraordinary events we’ve already lived through.

A promising American Dream was emerging when we heard President John F. Kennedy say, “Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country.”

Then came the day in 1963 when we all remember where we were when we heard the news. The principal of our junior high school told us to return to our homerooms, where he first announced to us that President Kennedy had been shot in Dallas. We were goofy seventh graders. Thomas Perry sat behind me. He kept flicking my ear until I told him to knock it off. Then we were asked to stand while the second announcement was made a few minutes after the first one.

“President Kennedy has died in Dallas, Texas.”

Miss Merly, my homeroom teacher, fell into her chair. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed. Thomas Perry pushed me from behind and I turned and pushed him so hard he fell to the floor. Everyone was immediately dismissed.

For five days off from school, nobody came outside to play. While my dad was at work, I watched our black and white TV and suddenly I witnessed the unthinkable.

“Mom! They shot Oswald right on TV!”

Many baby boomer Americans had thought that our country would never be the same after JFK’s assassination. I still feel that way today.

We watched Martin Luther King make a great speech before 250,000 people in Washington, D.C. Then the unthinkable would happen again. Not once but twice. On April 4, 1968, King was murdered, and two months after that another assassination took place in Los Angeles.

“They just shot Kennedy!” shouted my father, who couldn’t sleep due to his restless legs.

“But he’s already dead,” I said back.

“No, this is Robert Kennedy.”

Then all the world’s eyes watched Neil Armstrong take “one small step for man and one giant leap for mankind” when he walked on the moon.

So many memorable events happened after I graduated from high school. I wrote about them in this poem:

The seventies were about disco, Saturday Night Fever and big hair on the head.

Then we were shocked when Elvis, the king of rock and roll, was found dead.

The Vietnam War ended but 58,000 American soldiers never came home

For those who did, there was no parade; many vets were left homeless and alone.

In 1986, her parents’ faces brought us to tears

Their daughter and, teacher, Christine and her Challenger crew proved our worst fears

All gone in an explosive blast

That happened so fast

The nineties brought bombings in Oklahoma and the end of the Gulf War

And a sheep was cloned from a single cell; and that was no folklore

Y2K in 2000 was supposed to give the world a knockout punch

The very next day I was eating leftover turkey for my lunch

Oh! the tragedy of death on 9/11!

And yet it brought Americans together as one

As the song says, “Don’t be sad.

“Be glad for the life we’ve had.”

And remember when!

Email Rich Strack at richiesadie11@gmail.com