Much as it pains me to do so, let me share some background information that will perhaps convince younger readers that I am, after all, just a “crabby old guy.” I only bring up that possibility because, well, it really addresses the point of this particular column.  

When I was growing up in the 1960s, it became quite fashionable among us young “hippie-commie” types to embrace the notion that we should never trust anyone over the age of 30. After all, those people were the ones who had gotten us into that seemingly useless war in Vietnam, and were doing everything they could to silence our righteous voices—not to mention trying to take away our recreational drugs and rain on our “free love” parade. We saw these “adults” as narrow-minded bigots who were intent on spoiling our fun.  

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