Rock on
Spotted in the airport recently, a 60ish guy -- both in age and generation, I presume -- sporting a tie-dyed T-shirt, its faded whirls of color and ragged neckline suggesting repeated wearings and washings. He strolled through the terminal, graying pony tail swaying, worn Birkenstocks flip-flopping, oblivious, it seemed, to the passage of time, past and present. Maybe he was just too tuned in to the music on his iPod, probably Jimi Hendrix or Janis Joplin, or some other relic rocker. A 1960s throwback to the summer of peace and love, I thought, one of the last remains from the Age of Aquarius, recalled this weekend with the 40th anniversary of Woodstock. No comments yet. You can be the first!
Yet though I could relate to the psychedelic hues, the now silver-streaked hairstyle, and the Birks, true be told, on August 15, 1969, I was nowhere near Yasgur’s Farm and its three day celebration of raucous rock ‘n roll and youthful exuberance. Nah, I was just returned from my honeymoon, settling into a new apartment and most likely writing and re-writing lesson plans for my first day of school as a new teacher.
And yet, even as I began my adult life on a decidedly more conventional path, I could not have escaped -- nor would I have wanted to -- the maelstrom of revolutionary change that whorled through the 1960s. Civil rights, political protest, women’s liberation, sexual freedom, you name it, the world was a’ changin -- and has never been the same since. It was an exhilarating time.
The ensuing decades have seen the pendulum swing, moderating the movement for cataclysmic change with more conservative impulses, and yet, the dynamism of those years, the intense energy, the promise, the hope that we can make the world a better place, continues to live on, resonating for me, as I moved through my adult life, with a decidedly Jewish beat.
Peace and love, you bet.
Rock on.
14 Aug, 2009 >