There’s a place in the world for the angry young man
With his working class ties and his radical plans
He refuses to bend, he refuses to crawl,
He’s always at home with his back to the wall.
I like Billy Joel. We come from the same neck of the woods, so I can identify with most of his songs (mostly the older ones). In fact, I used to be the angry young man. Back when I was in my twenties, I was always itching for a confrontation at work. If I felt that I was in the right, I wasn’t about to concede that maybe someone else had a good idea as well. I welcomed any debate just to show people how intelligent I was. I made plenty of enemies, but I didn’t care. I never worried about being stabbed in the back; I figured my proficiency in my profession would be enough to protect me.
Give a moment or two to the angry young man,
With his foot in his mouth and his heart in his hand.
He’s been stabbed in the back, he’s been misunderstood,
It’s a comfort to know his intentions are good.
After working for a while in a large corporation, and seeing equally snide young whippersnappers following in my footsteps, I began to realize that I didn’t have to always have my guard up. I could open my mind, and meet people halfway. Part of this came out of necessity, as I matured, got married, became a parent, and increasingly feared the layoffs that were hitting the defense industry. In other words, I became less of a pain in the ass.
I believe I’ve passed the age of consciousness and righteous rage
I found that just surviving was a noble fight.
I once believed in causes too,
I had my pointless point of view,
And life went on no matter who was wrong or right.
But another thing was starting to happen. I began to play it safe. My opinion could be easily manipulated just to go with the flow. I was selling out. I wasn’t playing to win anymore, just playing not to lose. I was going soft. But inspiration appeared in the form of my teenage son.
And there’s always a place for the angry young man,
With his fist in the air and his head in the sand.
Just spend one day as the parent of a teenager, and you’ll rekindle that old anger. He can be stubborn, argumentative, and a real pain in the ass. In other words, a chip off the old block. I haven’t lost my passion at all; it’s just been passed to the next generation!
So, I thank my teenager for helping me rediscover the fire in my belly. While I don’t pick fights just for the sake of an argument, I don’t fold as easily, either. So, here’s fair warning to whoever gets in my way today:
The Angry Middle-Aged Man is back!
Follow the Angry Barbarian on Twitter: CorpBarbarian
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