Time and twentysomethings: A homecoming of sorts?

BOSTON, U.S.A.— Sometimes, it's odd the things that occur to you when you're on your own, in a place you haven't been in years.
In 1990, I enrolled at UMass-Boston (as a transfer student from UMass-Amherst) to earn my Bachelor's Degree. That September, I was sitting in the foyer of Wheatley Hall, waiting for some type of initiation class, when I overheard the conversation of two men, both about 40 years of age. I have no idea what they were talking about, but I clearly remember one of them asking the other, "like some stupid, f-in' 20-year-old?" Naturally, being just two months shy of my 21st birthday, I took offense. It didn't exactly paint a rosy picture in my mind of the tolerance of fortysomethings.
Today, just weeks shy of my 41st birthday, I found myself walking amongst the early to mid twentysomething crowd on campus, where I went to pay a visit to the Director of Student Life, a good friend of mine. Although I'm not proud of it, I quietly but strongly felt the same way as those men from twenty years ago. They all seemed so self-assured, even arrogant. I tried to send a subliminal message to every one of them along the lines of, "no, no, you young shits. You have to earn the right to look how you do. Let's face it, what have you done? The image you project is no thicker than a strand of hair."
I bought a coffee in McCormack Hall and sat on a bench by the harbor where I reminded myself that I was once that way too. We all were.
My friend from Student Life introduced me to the current editorial crew of The Mass Media, the student newspaper I once worked for. One fella asked me, "From what era are you from?"
"1993-'94," I answered.
He whistled under his breath and replied, "Before my time." Nice guy, but same arrogant look. But then, if I'd met an editor who'd worked there 17 years before me, I might have simply said, "whoa, I was just a kid then" and given him the same cocky look as well.
My father once tried to convince me how great it was growing up in the '50s, to which I just shrugged. I have to realize that the young crowd of today feels the same way about the '70s and even '80s—a mystical time, worthy of study, but not a missed opportunity to experience life on this planet. Humankind wasn't perfect in the '50s; it wasn't perfect in the '80s; it's not perfect now. You naturally embrace your own coming-of-age decade and, understandably, think it's the best (even if it's not!). Thirty years from now, will some 20-year-old feel like he or she missed out because they weren't around in 2010? Unless they're fascinated with time travel, probably not.
George Carlin once said, "Time? We made the whole thing up. There are no numbers in the sky. I looked. They're not there." You might recall, dear reader, that I marvel at people who celebrate the New Year because we're just attaching another number, based on a religion, to the steady stream of time. Should our late neighbor feel cheated because he was born in 1900 instead of 1899? Of course not. I doubt he even thought once about it.
No-one on that campus wants to hear about how great the '80s were. I don't blame them. That's like me hearing about the '50s. The thinking is the same: "Great. I'm happy that you were there and experienced them. Let's move on, eh?"
And those two men from twenty years ago are now 60 years old and probably talking to each other about being as stupid as a f-in' 40-year-old.
Live and learn, dear reader. You can only live and learn. And appreciate life, not time.