Saint Dirty Face

By Saint Dirty Face™

You ever notice how every generation after us turned our childhood into a psychological case study?

“Latchkey kids. Early exposure to independence. Potential emotional ramifications…”

Yeah, okay, Karen.

We just called it life.

I wasn’t sitting there at 8 years old contemplating attachment theory—I was heating up a burrito, watching cartoons, and knowing damn well Mom and Dad were out busting their asses so the lights stayed on. That wasn’t trauma. That was Tuesday.

Gen X didn’t freak out about being alone.

We understood the assignment:

Parents gotta work? Cool. House empty? Even better. Microwave? My throne. Front door key on a shoelace necklace? Badge of honor.

We didn’t need a village.

We were the village.

Just smaller, unsupervised, and fueled by sugary cereal.

But here’s the twist—some kids did feel lonely. Others felt empowered.

That’s the magic of our generation:

we didn’t all experience it the same, but we all survived it anyway.

Me? I never had an issue being alone.

I knew my parents were out there doing what they had to do.

That was love—Gen X style.

Not coddling.

Not bubble-wrapping.

Just reality.

And that reality forged us into the most self-reliant, least-whiny bunch of humans to ever roam Earth.

We grew up with keys around our necks and chips on our shoulders—and somehow turned out just fine.

Well… mostly.

We’ve got a little dark humor, a little edge, and the wisdom to know exactly when to say:

“Stay dirty. Stay human. Stay Gen X.”

— Saint Dirty Face™

Cracked halo. Full attitude. Still knows how to microwave a burrito like a champ.