Today is my parents' 36th wedding anniversary.

As a gift, my dad had our jeweler ship him 5 dazzling diamond bracelets and then this morning, he left the boxes and cards by the coffeemaker for my mom—telling her to choose the one she liked best—so that she would see them first thing in the morning.

What I don't understand is how a generation of men like my dad—men with generosity, morals, taste, humor, success, humility and kindness—have given way to a generation of douchebags. Douchebags and asshats who think women are expendable or worthless or albatrosses. Where have the good old days gone. I often think I was born into the wrong generation. Sure, my potty mouth may have gotten me into trouble, but I'd be much more comfortable in the days of garden parties, African-American nannies, drivers and yachts.

Does such romanticism exist for people my age? Not that I've heard of. Christ, my parents will be lucky to live long enough to see me get married, let alone celebrate a substantial anniversary.