I am the bologna in the sandwich generation.

Over half a century separates my children from my parents, and it’s an earth–shattering time period. A generation that lived through the draft, women being fired when they became pregnant, and telephone party lines is trying to communicate with a generation that lives with a gig economy, tourism space travel, and mini-computers in everyone’s pocket.

Stretching to have a foot in each world, I’ve spent years as a generational translator.

Living in Two Different Worlds

What’s a Wii?

A video game player, remember Atari?

Was Poppy in a war?

No, he was in the Navy between wars.

Is sic bad or good?

It depends.

The questions got more difficult as time went on.

Why do they keep trying to find me a boyfriend?

In their world, adults have partners. They love you so they’re trying to help.

Does being vegan mean I can’t use any butter?

Yes.

Why are they freaking out about me going on safari?

Going to Africa without being in the Peace Corps or the military is beyond their understanding.

But we were coming to the end of the era. Instead of the kids on one side and the grownups on the other, we would finally all be on the same side. We all had homes, jobs, relationships, goals. We would all speak the same language:adulthood. Instead of struggling with the sandwich generation, we’d all be slices in the same loaf of bread.

The Growing Divide Between Generations

Boy, was I wrong.

I thought being members of the adult club would bring us together. Instead, the crevice separating the generations expanded into a Grand Canyon–worthy gorge, a gorge with a vertigo–inspiring tightrope stretched between the two sides. And who was teetering back and forth, trying to keep the two sides communicating? That would be me.

Looking back, it was much easier bringing toddlers and middle-aged grandparents together. I couldn’t silence my adult children with, “Just do what I say.” I couldn’t placate my parents with, “It’s just a phase. They’ll grow out of it.”

As a generational translator, for octogenarians and 20/30-somethings, I found myself juggling four balls.

Explanations

By far the most time-consuming job, this involves translating an issue in a way that the particular generation asking about it understands. Home ownership was the star of many conversations with both generations. My children couldn’t understand my parents’ obsession when they would prefer an apartment in walking distance of shops, restaurants, and entertainment to a house in an isolated development outside of town.

My parents couldn’t understand why the children didn’t want to settle down and stop pouring rent money down the drain. I felt I talked endlessly about home ownership as a signal of success, the shrinking supply and rising costs in the housing industry, the wisdom of owning real estate, the increased mobility of the young workforce (changing jobs—and possibly locations—every 2.73 years on average), the luxury of having a place where you can paint walls, plant vegetable gardens, not have to listen to the neighbors through the walls.

I never change minds with my endless prattling. But hopefully, I give them a better understanding of each other.

Compromise

I may not be able to get them all thinking the same way, but sometimes I can bring them a little closer together. There was plenty of that with THE WEDDING. When we were faced with my daughter’s wedding, that communication gorge between the generations seemed to increase with each day. I exhausted myself trying to find compromises that would satisfy everyone (including a few in-laws).

In one version of the ideal wedding there would have been a bridal pantsuit. In another there would have been a snow white gown chosen after an endless session of trying on dresses at a bridal boutique surrounded by a loving family. Both generations considered the other’s version madness. The two generations compromised on a navy blue gown bought online featuring a wedding veil bought from a bridal boutique. So, something for everyone.

Sounding Board

Occasionally, being a generational translator is less about communication and more about venting. When the generations are too far apart I step in to absorb the ranting. I nod, I understand, I soothe. Secretly, my own opinions are hidden. Everyone is happy that at least someone (me) understands their viewpoint. In reality, I’m more focused on preserving a friendly relationship between what could become two warring sides than declaring allegiance to one side.

Often, when we’ll all be getting together, I’ll talk with each generation and wrangle agreements to declare certain issues off limits. Familiar with the “no politics or religion at the dinner table” rule? When you’re wrestling with generational relationships, that rule can expand to include myriad subjects: breastfeeding, salt intake, solo travel plans, home décor. The most unlikely topics can become hot-button issues.

Liar, Liar…

Yes, my parents taught me not to lie. I, in turn, taught my children to be truthful. But me? When circumstances demand it, I can set my pants on fire. I prefer to label it protective lying. Worry is an extreme sport in our family. We can take one small worry nugget and stretch it to encompass everyone around us for days on end. As the repository for both generation’s good and bad news, I’ve learned to pause before sharing the news. I ask myself, “Can other family members do anything about this issue besides just worry?” If the answer is no, I keep it to myself or put a positive spin on it. Over the years I’ve downplayed minor illnesses, career setbacks, or personal problems. Because sometimes there’s nothing to be gained by knowing “the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”

Modeling Better Communication: Can Bologna Improve the Generational Sandwich?

So, do I just have a dysfunctional family?

I turned to Christy Byrne Yates, MS, LEP, author of “Building a Legacy of Love: Thriving in the Sandwich Generation,” for her thoughts on how the adults of three generations could better communicate. It turns out that even when everyone is adults, the baloney in the sandwich—me—doesn’t get to retire from being the arbitrator. Instead, it’s up to us to “model self-reflection and self-awareness by talking about what we’re thinking and doing.”

We can tell both generations about how we personally deal with any communication frustrations, whether it’s by talking to friends, consulting experts, or remembering that opinions offered don’t have to be accepted. This can be helpful to the generation “bread” but it can also help the “baloney” in this sandwich generation. “We can’t forget that in this process we’re growing too, that there is a shifting in our relationships,” Yates said.

Yates encourages all generations to live that Ted Lasso quote: “Be curious, not judgmental.” Generations need to “… not be offended. Be curious. Ask questions,” said Yates. Sometimes it’s as simple as, “Tell me more about why you think that?” But Yates warns against being rude or dismissive. “Be honestly curious.”

As arbitrators, Yates believes we can smooth the way with simple reminders to the generations.

“Advice is a way of loving you.”

“In kindly listening, you give them something in return because they feel validated.”

“Listening is not a contract of: I will do it.”

“They haven’t lived the life you’ve lived.”

I’m the baloney in the sandwich generation. I’m an arbitrator. I’m a generational translator. I relish my complicated role because that means that we’re still communicating.

And that’s something that will always translate throughout the years.