August 2, 2008
Woodstock, NB
I never went to Woodstock. The real one, I mean. Not here in Canada. I was in love by then, and we were too busy with our own world. But my friends Eileen and Fred went, and they’re in the movie, she topless, sitting on the back of a truck. Woodstock, by the way, was produced by three guys, one of whom was my college friend Artie Kornfeld. In high school, I was too young for Alan Freed. Or so my parents said, but my friend Nina got to go to one of his shows in Brooklyn. She sat on her boyfriend’s shoulders. How cool was that. I never was in a protest march, never went to Alabama, never knew any Weathermen or Black Panthers, never conspired to make things change, but I was on Robert Kennedy’s list because I joined the ADA, Americans for Democratic Action, in college. I knew things were happening, and I wanted to be a part of it. But, like most of my generation, I was in the audience when it all went down. I’m sorry I don’t have better credentials for that important time. I’d like to be an old lady with a hippie headband regaling her grandchildren with stories of how she stopped a bad war, helped make the world fairer for people of color, or, for that matter, was the girl with no shirt on at the music event of the century.
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Yeah, but your path, like lots of your peers was one of implementing those changes in lots of little ways. Just as important. Afterall, change makers need an audience to buy into their ideas and rebel at the coalface. That change manifested in lots of little ways. Like, the Betty’s who bring their kids up to be more tolerant of others, open minded, curious, more giving without strings attached, more aware. The Betty’s who can adapt to different roles when needs must. And your speciality is giving, on lots of levels. You are an openly Work- in- Progress Ambassador for humans and for your family and the good bits about your country …and to me, that’s just as cool as a bare breasted chick at Woodstock listening to someone else play music…. or a protest march in Alabama. You make your own music and lotsa people are listening. You too, have an audience.
But I do hear ya. It’s never too late. So, rip your shirt off and get a photo of you hanging out the bus window in front of the Woodstock road sign, preferably with John painting PEACE SISTER across yer chest. Then you can flash the evidence to your grandchildren and tell them about the time you and Pops sold up everything you owned and hit the road. Don’t forget the headband.
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