Please don’t fire me because my answer is soooo long. I wrote this over several weeks and each time I went back I found another detail that begged to be included. When I saw this question I thought, “Have I got a story for you.” As it happens I still have a journal and poetry I wrote in my hippie years. I started reading through and had forgotten all the Gray indiana pacers haliburton cityscape shirt it is in the first place but angst I had for society and the status quo. I Actually wrote the words “I want to change the world.” I graduated from a tiny high school in 1969 and lived the Vietnam war. The “draft” was in place and boys with low numbers were sent to war immediately after graduation. I was deeply troubled about the war and naively made a journal entry in dark red ink, “The symbol of the new generation is flowers and love. Other people say we can’t fight bombs with flowers, but who would bomb a flower?” It’s a real gas reading that. I was concerned by racism, starvation in Biafra and it seems mainly wanted to find the utopian dream. My reading consisted of Ralph Waldo Emerson, Walt Whitman, and Bob Dylan songs. I signed everything “Peace be with you,” and the first question when I met a new person was, “what sign are you?”
But then, I found sex, drugs and rock n roll. I’ve always been a rebel at heart and the Gray indiana pacers haliburton cityscape shirt it is in the first place but hippie era gave me the excuse I needed to spread my wings and fry some feathers. My home life was normal, and I had no reason to mutiny everything my parents taught, except that was what everyone else was doing. (the opposite of rebellion.) I was at the end of the era and believed I need to do all the hippie shit, fast. The first thing I did after I got myself kicked out of Business School was get me a hippie boyfriend. He was being paid unemployment benefits which meant he had a weekly income. That was very special. So special he could afford to buy an old school bus and even fix it up, so it would run. (I still remember it was a flathead 6, whatever that means) He was in charge of the running part and I was the beautifier. The old bus was blue, and my nonconformist arrogance decided naming it “Blue Motherfucker” was the proper name for a running hippie bus. The thing is, I decided I should get big stencils and paint the name in 10” tall black lettering. We got away with it parked on Agate St. near the University of Oregon, but I wanted to show off to my parents in the little bedroom community a few miles away.
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