My dad watched me try to address an envelope for twenty minutes before realizing I’d never done it before. “How do you not know this?” he asked, genuinely baffled. The answer was simple: nobody taught me because everyone assumed someone else already had.

Boomers grew up when certain skills were ambient—absorbed through repetition, necessity, and fewer alternatives. They didn’t withhold this knowledge. They just never imagined a world where you could reach adulthood without knowing how to write a check or read a paper map.

1. Making small talk with strangers

Boomers can chat with anyone about nothing—weather, traffic, the price of lettuce. They learned this at grocery stores, bank lines, waiting rooms before phones existed to save you from eye contact.

Their kids? We panic in elevators. We wear earbuds like armor. When forced to small talk, we sound like aliens attempting Earth customs. Boomers never taught this because how do you teach breathing? You just did it, everywhere, constantly.

2. Writing thank-you notes that sound human

“Thank you for the gift. I like it very much. It was very nice.” Every millennial thank-you note reads like proof of life. Meanwhile, Boomers craft three paragraphs about a candle.

They absorbed the formula—acknowledge, elaborate, future connection—watching their mothers at kitchen tables, writing for every occasion. They never explained that “Thanks for the cash” wasn’t sufficient because surely everyone knew? The ritual was everywhere. Except it wasn’t.

3. Calling businesses to ask questions

Young adults will drive across town to check store hours rather than call. The thought of phoning to ask “Do you have this in stock?” feels like volunteering for jury duty.

Boomers called everyone. The pizza place, the bank, that store from 1987. No anxiety, no scripts, just “Quick question.” They never taught this because phone anxiety didn’t exist as a concept. The phone was a tool, not a torture device.

4. Maintaining things before they break

Boomers check oil, clean gutters, replace filters. Not because they’re special—because everyone did. Saturday morning choreography.

Their kids wait for smoke, strange noises, or complete failure. Preventive maintenance feels like fortune telling. Nobody explained that cars need oil changes at specific intervals because surely you’d notice the windshield sticker? Except we didn’t know what that sticker meant. We thought it was administrative debris, like mattress tags.

5. Reading analog clocks instantly

Boomers see clock hands and know the time. Millennials see a geometry problem. “Big hand on 7, little hand near 2… so… 1:35?”

Analog clocks were wallpaper—classrooms, kitchens, wrists. You learned by existing near them. Now they’re decorative fossils. Schools report many students can’t read them efficiently. Boomers never thought to teach this. Like teaching someone to see color—either you could or… wait, you couldn’t?

6. Knowing your neighbors’ names

Boomers know who lives three houses down, their kids’ names, their dog’s anxiety medication. They didn’t network—they existed in proximity until knowledge accumulated.

Ask millennials about neighbors: “Tall Guy? Woman With Packages?” We’ve lived beside people for years without learning names. Boomers never explained how because it wasn’t done—it happened. You borrowed sugar, returned mail, existed in community. The script wrote itself through repetition we never experienced.

7. Fixing things without YouTube

Toilet running? Boomers jiggle the handle, adjust the chain, replace the flapper. No tutorial needed. They learned by watching, by necessity, by having no alternative.

Their kids watch seventeen videos before touching anything. Just figuring it out feels reckless. DIY culture shifted from hands-on learning to tutorial dependency. Boomers didn’t teach troubleshooting because everyone troubleshot. That was just Tuesday.

Final thoughts

This isn’t about blame. Boomers didn’t maliciously withhold information—they couldn’t imagine these skills weren’t universal. Like fish describing water, they couldn’t see what surrounded them.

The gap reveals how quickly assumed knowledge vanishes. One generation’s common sense becomes another’s lost art. Those basic skills seemed too obvious to teach, too fundamental to explain.

Maybe nothing’s too basic to teach. Every generation assumes their normal is everyone’s normal—until someone tries to mail a letter and doesn’t know where the stamp goes.