There are few things that baby boomers like better than nostalgia. That is why a full house was on hand the other night at Tanglewood to listen to an extraordinarily peppy John Fogerty run through his catalog of hits backed by two of his sons.

And there are few things that millennials like better than reality TV. From Survivor to Love Island to (gulp!) The Apprentice, these young adults seem to thrive on seeing people like them placed in awkward situations where every strategy and misstep is there for all to see.

That is why during the pearl-clutching about the revelation that Joe Biden is, indeed, old, an idea is emerging from the depths of Democratic angst that the solution might be what our parents used to enjoy … an open convention.

Now I know that the thought of an actual decision-making body as opposed to a made-for-TV advertisement brings back memories of disasters like Chicago in 1968 or Jimmy Carter trailing after Teddy Kennedy in 1980 desperately trying to shake his hand. Both scenarios helped lead to the enthronement of a new conservative consensus.

But think about it! A parade of candidates would enter the hall where their fundraising and donor promises would matter less than their prized 15 minutes on the podium. There would be demonstrations inside the hall and outside the hall where loyalists in funny hats would proclaim their love and devotion.

Slightly inebriated, gravel-voiced southern governors could answer the roll call of the states with soliloquies like the never-to-be-forgotten words from the 1968 Republican Convention, “Twenty-two Fighting Tigers from Old Mizzou cast their votes for Spiro T. Agnew!” Pure iambic pentameter!

And finally, the chance to vote them off the island. One by one the candidates would rise and fall, until on the umpteenth ballot at 2 a.m on a hot August morning one of them would stand far above the rest, ready to take on Count Flatula in the national election.

There are those who would say that given the experience of another Chicago Convention in 1968, such an exercise would be flat-out political malpractice. They might also say that counting on the president to soldier on to the age of 86 borders on magical thinking, if not outright elder abuse.

I do not know who is right. But as I take account of my rapidly diminishing capacity at age 73, I shudder at the thought of leading the free world 13 years from now! The president has proved that he is so far beyond me in so many ways that any comparison to myself is like comparing a fine cabernet to Boone’s Farm Apple Wine.

Still, we need something to bring us together as we marinate in the decline of our democratic process. And for baby boomers and millennials alike, an open convention might be just the ticket.

David Parrella lives in Buckland.