Happy In Bag

Friday, October 13, 2006

My Place On the Island of Misfit Toys

I cringe when I’m called a hippie. Nothing against hippies, but I don’t include myself among their numbers.

It’s true that I go months between haircuts and that I give less thought to my clothes than to the moon cycle. I’m indifferent to the material possessions that many people prize, unless it’s a new Bob Dylan CD or a draft beer at a baseball game. And while I’m not an especially noble person, my sporadic acts of true Christian spirit scare people who are afraid of getting their hands dirty.

On the other hand, I’m not much for the Grateful Dead, tie-dye or patchouli. I’ve never been interested in illicit drugs. My politics are unconventional, but that doesn’t mean I voted for John Kerry.

In Berkeley I’d be tagged as a hopeless square. Yet friends and family regularly hit me with the hippie tag. Just because my surroundings are dominated by cupcakes doesn’t mean I’m a flag burning freak.


  • At 3:58 PM, Blogger WLIB said…

    "I want to be... a dentist"

  • At 4:16 PM, Blogger Happy In Bag said…

    That's right, Lee! "I am NOT a nitwit."

  • At 6:27 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Hap - I've found that as we age, the term "hippy" does in fact take on a whole new meaning.

    I used to take pride in the label. Made me feel "one" with Abby Hoffman, Country Joe McDonald and Ken Kesey.

    Now it just makes me want to drink more water, put down the chips and go for a walk.

    Attending my first "wellness fair" at work and getting the AARP magazines don't really help much.

  • At 2:52 AM, Blogger bgo said…

    I am not sure I get the gist of this post, but I sure do like what you stated. I hate for people to peg me for something I feel I am not. Stay true to thyself, my friend.



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