Iris Spratley made up her mind on the 1^st of February 2018: she was not leaving her home, ever again.  The date was auspicious.  It was her seventieth birthday and if seven decades of living and learning had taught her anything it was to act upon her convictions. 

Her two daughters lived and worked overseas. It would therefore make no difference to them but they still expressed their disapproval when she texted them about her decision.  

                Don’t be ridiculous, Mum!  Everyone needs to get out and about.

                Are you ill?  Should we call a doctor?

                Is it perhaps time to consider a retirement home?

And finally, from her eldest: 

            Are you crazy!

She was not.

The truth was, she was heartily sick of the world outside but very happy with the world inside.  It made absolute sense, therefore, to reject the one in favour of the other.  Most of her friends had died, or lived elsewhere, and she felt no inclination to make new ones.        

Once her mind was made up, everything else fell into place like dominoes.  Groceries, ordered online, were delivered weekly.  Newspapers, her preferred way of receiving the news each morning, arrived on her doorstep in the early hours.  Books winged their way to her within days of ordering, with Kindle her on-screen fall-back.  Postage stamp purchase was no problem.  Her newsagent took care of that, popping stamps, paper and envelopes into her post-box on request.  When she needed to post a letter, she listened for the sound of the postie’s motorbike and her mail was whisked away.  Yoga she continued with the help of a DVD and aerobics Iris maintained with the help of her exercise bike.  Her small garden gave her great pleasure.  She grew her own vegetables, with the local nursery supplying her with seedlings, again delivered on request.  Her aim was to live wisely but well.  Once she had the fundamentals in hand, she made the necessary arrangements for security door and window installation throughout the house.

“Take a tank to get in here now”, observed the fitter as he left. 

Iris smiled and thanked him, admiring the metal structures that shut undesirables out rather than shutting her in.  Her withdrawal from the world was now official and had been, overall, much smoother than she would ever have deemed possible. 

Over the months that followed, the news in the newspapers and on the nightly television reports became increasingly dismal.  The more Iris thought about it, the freer she felt.  She could do nothing about nuclear threats, wars, floods, problems on a global scale, but on the domestic front she avoided road rage, the indifference afforded to older people in banks, shops, and professional institutions, and possible invasion by individuals who sought to support their addictions by robbing those they deemed vulnerable.  These matters were of concern but not a personal threat.  Not now.  It was a time of deep contentment. 

Then, because Iris Spratley had an analytical mind and was given to reflection, she began to look on what she was doing as not simply a personal decision to avoid contact with the difficulties and indignities that beset those in her age group, but as the beginning of her own, private political protest.  What was it that had brought her to this? 

The simple fact was that, as a retiree, she was tired of being regarded as non-productive and a drain on scarce resources.  She was also tired of being told by those younger people who constituted Generation X and the Millennials that she was ‘lucky’ to have been able to purchase her own home while they could not.  Such nonsense!  The reality was that there had been no luck involved, just a great deal of self-denial, determination, and years of very hard work.  At times, she had held down two jobs to provide a home for her children and herself.  Iris’s jaw clenched at the memory.  She, like many other Baby Boomers, had worked hard to pay taxes to provide not only public services and amenities for the community but also a pension when they reached retirement age.  And Iris’s generation had understood the principle of putting money aside for a rainy day.  No eating out, no overseas trips.  That had never been on the agenda.    Her throat tightened at the injustice of it all.  She considered for a moment.  Numbers!  That was what she needed to prove her point, if only to herself.  Reaching for her iPad, she began the process of entering the relevant figures on the calculator before transferring them to an Excel spreadsheet. 

When she had completed her task, she sat back and checked her findings. Yes, it was just as she had thought.  Since she had first begun working in 1966, she had paid more than $1,000,000 in tax to the Australian government.  With inflation and interest, even at a conservative level, the number was well over that.  Taking government allowances into consideration, she was now receiving a pension of approximately $25,000 per annum.  If she lived for another ten years, that would amount to $250,000.  And what about the volunteer work that so many people of pensionable age carried out?  Imagine if all these jobs were left to the younger generations and they were expected to fill them free of charge.  “They would claim, quite rightly, that they were being exploited!” said Iris. Her tone was one of exasperation.  But of course there was no-one to hear her. 

