"Been There-Done That' was once known as Elder Wisdom.
I vote we get back to the old term.
Been There Done That just seems pushy, and somewhat, well, in-your-face. It puts out negative vibes of "I know more than you and think I'm better because I do."
Even when it is NOT meant that way.
We old codgers were quietly mourning our next generation yesterday. "This younger generation..." We half-centurians looked at each other, half smiling and half heart in throatish as we contemplated the next set of kids who will rule the world. We knew we sounded rather like our parents and grandparents as we bemoaned the apparent lack of work ethics, morals, and future our kids face.
But we also knew we were right to be concerned.
The world is more and more becoming a frankly ugly brew of "Mad Max Beyond the Thunderdome' and 'Matrix Reloaded' with an underlying base of 'A Clockwork Orange' and to be straight forward, things don't look too good.
I've polled my generation-those with children. We agree, our children, by and large, sprang from the womb screaming:
"YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!"
And a great lot of the little goobers would very much, thank-you, like to think they sprang not at all from the womb, but slithered out from under rocks.
That notion seems to satisfactorily (in their minds) absolve them of any responsibility, while somehow imparting a curious sense of entitlement to reaping the rewards of ours.
I used to say that today, kids will kill you with a smile, and then be angry with you for not cleaning up the blood and whipping up a nice breakfast afterwards.
Well, then a kid about a mile from my place woke up for school one morning, and instead of getting on the bus, got a shotgun instead, and tried to kill his parents. So I don't say that anymore.
But I think it.
Especially when these 30 something brats want to move back in, chew through the retirement, equity, pantry/freezer, and all the while proclaim:
"Oh my God mother, will you please?! I have to learn from my own mistakes, please don't preach to me!"
This while toast crumbs (from the low sodium bread you hand bake because the local grocery doesn't have it, but your doctor insists you better have instead of the regular stuff or you will drop dead at work) deck your child's face, bathrobe front, the floor-which you will clean because "Oh my God mother, will you get off me?! I can't handle this, you always critize me!" as he/she stomps back to their cosy little parentally provided cave after you have asked him/her to tidy up after their toast.
And PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE-do not tell them how to live their life-OK?
'Cause, you know, what could you possibly know about anything important?