Learn that Poem...

I guess for most of us, our first musical memories were delivered by our parents and grandparents. Traditional lullabies, made-up lullabies with silly tunes, or storybooks containing some cringeworthy song—they introduced us to music before we even knew what music was.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve tried to erase some of those memories from my mind.

Ye Olde Hi-Fi

I’d rather think about the songs they introduced us to through AM radio, 8-tracks, and records. (Sorry…vinyl.)

We had a console hi-fi—a solid-wood piece of furniture that housed and hid the tuner, record player, 8-track player, and record storage. The speakers were built into the cabinet at each end.

It was 100% analog, 100% cool, and is now probably 100% crunched up in a landfill somewhere.

The Rolling Stones, Johnny Cash, Herb Alpert, Diana Ross, and The Moonglows…over and over again. I’m sure you could name at least three artists or songs from your own family’s rotation.

We basically listened to everything: rock (they call it “classic rock” now), soft rock, disco, jazz, country, and AM pop radio. We enjoyed most of it and suffered through some of it.

Funny—some of the songs I suffered through are the very same songs I’m perfectly happy to hear today.

Sharing Is Caring…

Our turn came roughly 25 years ago, if my math is correct. That puts many of us in the interesting position of having Gen Z children of our own.

I think I was playing “Eight Days a Week” when my first son was five years old.

That was it.

Just as it had for millions of kids before him, the music of the Fab Four infiltrated his ears and began establishing his love for music—our music. That part wasn’t especially surprising.

What surprised me was how quickly he memorized practically every Beatles song.

Oh, That Song Is From…

His musical tastes somewhat follow mine these days. New Wave and Dark Wave may only be tolerated, but they are usually recognized immediately.

I’d like to give my hi-fi—my Rogue Audio Sphinx—some of the credit. But perhaps the music reached him through DreamWorks, Pixar, and Disney animated movies. Maybe it came from a television commercial, a streaming series, or some silly YouTube video featuring one person shouting at another.

Whatever the source, the music that changed us found its way into his ears.

And it is still finding its way into the ears of his generation.

After all the Record Store Days I’ve attended, one of the most encouraging things I’ve noticed is how many young people show up. They flip through the bins, study the album covers, talk about different pressings, and become excited when they find the record they came looking for.

It makes me genuinely happy to see it.

Maybe passing along our music was never about convincing our children that our generation had better songs. Maybe it was about giving them the opportunity our parents gave us: the chance to hear something, feel something, and decide for themselves that it belonged to them too.

We didn’t just pass down the music.

We passed down the feeling.

Go them. Go us. Go Latchkey!

Thanks for being here!

—Latchkey Boys

"Get a job, you!"    That was the career advice my dad gave me when I was young.   And so I did.  For the next 40 years, as any obedient Latchkey Kid was supposed to.

I can't remember a week without a job since I was 15 years old.

I've done just about everything.

I cut lawns with my dad's Toro mower. Handed out programs at a local racetrack for five bucks a night. Worked in factories. Loaded trucks. Manufactured lawn furniture. Drove forklifts. Sold auto parts. Worked as a bank teller and collection agent. Became a media planner, ad sales manager, entrepreneur, and eventually spent the last 17 years as publisher in a company that I absolutely loved.

Then one day, I became unemployed.  As my headhunter friend Rob B. likes to say: "Time to go bye-bye in the car-car."  Check out his book: 

After decades of working hard and following my own meandering path toward my version of success, it felt like I had been kicked out of the club and had my membership card revoked by the very industry I helped build.

When I realized the lights were going out at my last media gig, I immediately shifted into full Latchkey Mode.

So I got to work.

I updated my resume.

Then updated it again.

I learned LinkedIn strategies.

I learned AI-generated resumes.

Then "somewhat AI" resumes.

I wrote cover letters.

Contacted recruiters.

Called friends.

People I thought were friends.

Former coworkers.

Clients.

Headhunters.

I practiced mindfulness.

After 257 job applications, all that effort produced two Zoom interviews and two ghostings.

Not exactly a great conversion rate.

The cavalry I thought would arrive never showed up.

Many of my former bosses had retired.

Many of the decision-makers from our generation had retired too—some by choice, many not.

My cavalry had become a carousel.

However, there is no sob story here.  I’m still on the hunt and as my friend David K. said…”You gotta have hopium!”

So what am I doing now?

I've gone full mindfulness.

Meditation.

Positive thinking.

Manifesting.

Good old-fashioned networking.

And I fully intend to visit a place called "The Gym" very soon.

Very, very soon.

The truth is, I'm still figuring it out.

Maybe that's the story of Generation X.

We've always adapted.

We've always reinvented ourselves.

We've always found a way forward.

So I'm curious.

What are you doing to keep your sanity?

What helps you stay hopeful?

How are you navigating this stage of life?

This Latchkey Boy would love to know.

And thank you for being here.

— Latchkey Boys