Mind the gap.....

The generation gap is wider than I thought. It appears I'm not as in tune with my offspring as I like to think I am.

The generation gap between me and my boys has always seemed much narrower than the one I experienced growing up. I remember spending much of my teenage years rolling my eyes at my parents' taste in music - Willie Nelson, Andy Williams, The Dubliners - and battling to get my mother to understand that staying out until 10.30pm on a Saturday night was not going to turn me into a trollop or a drug addict.

They were great parents but, in many ways, we were light years apart. Their childhoods were so different to mine, they grew up during a world war, whereas I had a safe, comfortable upbringing. All in all though, they must have done pretty well because I'm able to be extremely open with my kids.

I've always been rather chuffed that the 16-year-old and I share a deep love of music and even have similar tastes with a lot of artists in common on our iPods, although we do part company when it comes to Enter Shikari and Slipknot (him) and Amy Winehouse and Joy Division (me).

Like many teenagers he's got to that stage where he's building an independent life for himself. He now divulges as little information about what he's up to in his social life and who he's doing it with as he feels is necessary, so Facebook does come in mighty handy for keeping up to date with what's going on especially when I'm in another county almost 100 miles away.

This weekend, as usual, he was out with friends at a local gig, seeing bands including a couple his mates play in. His subsequent post on Facebook reassured me that he'd had a good night and was back safely although I was a bit bemused to read that he'd ended up on stage singing with 'five sikh dudes'.

Now, the south west is slowly becoming more multi-cultural and there's a sizeable Polish community but the presence of a Sikh band on stage in a decidedly rural, small market town was definitely something out of the ordinary.

Later, as we were catching up on the phone, I asked him about the gig and launched in about how impressed I was that he was widening his group of friends and what had he learned about Sikh culture and music? I happily prattled on.....Did he know that traditionally Sikh men don't cut their hair but wind it around their heads under their turbans? What was the music like and how had he ended up on stage with them?

There was a long pause then the distinct sound of sniggering. I knew, just knew, he was rolling his eyes. 'No mum, not Sikh as in the religion, sikh as in sick meaning cool, s-i-k-h, it's the new way of spelling it.'

Ah. The generation gap is as wide as it ever was.