She closed the lid of her laptop and for several weeks put the matter of these injustices to the back of her mind.  After all, life was very pleasant.  She was thoroughly enjoying reading until all hours of the night; Googling research topics that were of particular interest to her; and tending the plants in her garden. The Japanese wisely called this the Third Age, a time of entitlement.  Her reward now was to enjoy what she had worked for in the previous two ages.  Let others discover this blissful existence for themselves.  Iris relaxed and withdrew once more into her preferred world.   

This happy state of affairs might well have continued, had Iris not happened to change television channel one evening to a question and answer programme that followed the 7 o’clock news.  A well-known economist was on the panel.  Questions on the economy were invited.  A young man who could not have been more than twenty years of age took the microphone.  Facing down the camera, his lip curled as he said, “Baby Boomers expect us, the young people of Australia, to support them.  Bludgers!  What I would like to ask them is this:  ‘Are you delusional?’”  

And to Iris’s consternation, the studio audience began to clap.

She had spent months refusing to allow anxiety or anger of any kind into her life but now she found that she had her limits.  She had read recently that the personal essay, a long-time favourite form in America, was becoming popular in the Australian press. It was time, she decided, to write a personal essay to the national newspaper.  In it, she would detail both her findings regarding her financial contribution to the economy and her lived experience.  This would be her response to ill-founded accusations such as those levied by this young man. 

Iris began her work.  To avoid a build-up of the angst it caused her, and the concomitant disturbance to her calm inner life, Iris alternated her writing and research with days of music and yoga practice.  The first task she set herself was to define the cue words or phrases for the subcomponents of society demarcated by age and attitude.  This would, she decided, clarify matters for readers.  At a rough approximation, Baby Boomers, her own cohort, emerged between 1946 and 1965.  They encompassed those who had good economic opportunities and were, post the Vietnam War, optimistic about their own lives and the future of the Western world.  This was the definition generally applied and the following generations blamed this group for not only purchasing houses to live in but also for investing in real estate, therefore putting up prices so homes were out of reach for younger generations.  However, this description only fitted, as Iris herself knew from experience, wealthier patriarchal households.  Women in this era had been paid low salaries and this meant that a large percentage of the population struggled, particularly when, as in her case, they had children and little or no support from a husband who had absented himself.  Not only that, but employers had been reluctant to employ women with children, on the premise that they would be unreliable due to their domestic commitments.  Iris herself had had to grapple with this situation. 

Further research revealed that Generation X, those born roughly between 1966 and 1976, into which classification her own children fell, were sometimes referred to as the ‘lost’ generation.  They were the first ‘latchkey’ kids, exposed to day care and divorce.  The upside for this cohort was that they were the best educated generation in history, but they were left, understandably, with a fear of broken homes and kids growing up without a parent around.  Little wonder, then, that they should feel resentment, but was it fair to aim it all at Baby Boomers?  Given her own experience, Iris thought not. 

This group were then followed by Generation Y, more commonly known as the Millennials, whose ire against the Baby Boomers was reflected in the angry young man Iris had seen on television.  Born between the mid nineteen seventies and nineteen nineties, they were technologically savvy, and had high expectations.  More often than not the progeny of dual income families, they had been brought up believing that the latest fashions, overseas holidays, and new cars were needs, not simply ‘wants’.  Lacking the financial training that encouraged saving and general frugality, the Millennials then sought an explanation for their mounting credit card debt and inability to raise the deposit required for a home loan.  This had erupted in accusations of greed targeting Baby Boomers, who they saw as forcing taxpayers to ‘dig deep’ in order to pay their pensions and as responsible for pushing property prices beyond the reach of younger people.  

Her research complete, Iris took a deep breath and plugged in her yoga DVD.             

It took her almost a week to blend this information with her own, lived experience, and to back it up with the statistics she had compiled, but at last it was done.  A quick covering note to the Editor of the national newspaper and the essay was on its way. 

