Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Too Young to be a Hippie

Is it a message being sent when you're told more than by one? Or just dumb gone out of control?

Sticks & Stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me.

This saying is what those of us who suffered unmerciful teasing developed into a shield creating the mental image of water flowing off a duck's back. It was the mantra of the outcasts. It was the seed to attitudes and perceptions that become core beliefs about self, about peers, about authority, about community and about society.

Recently, and by more than one person I've been called a hippie.

The first time I just blew it off. I'm not old enough to be a hippie. I was born and was a child in the 1960s. My coming of age story is 1980. So we're not talking, even close, to being a hippie.

My older cousins were the right age had they taken the drunken, druggy way of beach bum life, they could be called hippies. But they didn't. I did see hippies in the community, they were always dirty. That's my memory of hippie.

Since I am none of the hippie things, not a bum, not a drunk, I'm baffled by the comment.

But it's happen again. I was told "You're a hippie." So I asked, what do you mean by that? The woman giggled, obviously embarassed and walked away.

So I thought, is the deodorant not working today? I went to a friend and said, "Sniff me."


"Just sniff me, do I stink?"

"No, you smell like Gardenias."

"That's the South of France soap I'm using."

"Why did I just sniff you?"

"Because, **** just called me a hippie"

"She, what?"

"Called me a hippie"

"Why did she say that?"

"I don't know. I asked her. She giggled, blushed and walked away."

"Well, that's weird."

"That's good. I thought maybe my deodorant had failed me."


Still I'm puzzled.

Evidence that I'm not a hippie...

I'm too young. I love and drink Starbucks, regularly. I don't camp. I must have functional plumbing in my house. I love shopping. I love my new car. Illegal drugs are out of the question. I don't hand out flowers at the airport. I don't think Charlie Manson is misunderstood. I work hard. I'm not a flake.

I don't take stupid comments seriously, I just wonder, how did they get there? And it makes for a moment of self-reflection, smell-check and blog material.

I am that which Thou hast made.


Catherine said...

ROFL!!!!!.....you hippie!! ;-)

Catherine said...

PS. What's your new car?? Email me!