Today, Darius and I were sitting down, sharing a meal and chatting—again—about Gen Z. Seems like we end up in this conversation often, but today hit a little different. Most times, these talks spiral into older folks tearing Gen Z apart for everything they do differently. But truth be told? I think we need to cut that out.
I saw a video the other day of a young woman who said, “There’s a reason the older generations don’t get us—we just don’t tolerate that stuff anymore.” And whew, that line hit me like gospel. She wasn’t being rude. She was being honest. These kids aren’t built to just accept what doesn’t sit right with their spirit. And that’s not wrong—it’s powerful.
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Darius and I had a back-and-forth about working for $16 an hour. He looked at me like I was crazy when I said that used to be decent money. And I get it—$16 today ain’t what $16 was twenty years ago. Back then, I could pull a shift at Taco Bell and still afford a few nice things. These days? That same check barely covers gas and groceries. So when I hear Gen Z say, “I’m not working for that,” I can’t even blame them. The math just ain’t mathin’.
Then there’s how quick they’ll walk out of a job. They don’t play when it comes to their dignity. Ask them to mop up throw-up in a gas station bathroom, and they might just clock out for good. One girl said she had a whole life revelation mid-shift because someone told her to clean aisle 3 after a customer got sick. She said, “Yeah, nah. This can’t be my life.” And just like that—she was out. I laughed, but also... I kinda respected it.
It brought back a memory—Lord, I’ll never forget it. Darius threw up in a restaurant in Wisconsin once. In the middle of dinner. He was a kid, of course, but y’all... he cleared that room. My husband and Darius bolted out like the building was on fire, left me standing there with napkins in hand, cleaning up his mess while folks looked on in horror. I just kept thinking, Why am I the only one still here?! But that’s motherhood. You stay. You wipe up the mess. You do what needs to be done—even when it’s gross, even when you’re alone.
We spend so much time debating Gen Z, but Gen Alpha is coming up next—and they ain’t gonna be a carbon copy. They’re growing up in a whole new world, and in ten years, folks might be begging for the “good old Gen Z days.” Darius joked, “Wait till Gen Beta, Gen Gamma, and Gen Delta come through. By the time Gen Delta rolls around, we’ll be long gone!” And he’s probably right.
That whole alphabet talk took me back to my sorority days—had to learn the Greek alphabet front to back. If you messed up, you paid for it! Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta... and after that? Child, don’t even ask me. I survived, though.
My point is: every generation brings something new. Their own voice. Their own rhythm. And whether we understand them or not, they’ll figure it out. We did, didn’t we? So let them breathe, let them learn, and maybe—just maybe—let them teach us something too.