An email requesting permission to publish arrived in her in-box the following day.    Iris was surprised at the speed of this turn-around but relieved that it allowed her little time to reconsider.  She agreed to the request and hoped that her work would provide a telling argument for any Baby Boomer who happened to read it.  Who knew, it might even encourage a few Generation X and Millennial readers to pause before passing judgment.  Although perhaps not.  Firstly, how many younger people read the newspaper?  Secondly, why would they read something written by someone the former labelled as a contemptible example of the establishment and the latter blamed as the reason behind their own inability to purchase a home?  It was in the lap of the gods, she decided.     

Now it has to be said that nothing had prepared Iris for the reaction to her essay.  The newspaper was fair, printing letters for and against her claims.  Iris took out her scissors and clipped each one neatly as it appeared.  Over the following days the pile grew to such numbers that a file was necessary.  She created one.  She even heard herself quoted on a political programme after the nightly news, accompanied by the comment that, “Intergenerational tension appears to have stretched to breaking point.” 

Despite this, she had not anticipated the knock at her door. 

Looking through the peephole, Iris saw a young woman in the foreground.  Over the woman’s shoulder, she had a clear view of an older man holding a television camera aimed straight at her.  Quickly, she closed the peephole and retreated into her study.  They seemed to take the hint and she thought they had left her property but later in the day, when Iris opened the back door to go into her garden, she was forced to retreat once more when she noted a camera balanced on the fence.  What had she started! 

“We’ll do this one pro bono, Iris”, her lawyer said when she phoned him.  “My mother is a Baby Boomer.  She says your essay lifted both the image and the morale of this group.  My firm is proud to represent you.  We’ll speak to the media.  You won’t be troubled again.”

Iris sighed with relief, thanked him, and picked up her novel. 

The phone rang again.  This time it was the Salvation Army. 

“This is Pauline, Iris.  You’ll remember you spoke to me when you very kindly gave us your car a few months ago.  You said you no longer needed it.”  

“That’s correct,” Iris said.  “Is there a problem?”

“No, no; in fact, since you wrote that article in the newspaper people have been handing in their car keys by the dozen.  They say it’s a relief and that they’re also ready to enjoy the Third Age you talked about.  Of course, we’re very grateful.”   

“But I don’t think it’s gratitude I’m hearing,” said Iris, puzzled. 

“Oh Iris, it’s the volunteers,” the woman said, sounding upset.  “We rely on Baby Boomers to run our stores.  They’ve been resigning.  Lots of them.  Other organisations are reporting the same problem.  They say they won’t be exploited.  We’re not quite sure…”

Iris’s hand flew to her mouth.  “Go on!”

“And there’s the other matter, too.”

“Which is?”

Pauline hurried on: “There are grandparents refusing to look after their grandchildren.  They say they’ve been doing it without question for years, but now they feel they’re being used and they’re angry with the claims that they’re expecting to be supported.”

Iris considered this for a moment.  “And what do you want me to do about it?” she asked.

“You need to leave your house, Iris.”  Pauline’s tone was insistent.  “You need to come out and talk to the media.  You need to tell them.”

“Tell them what?” asked Iris.

“Why, tell them you were wrong, of course.  Say you’re grateful to society for providing you with a pension and that retirees should go back to their volunteer jobs. Then tell the grandparents they must take care of the kids so their children don’t have to pay other people to look after them while their parents work…”

“So you want me, in what I believe is common parlance, to tell Baby Boomers to ‘suck it up’,” Iris interrupted.        

“To do what!” Pauline’s tone expressed her astonishment.

“To continue in their role as society’s punching bag?”

“No, no, that’s not what I…”

“Oh, but it is,” said Iris.  “That’s exactly what you’re saying.  And I can tell you that there is no way in the world that I’m going to be party to such a thing.  Let’s see a little respect, recognition and appreciation, Pauline.  Let’s hear a few thank yous.  For myself, I shall be watching what happens from the world inside.”

The silence that followed conveyed its own message.  For the second time that year, Iris Spratley had made up her mind.