My parents were hippies. Not the granola crunching, tree-hugging kind but the anti-establishment, free love, lots of drugs kind. I spent my first few years in a home decorated with black walls, neon psychedelic peace signs and flowers, and a black light. My mom was at a Led Zeppelin concert on my due date; thank God the doctor made a mistake and she did not give birth for another month. My parents smoked grass with Ian Andersen, and my mom burned her bra at the Reflecting Pool.
My dad was an inch away from getting his balls blown off when he stepped on a land mine in Danang (sp)Vietnam. I am not sure he was ever truly a hippie I think he was attracted to my mom, the anarchy, and definitely the drugs, because after those wild times were over and my parents divorced he went back to being a card-carrying Republican. He never did stop doing the drugs though. I wish I could ask him now where his heart really was, but the abuse of drugs and alcohol finally took him; like so many other tortured souls that experienced Vietnam.
My mom on the other hand was raised by her grandparents, who were Italian immigrants, my great-grandmother being a flapper and part of the first “Women’s Movement”. Mom was always a hippie and wanted to save the world, one twisted soul at a time so she became a psychotherapist. She was part of the first organized High School sit-in. She is still out there protesting in DC against the Iraq War. I think she is secretly happy she has something to protest again. She threatened if George Dubbya won a second term she was moving to Canada; you can still find her in Trenton, NJ smoking kind bud and counseling all the Prozac Nation.
So I ask you dear reader, “How many times were you thrown out of kindergarten?” I suspect most of you will say none; I was thrown out twice. The first time was because my parents told me that no one could make me Pledge Allegiance to the Flag. As you know five year olds take things literally, so I assumed they told me not to Pledge Allegiance. The next day I went to school and refused to stand up, look at a flag, and recite something I did not even understand at the time. Inevitably the teacher did not know how to handle this one, and led me to the principal with me screaming, “But you cannot make me stand up, it’s my right to decide whether I want to or not.”
The second time I was sent home was because I was wearing a little halter dress, you know from the seventies, a little flower print, ties around the neck and the back dipping to ..oh my god…just below the shoulder blades. Mind you I went to public school, they sent me home for being distracting to the boys in class; how sick is that? We were five. When I went home my father was enraged, marched right back to school telling them there is no dress code; it was illegal to enforce one on me, and he was gonna sue their asses. Oh yeah and that they were perverted motherfuckers for even thinking a five year old could be a turn on.
Oh the life of a hippy child; very few boundaries and in my house very little spiritual background; with the exception of my grandma praying the rosary. She remained a catholic all her life even though she was excommunicated for her divorce from a wife beater. My parents were both baptized catholic but became agnostics, because of their disgust of the hypocrisy of the Catholic Church. They did not believe religion should be forced upon an infant who cannot decide for themselves what their spirituality is. To this day I think they had good intentions, but blame them for not exposing me to anything that would help me make that decision; so now I belong to the Church of Dina, I take the best of all philosophies and make it mine, I believe I have a direct connection to the sacred without any help from organized religions and dogmas. Needless to say I did not understand this as a child growing up in a heavily Catholic Italian and South American neighborhood. Other kids would ask why I did not go to church and when I told them I was not baptized they would be amazed. One girl asked, “If I shave your head will there be a 666 there?” Can you believe that!
My mom did not let me play with Barbie dolls; remember she was going to Betty Freidan marches and burning her bra. She did not believe I could relate to a 6 foot tall blond chick with fake tits, and although I hated her for it at the time she was right. I did however, have a Bionic Woman and a Cher doll; pretty good role models if I do say so myself. I guess mom was right some of the time. But here I was again, very different from the other little girls on the block.
All of this and I have not even begun elementary school! As a family we definitely marched to the beat of our own drum. My dad took me and all of my friends to the movies; not to see Star Wars mind you but to see Cheech and Chong’s Nice Dreams. Can you imagine what my friends parents were thinking when their kids went home to tell them about that? Without fail every new friend I made would come to my house get a glimpse of the joints in the ashtray, the bongs on the coffee tables and then never be allowed to hang out with me again. And yes there was a little incident with a kid eating hash brownies by accident.
