Both my parents were hippies. They took part in the peace movement, smoked a little wacky weed, and partied in the heart of rock and roll – Woodstock. Mom likes to tell me that I was conceived there and if you do the math, it’s possible, but from what I hear, they were traveling around the country sowing their seeds all over the place, so it could have happened in Butt, Montana also, who knows.
I once asked my parents how they ended up in Woodstock and mom told me that they had heard there was going to be a three day concert on a dairy farm in Bethel, New York, since all their friends were going, they too made the journey. They spent one week hitch hiking across America. Dad will add that they almost didn’t make it because people didn’t want to stop and give two long haired, bell bottomed kids rides.
When they got there, Richie Havens was already playing High Flyin Bird and people were running around shouting I want a new drug. It was cold, raining, muddy and crowded, but to this day, both say aside from the birth of my brother and I, that it was the best experience that they ever encountered.
When you ask dad for specifics, he is fond of telling about seeing The Who perform Tommy. He always follows it with mentioning that he loved Jimi Hendrix belting out Purple Haze. He says if this is it, and he doesn’t ever get to another concert he will be satisfied, because truth be told, nothing will ever repeat the thrill that Woodstock was.
He’ll continue by telling it was the power of love that brought about 500,000 people together to hear some of the best musicians ever. At this time, both parents, as if cued, will say I was the resulted of their “Groovin” to the music. They always loving add “now we’re stuck with you, and it’s Woodstock’s fault”.
Yes, mom and dad love to talk about those three days. Both still show signs of their past. Mom is still very fond of long colorful bead and tired skirts. Dad no longer wears sandals, but his thinning hair has not seen a pair of scissors in more than twenty years, and he has quite a collection of tie dyed tee shirts. I’ve often wondered if both are trying to recapture yesterday’s memories, and since they are happy ones, that’s fine with me. I love to hear them tell me all about the concert and there is a part of me that wishes I could have been there too. I hope someday I can be part of something that instills such wonderful memories. Thus far, the only thing I will be able to tell my children about is 9/11 and wars, and that is not the kind of legacy I want to leave my children.