It's Hell to be an old Hippie! Back in the day we did not need anyone to tell us what we should think, what we should worship, where we can smoke, nor did we ever have to worry about being politically correct. Since the four days of peace, love, and understanding that was the Woodstock Nation there has been no peace and very little understanding and I am not feeling the love. The people in charge have created the "Global Economy" to feed the need for greed. The class system is alive and well in America and our leaders demand blind obedience, if you do not agree with them you are not a good American. We now have the "Patriot Act" to short curuit the rights our forefathers fought so bravely to attain. The lies are too many to even list, they lie about the wars, the social security system, 911, the health care system, taxes, oil, pollution, our food, and have strenghend the controls over every asspect of daily living.
The world is big on labels we can no longer just be people we have to be , left, right, republican, democrat, liberal, conservative, christian , muslum, or any number of tags we will soon be wearing on our personnal bar codes. For the last twenty-five years the needs and wants of my family caused me to sell out, become one of the mindless throng, chasing the American Dream. My retirement is nearly at hand and I ponder things I could have or should done differently. I was part of a good fight to make a difference thirty years ago, to stop an unjust war, to get the world to care for our planet and each other, and change the way things are done. That same protest spirit is going in America again it is time to get off my stump and join in. The best place for me to start is with myself. It is time to simplify my life, trim the fat, and get mobile again.
Just when did my life get so cluttered? It started very slowly and snuck right up on me about the time I bought my first house. At that point I still dreamed of a better world, but that morgage became a circular line in the sand, that soon became a fence. It dictated to me that now I have a stake to protect, and I began to acclumulate material things, cars, trucks, boats, motorcycles, tractors, more land, bigger house, a third piece of land, and it went on and on. The effect of all this that I spent twenty-five years in a job that I never really liked and compelled myself to do things that I am not all that proud of. Some of those things I even got awards for.
OK Ok at this point I am going to climb down off my soap box, that all is fairly depressing and not at all in tune with who I really am. Who am I? Fifty-five year old white male, married at nineteen to his sweetheart (and still am), father of two sons, proud grandfather of two, horse and dog owner. Twenty some months away from retiring from a job with the state, small business owner, and an accidental farmer.
I grew up on a farm and could not wait to get away. Hated the life, longed for action, and was heavily influenced by the music of the 60's. My way out or so I thought was to join the Navy and see the world. The Navy did not want me for physical reasons so being a seventeen year old high school graduate what else was there for me to do? Buy a motorcycle, smoke some weed, grow my hair long, travel, and chase girls. I met my future bride just that way, she thought I was such a rebel and her parents hated me so I must be the man for her. For the record her parents love me and have for years. Of the five kids in her family we are the only ones who stayed married. Free Love! What a concept! Pregnant! Holy Shit I'm Fucked now! Thank God! That turned out to be the best thing that could have happened. Remember the Navy? Well whatever infirmary kept me out sure was not working the same on the Army as they needed cannon fodder for a little war they were waging in South East Asia. I got one of the last paternity deferments issued because of a beautiful shotgun wedding. So here we are a nineteen year old free spirited hippie male and his blushing, very pregnant, tie dyed, seventeen year old beautiful bride. Reality check! My mother, "Get a job you bum, you have a family to feed."
Her mother, " I knew that bastard was no good, but the baby will have a name, then I will have him killed."
My father, he was laughing so hard I am not sure what he said but boy he loved my bride and the two of them became fast friends for life. Any time I did something she did not like, my dad was the go to guy.
Her father, this man scared the shit out of me for years. He was a mountain of a man who worked in slaughter houses all his life. He could put half a cow on his shoulder and walk around with it. Big booming voice and big mugs of beer with a shot of whiskey. He turns out to be a nice guy.
I am going to post this and continue the story later.............................................