I wonder where all the other hippies with kids were…must have moved to Humboldt. Oh man did I hate my parents in those days!!
Did I mention that despite all of this I tested at genius level in my IQ tests and was put into gifted and talented classes? Talk about a girl conflicted! Being smart was not a cool thing back then. I already had a hard enough time keeping friends. So I chose to bottle up all my smarts and act like an idiot, which brings me to high school. Circa 1985 you would think oh yes we are beyond the hippie years. Well once a hippie always a hippie, I was just living with my mom at the time and she was still a pot smoker. All I wanted was a Brady Bunch family but it was more like Hair the musical! I gave my mom such a hard time about smoking but meanwhile I was stealing her pot to impress my friends, who now thought it was cool that my mom was a pot smoker.
Please don’t think of my mom as bad for being a pot smoker. She worked her ass off at three jobs to support us. Pot smoking was just her way of de-stressing. It took me until I was almost 30 to come to terms with this. This story is just scratching the surface of my lifetime thus far, and now at 35 I find it all very humorous. Please look forward to more of these, and Part II- the adult years.
My dad was an inch away from getting his balls blown off when he stepped on a land mine in Danang (sp)Vietnam. I am not sure he was ever truly a hippie I think he was attracted to my mom, the anarchy, and definitely the drugs, because after those wild times were over and my parents divorced he went back to being a card-carrying Republican. He never did stop doing the drugs though. I wish I could ask him now where his heart really was, but the abuse of drugs and alcohol finally took him; like so many other tortured souls that experienced Vietnam.
My mom on the other hand was raised by her grandparents, who were Italian immigrants, my great-grandmother being a flapper and part of the first “Women’s Movement”. Mom was always a hippie and wanted to save the world, one twisted soul at a time so she became a psychotherapist. She was part of the first organized High School sit-in. She is still out there protesting in DC against the Iraq War. I think she is secretly happy she has something to protest again. She threatened if George Dubbya won a second term she was moving to Canada; you can still find her in Trenton, NJ smoking kind bud and counseling all the Prozac Nation.
So I ask you dear reader, “How many times were you thrown out of kindergarten?” I suspect most of you will say none; I was thrown out twice. The first time was because my parents told me that no one could make me Pledge Allegiance to the Flag. As you know five year olds take things literally, so I assumed they told me not to Pledge Allegiance. The next day I went to school and refused to stand up, look at a flag, and recite something I did not even understand at the time. Inevitably the teacher did not know how to handle this one, and led me to the principal with me screaming, “But you cannot make me stand up, it’s my right to decide whether I want to or not.”
The second time I was sent home was because I was wearing a little halter dress, you know from the seventies, a little flower print, ties around the neck and the back dipping to ..oh my god…just below the shoulder blades. Mind you I went to public school, they sent me home for being distracting to the boys in class; how sick is that? We were five. When I went home my father was enraged, marched right back to school telling them there is no dress code; it was illegal to enforce one on me, and he was gonna sue their asses. Oh yeah and that they were perverted motherfuckers for even thinking a five year old could be a turn on.
Oh the life of a hippy child; very few boundaries and in my house very little spiritual background; with the exception of my grandma praying the rosary. She remained a catholic all her life even though she was excommunicated for her divorce from a wife beater. My parents were both baptized catholic but became agnostics, because of their disgust of the hypocrisy of the Catholic Church. They did not believe religion should be forced upon an infant who cannot decide for themselves what their spirituality is. To this day I think they had good intentions, but blame them for not exposing me to anything that would help me make that decision; so now I belong to the Church of Dina, I take the best of all philosophies and make it mine, I believe I have a direct connection to the sacred without any help from organized religions and dogmas. Needless to say I did not understand this as a child growing up in a heavily Catholic Italian and South American neighborhood. Other kids would ask why I did not go to church and when I told them I was not baptized they would be amazed. One girl asked, “If I shave your head will there be a 666 there?” Can you believe that!
