The year was 1967, and I was in Grade 11, with one more year to go.

It was the day of the Hippie, the flower child, ‘Make love, not war’, you know, all that stuff. But I was a country boy, never did like the Beatles, thought the ‘flower children’ were a little weird, and never had any inclination to smoke pot, or anything else for that matter. Perhaps some folks would have considered me square and out of touch, but that’s okay, I had my own country friends and I was happy.

I guess the High School I attended had adopted the same outlook on the Hippy Generation as I had. I remember only two people in our school of 1,500 who you could consider to be Hippies. They dressed in strange clothes, had long hair, smoked pot. But the members of the football team took care of them and made them change their ways. That type of behaviour was not tolerated at my High School. I guess we would be considered Rednecks today, but back in 1967 at Centennial Senior High School, in Coquitlam, British Columbia, it was either clean up your act or get your clock cleaned; your choice.

Graduation came in 1968. In 1969 I met my wife-to-be, and in 1972 we were married. Suddenly the clean-cut country boy did an about-face. No, I didn’t become a Hippie, and I never did start smoking pot or even regular cigarettes, but I certainly looked like a Hippie. I grew a large black beard, grew my hair to my shoulders and started to dress, what I would consider to be a little funky. What on earth was I thinking? I still didn’t like the Beatles, still thought Hippies were weird, but I didn’t look ‘square’ anymore. I kept that look for fifteen years. My kid’s didn’t really know what I looked like underneath all the hair, but I wore it like a disguise and felt I could hide behind it in some ways. I guess it was my own strange idea of being my own person, and maybe my way of keeping everyone at a distance, not letting them get too close to the person I really was.

Well, that time has passed. It is now 2005, and yes, I have my beard back again; snowy white this time. No, I’m not trying to hide from anything, just a little nostalgia, I guess, or maybe the novelty of it all. I’m still content to be a country boy; love of country, small towns and all that. I gave up country music, however; what was I thinking? – It all sounds the same. I love Jazz, Blues and Big Band and played trumpet in a jazz band for a while. Life is good.

I still read about the “Sixty’s Generation” like someone from the outside looking in. I can’t really relate to it. It was there when I was, but I wasn’t part of it.