As if the graying hair, the new wrinkles and the aching joints aren't enough, there is this evidence that I am getting older: Concern about where the next generation is headed. Seems I am becoming tsk-tskier by the day.
 
I realize that young adult celebrities aren't necessarily representative of their peers -- if they were, they wouldn't be called celebrities -- but that may be in assets only.  In other words, P. Diddy undoubtedly has a lot more than the average 30-something or 20-something or, for that matter, any-something. What I wonder is whether he wants more.
 
Yes -- and this is the most telling thing -- it's values that have me sweating. Specifically, I'm worried that the generation behind me is too materialistic; too hung up on having things that can be sized up and shown off; too excessive and indulgent; too into what they wear, drive and live in and not enough into the quality of their lives or, as Dr. King put it, the content of their character.
 
Please don't mistake this for a sermon on sacrifice or even modesty. Into each life a little bling should fall. But is some of this celebration of the high life beginning to creep into the worshipful? Or is it just my dotage showing?
 
Much has changed, no doubt, since the decades when I was in my 20s and 30s. Back then, the only young black celebrity was the occasional movie star, R&B group or athlete.  We all knew they made a lot of money, at least relatively speaking, but we weren't exposed to their extravagances, save for the occasional profile in Ebony. There was no MTV or BET or VH1 to smother us with their images.
 
To wit, most of us assumed we were destined for average life and, I believe, most of us were content to dream about the house and the car and the clothes, proud and satisfied to have a house, a car and something decent to put on our backs. Oversized, diamond-encrusted crosses and Cristal dripping from Waterford goblets? Never crossed our minds.
 
Of course, I'm happy to see that so many of our young folks can now afford such sweet luxury.  I only wish they were less ostentatious about it. I wish they wouldn't shove it in other people's faces so much, as if having those things is what makes you special.
 
They may not mean it thus, but the inevitable message is that the accumulation of expensive things somehow increases the owner's worth. Not his or her net worth as measured on a financial disclosure sheet -- for that, it certainly counts -- but worth on the human scale.  As we all know, that scale doesn't give a damn what you've got in the garage.
 
Or do we all know that? I'm not so sure we're all on that page anymore, even though black Americans have put personal integrity above personal property since time immemorial.  It no longer seems to matter how one accumulates wealth -- i.e., the soul's directions -- as much as it does the level of that wealth.  If that's what's going on, we're in trouble.
 
In my world, many of the indices used to delineate the have's and have-nots -- figures I often use in this column to decry socio-economic disparities -- would be rendered moot.  The larger society could not deny us and exclude us because we would not want in to begin with.  They could keep the cavernous homes that are more than their occupants need in the first place.  They could keep the fancy, pricey cars.  They could keep all that bling hanging from their necks and wrists.  Let them get overwhelmbed by false competitions, working themselves ragged, and never feeling the satisfaction of "enough." 
 
In my world, having what you need -- and maybe a little extra -- would be sufficient in the tangibles department.  The real riches would come in having a house full of honest, compassionate, intelligent, tolerant people with a sense of humor and a honor about them. 
 
No tax man could put a lien on it. No arsonist could burn it down. No thief could take it. Now, that's what you call priceless.
 
Surely I must be getting all worked up over nothing.  Surely most of the younger generation are true to their heritage, which knows that material things have their place, but it's not a very important one, not really.
 
Talk to me, children. Reassure me that you understand it don't mean a thing if you only have bling.