Peace, Love and Catholic School

When I was a child I thought occasionally about what I wanted to be or do when I grew up.  I considered a lot of different possibilities, but didn’t get too serious about anything, because I was…a child.  You don’t have to make any hard and fast life decisions at the age of 12.

The only thing I knew for sure is that I desperately wanted to be a hippie someday.  I was a child of the 60's, and I was fascinated by the whole hippie lifestyle. It was all so romantic.  Peace, love, flowers and tie-dyed t-shirts, not to mention the anti-war folk music.

  

My hopelessly old-fashioned parents strictly forbid me from getting anywhere near the “scene” even when I became a teenager.  They wouldn't even let me walk the streets of Swissvale after dark or go to Frick Park with my friends, so it wasn't really surprising that they frowned on my attending two-day rock concerts in upstate New York, or even peaceful demonstrations in Point State Park.  They really weren't very groovy.

And they weren't the only ones holding me back.  When I was fighting for the rights of the migrant farm workers, my bosses at Winky's wouldn't let me wear my “Boycott Lettuce” button at work. When I wanted to wear my embroidered bell bottoms to school, the administrators at St. Anselm’s insisted that I wear a –shudder- navy blue uniform jumper.  Talk about squelching my creative expression!

What’s a wannabe radical flower child to do?  I dabbled as best I could under these restrictive conditions.  I listened to the Hair soundtrack until I practically had it memorized, and when I saw the show actually hung out with the Tribe, chatting with Joe Mantegna for a couple of minutes when they invited audience members on stage.  I immersed myself in folk music and protest music– Woody Guthrie, Pete Seeger, and Peter, Paul and Mary, were my favorites- as well as the other music of the day. I passionately supported the rights of all people everywhere, and was especially fond of the concept of world peace.  I was overjoyed when Godspell came out.  I joined the Folk Mass Group at church (we sang a rockin' version of “Our Father”).

And I bided my time.  I had big plans for college.  This would be my chance to embrace the lifestyle.  I envisioned philosophical discussions with my peers, and peaceful demonstrations and a sit-in or two on the lawn of the Dean.  I would be free to be a hippie and convene with like-minded folks.

Alas, a funny thing happened on my way to college.  By the time I got there, the original hippies were now young adults – they were doing things like getting married, having children, and realizing they had to figure out some way to make a living.  The war in Vietnam was over, and Nixon had left office.  And my peers?  No one seemed to want to discuss the bigger issues of the day while at the frat party.  Again, not surprising.  I don't think any of them ever listened to Woody Guthrie.

So, sadly, I saw my dream of being a hippie slip away.  The closest I got was when I attended Grateful Dead concerts as an adult, spending a few hours once a year seeing how it could have been and realizing that the things you regret most in life are those things that you don’t do, not the things you do.

Oh, and I still have those embroidered bell-bottoms.