Receding Out Of Sight

I've become convinced lately that I was born and grew up during America's very best years, between 1939, when America was finally coming out of the Great Depression and about to enter WWII, and the Seventies, when America began to fall apart.  I'm sure other generations have felt and will feel the same way about their time in the sun; even my daughter, as she commutes in an armored SUV between her fortified apartment complex and her office in the secure zone -- whatever color it is that year -- may have the feeling that her America is the best America that ever was.  But I think of the war years, the post-war boom of the Fifties and Sixties, and the rise and fall of the Counter Culture as a rush to the top of the world, followed by a slow decline, a breaking up and drifting apart that has literally torn holes in the fabric of our society. I'm glad the generation that came before mine held America together as long as they did, and sad that my own generation let go of her hand.