I was born in the wrong generation. My parents suggested as much when I blasted Frank Sinatra from my stereo at home over winter break. It’s difficult to admit without feeling lost in 2007, but it’s the truth. What can I say? It’s not my fault that today’s music can’t live up to the sounds of generations past. I would rather hear Ella Fitzgerald’s irresistible renditions of Gershwin tunes than Jay-Z’s “Big Pimpin.” However, my problem extends beyond music.

I’m a traditionalist. My idea of the good life is a humble country ranch and a loving family to share it with. It’s only sensible, then, that I cringe when I see things like that promiscuity bonanza we like to call “Safer Sex Night.” Watching porn in a sea of near-naked, sweaty bodies? This is the best we can do? Surely there are nobler pursuits in life — though you won’t hear Jay-Z rap about them.

These 21st century mores are most troubling in a different respect. Our irresponsibility and selfishness supplanted the worthier values of our grandparents. The effects of this shift rebound to our detriment.

Consider the war we’re engaged in today. Chances are you haven’t thought much about Iraq or Afghanistan in a while. If you have, it’s been in passing — a headline catches your eye, or a sound-bite from some spineless senator grabs your attention. The sad truth is that our lives have changed so little since peacetime. While the brave men and women of the military (and their families back home) have given themselves dutifully, most of us have gone on living as if America were without enemies. I’m as guilty of this sin as the next person, and I’m ashamed of it.

Contrast this behavior with the conduct of the World War II generation and you’ll see that our self-absorption is unmistakable. Recently perusing issues of National Geographic printed between 1941 and 1945 in Mudd, I could only admire the way those Americans came together in the struggle against Hitler and the fascists. Not everyone joined the Armed Forces, of course, but nearly all Americans played some role. Our grandparents sacrificed much in response to the call of their country because it was the right thing to do, not because some politician convinced them, and not because they sought favor.

Somewhere along the line, things changed. We now have journalists itching to demoralize our troops, and a majority of dastardly Democrats in the Senate who would bolster our enemies with assurances that, soon enough, America will lose resolve. We seek fulfillment in casual sex and drugs, and we hold Angelina and Brad in higher regard than we do Uncle Sam. How pitiful.

All of this is not to say that no good has come since the forties and fifties. On the contrary, recent generations made remarkable advances that I’d never want to give up. They secured civil rights for black Americans. And they made women’s dreams, no matter how lofty, as attainable as those of men. The provision of equal justice is crucial, and I don’t mean to sound ungrateful for all that’s been achieved in this arena. Nonetheless, these advances were matched by a shocking erosion of character during the hippie era.

Yes, I think I’d have been more comfortable in the forties. If some inventive Obie fashions a time machine, do let me know. In the meantime, I take solace in the knowledge that there are other traditionalists out there — even young ones like me. O.K., perhaps not many at Oberlin, but they’re out there somewhere. With any luck we’ll bring back to America the best of what our grandparents had to offer.