The Hippy Within

            Yesterday was Purim, and for a costume, I wore a hippy outfit. Not my original bell bottoms, which I must have given away decades ago, but a pretty good facsimile if I say so myself.  Along with the professional athletes, princesses, witches and aliens, there was a smattering of hippies. But I’m pretty sure all the other hippies – and their parents – were born after 1970.  So I think I was the only one who felt like the real thing.

            It’s kind of an oxymoron, isn’t it, to dress in costume – as your real self?

            Now don’t jump to any conclusions. I’m not saying that I was a pothead or lived on a commune or followed the Grateful Dead from concert to concert. No, this hippy went to college and got good grades and didn’t take many steps on the wild side.

            So what makes me still feel like a hippy?

            I still don’t trust authority figures.  Okay, so now I trust a lot more people over 30, but certainly not everyone. I never feel all that surprised when I hear that a politician has done something despicable. Isn’t that what they do?

            I’m uncomfortable with convention or pretension. Don’t tell me that’s the way it’s always been done.  And please, don’t try to impress me with your money or knowledge or airs.  

            And finally I still love the music and the style.  I’m talking about the natural look: long hair, blue jeans, sandals, peasant tops, no make-up.  You have to remember that we were rebelling against hair that was teased and lacquered until it could withstand a 75-mph gale wind. Not to mention girdles and white gloves and little black dresses. It was great to let it all hang out.

            Still it’s not all that easy to head off to school in bellbottoms with little flowers stuck on them. So before I ventured out of the house, I insisted my husband look up from his newspaper.

            “How do I look?” I asked.       
            “You look just like you used to when I first met you,” he said.
            Oh, one more thing about hippies:  they’re forever young. Or at least young at heart.