By Jessica Solomon
In 2008, I got a new neighbor—and my life took a turn.
At the time, I was in a dark place. Then I met Jay, who would become my brother from another mother. Over late-night laughs, shared meals, and “five-star to dive bar” adventures, he softened my cold, hardened heart.
Meeting Emma
That friendship led me to Emma, his mother. I’ll never forget our introduction.
I was struggling with a dead car battery when she appeared: a glamorous grandma in a bikini top and sarong, headed to the pool like she’d just walked out of a tropical beauty pageant. She asked if I needed help and casually mentioned her son, Jason.
Wait—Jason? My neighbor Jay was a Jason? First thought: never calling him that. Second thought: text Jay immediately about how attractive his mom was. His reply: Yeah, I know. I’ve been hearing that since middle school.
Enter Barry
And then there was Barry.
Barry was… a character. He is Jay’s Step-Dad. Think of every sitcom dad who hoards hotel toiletries and takes shortcuts that make no sense—that’s Barry. Classic story: Emma goes away, leaving Barry to feed Jay and his two stepbrothers. Barry rolls up to Arby’s, hands them $100, and buys 100 hoagies. He tosses them in the freezer: “If you’re hungry, heat one in the microwave.” Straight out of a bad 80s infomercial.
Emma, though, was warm. When my mom passed in 2018, the only condolence card I received came from her. She wrote, “I’ll be your mom now.” That meant everything.
Joy, Loss, and Loyalty
Over the years, I celebrated birthdays, vacations, and milestones with Jay’s family. I saw Emma’s light and Barry’s stubbornness. Jay, ever the dutiful Gen X son, often drove up to help—fixing things, cleaning the garage, and battling Barry’s hoarding tendencies.
Barry’s mother had lived through the Great Depression, saving everything. That conditioning passed to Barry, and he never shook it. What started as “resourceful” became a fortress of junk.
The Turning Point
Then Jay started noticing Emma repeating herself. On a trip to Scotland, he texted me videos of her evening confusion. It was classic sundowning—signs of dementia. Jay, with grace and humor, managed it. But he knew life had changed forever.
Barry? Absent. Controlling when he did weigh in. Case in point: Jay buys Emma a brand-new washer and dryer. Barry refuses to let it in the house. Emma has to reject the delivery.
Jay’s Strength
And here’s why I admire Jay. He’s humble, hilarious, and fiercely loyal—but when pushed, he draws boundaries. His message to Barry was simple:
“You know I’ve been dealing with your negative energy most of my life, and I don’t need you in it anymore.”
That’s not just a line—it’s a Gen X manifesto.
The Bigger Picture
Our generation grew up as latchkey kids, raised on MTV and microwave dinners. We learned resilience, independence, and a deep allergy to B.S. And now, we’re the ones caring for frail parents—sometimes beloved, sometimes toxic.
No one prepared us for this. People are living into their 90s and beyond. And all those not-so-nice parents and step-parents who clung to control? The reckoning has arrived.
So here’s the message, with all the blunt honesty Gen X is famous for:
Go pound sand, Big Barry.