My mom did not let me play with Barbie dolls; remember she was going to Betty Freidan marches and burning her bra. She did not believe I could relate to a 6 foot tall blond chick with fake tits, and although I hated her for it at the time she was right. I did however, have a Bionic Woman and a Cher doll; pretty good role models if I do say so myself. I guess mom was right some of the time. But here I was again, very different from the other little girls on the block.
All of this and I have not even begun elementary school! As a family we definitely marched to the beat of our own drum. My dad took me and all of my friends to the movies; not to see Star Wars mind you but to see Cheech and Chong’s Nice Dreams. Can you imagine what my friends parents were thinking when their kids went home to tell them about that? Without fail every new friend I made would come to my house get a glimpse of the joints in the ashtray, the bongs on the coffee tables and then never be allowed to hang out with me again. And yes there was a little incident with a kid eating hash brownies by accident.
I wonder where all the other hippies with kids were…must have moved to Humboldt. Oh man did I hate my parents in those days!!
Did I mention that despite all of this I tested at genius level in my IQ tests and was put into gifted and talented classes? Talk about a girl conflicted! Being smart was not a cool thing back then. I already had a hard enough time keeping friends. So I chose to bottle up all my smarts and act like an idiot, which brings me to high school. Circa 1985 you would think oh yes we are beyond the hippie years. Well once a hippie always a hippie, I was just living with my mom at the time and she was still a pot smoker. All I wanted was a Brady Bunch family but it was more like Hair the musical! I gave my mom such a hard time about smoking but meanwhile I was stealing her pot to impress my friends, who now thought it was cool that my mom was a pot smoker.
Please don’t think of my mom as bad for being a pot smoker. She worked her ass off at three jobs to support us. Pot smoking was just her way of de-stressing. It took me until I was almost 30 to come to terms with this. This story is just scratching the surface of my lifetime thus far, and now at 35 I find it all very humorous. Please look forward to more of these, and Part II- the adult years.
Dad in Vietnam...he was probably stoned...
Mom and Dad in the beginning when things were still good! They always had a special place in their hearts for each other even after the divorce.
Me smoking at 3 monthes...no wonder why I can't quit! Only in the 70's would you have seen this!
Our psychedelic house..this is where I spent my formative years.....and people wonder why I am a freak!
10 comments:
Hi Dina! I'm Mary, popping over from SITS. I have been making a practice of visiting the blog of the person who posts on roll call right before me and today that was you!
Wow what an interesting past you had! Well, I grew up in the 70s, but your parents were far more extreme than I was! I guess I stayed more in the middle even through those very liberal years and leaned more to being on the conservative side as I became a new mom and then as I've gotten older. I remember those times well though for sure! :) It was a different day and time back then.
I found you from "My New 30" I so enjoyed this post. How interesting.
I raised my kids during this time, thank God we lived in a small country town and lived a very conserative life, very interesting life you lived.
100th post!! WOOHOO!!! I do believe you and I really started blogging about the same time...where did time go?! LOVE the pics girl!!
Ooh...since I'm a smoker who apparently isn't ready yet to quit...when it's time eat yogurt when the craving hits bc it makes the cigarette NASTY!!! Discovered this one last night!! Of course I CONTEMPLATED tossing the yogurt bc I wanted the smoke!! LOL
Wow,you should write a book!
My parents where hippies to, but after they split when I was 5 they must have kept it on the down low. So my childhood was not as colorful as yours but I did get the name Cinnamon from my hippie parents.
All I can say is Wow!
I am wondering why is this not a memoir- in book form.. I mean...
This is very very interesting. I was not born by that decade yet but I just saw the film "Growing Op" last week and I really can relate to what you are saying here. There is no difference between society and church anyway: hypocrisies are inevitable and that is not a very good thing but what can we do? Society and church are solid institutions and I dont think someone can just let any of these two fall.
You put this story very cleverly. I love it!
You have a very clear point about that second ousting from kindergarten. How could the teachers even think of a five year old as a turn on? Geez!
Loved it.I'm Deeptesh from Woof.Do visit me 2 at www.deepteshpoetry.blogspot.com
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