Every so often, the news hits in a way that stops me cold. Not because of a single headline, but because it sharpens a question I’ve been asking more and more as I get older:
What the hell is going on in the world today?
I find myself asking my wife this while we’re watching the news or scrolling through social media. Or even during my workday when alerts come in from all over the globe. The sheer volume of violence, anger, and moral confusion feels overwhelming. It’s not just tragic—it’s disorienting.
Rob Reiner’s story in particular rattled me recently. A man in his thirties, from an affluent home, harbored such resentment toward his parents that it ended in murder. My first reaction wasn’t political or ideological. It was personal and human.
Why?
Why aren’t you out there building your own life? Why not create your own legacy instead of destroying someone else’s?
That question inevitably leads to another—one I’ll save for a different article. It’s about entitlement and a generation raised to believe access should replace effort.
But this piece isn’t really about that crime. It’s about role models, creativity, and the quiet disappearance of the figures who once shaped how many of us saw the world.
Growing Up Gen X, Wanting to Write
I’m a latchkey kid. A proud Generation Xer. And I knew I wanted to be a writer early—third grade early. I remember the moment with absolute clarity. Something clicked, and from that point forward, everything I absorbed—classes, books, essays, films—was filtered through a single question:
How does this make me a better writer?
Naturally, that curiosity led me to movies. Not just watching them, but studying them. Wondering how they were made. Wondering if I could do it too.
Like so many people, I was inspired by Rob Reiner’s films:
Stand By Me.
Misery.
A Few Good Men.
Later came This Is Spinal Tap, and of course, The Princess Bride—a film that somehow managed to be sincere, satirical, romantic, and timeless all at once.
But what really cemented Reiner’s influence on me wasn’t just his directing. It was Castle Rock Entertainment.
The Castle Rock Dream
When Seinfeld was on the air, I watched every episode to the very end. Not because I had to—but because I wanted to see the logo.
That little Castle Rock lighthouse flashing on screen felt like a beacon.
My thought every single time was the same:
Oh my God… Rob Reiner is behind this.
I wanted that life. I wanted to write for television. I wanted to build something that lasted. I wanted to create stories that could grow into an empire—not for ego, but for legacy.
Castle Rock.
DreamWorks SKG.
That entire era of creator-driven production companies captured my imagination.
And the funny thing is, Rob Reiner had already made an impression on me. This happened long before I knew him as a writer or director. I knew him first as “Meathead” on All in the Family. I’d sit next to my mother, watching this loud, awkward, hyper-white guy. Every episode, he challenged bigotry and defended marginalized voices on mainstream television.
That mattered.
It stayed with me.
A World Losing Its Moral Anchors
In my day job in the security industry, I see humanity at its worst. Alerts come in constantly—violence, corruption, breakdowns in trust. While I’m not someone who blindly backs authority, I understand how difficult it is to walk the straight and narrow in professions like law enforcement.
That said, if you no longer want the responsibility, you don’t get to keep the power. If you don’t want to be a cook, get out of the kitchen. Certain positions of authority should demand greater standards of morality, tolerance, and patience.
But again—I digress.
What troubles me most isn’t just crime. It’s the erosion of moral frameworks. Why does road rage escalate into gunfire? Why does disagreement feel like an existential threat? Why has everything become zero-sum—where someone else having something good feels like a personal loss?
The world is changing.
Movies are changing.
Family structures are changing.
The relationship between young and old is changing.
The real question is: How do we navigate those changes without destroying one another?
Holding On to What Mattered
As a Gen Xer, I’m watching the people who shaped my values slowly disappear from the cultural conversation. Not always through death—sometimes just through irrelevance or erasure.
People like Rob Reiner stood for something: fairness, decency, craft, and the belief that stories could entertain and elevate. They weren’t perfect. But they had standards.
If we don’t reclaim the idea that moral clarity matters—if we abandon fair play, empathy, and restraint—we’re doomed to repeat the worst chapters of history. And there are far too many examples to pretend otherwise.
These are the thoughts that come to me as I get older. As I watch heroes fade. As I realize how few replacements are stepping up with the same depth of character.
I hope I get the chance to meet some of my heroes while they’re still here. Not to idolize them—but to thank them.
For showing a latchkey kid that stories mattered.
That creativity could be a life.
And that decency was never out of style.