history | Saying nothing in particular

[Note: this is a political diatribe not aimed at my readers and so I will understand if you wish to skip this post]

Not all people over sixty were hippies. I know many older people who are actively protesting against the current attempt at tyranny who’ve never been on a commune in their lives. Who’ve never gone to Haight Ashbury and worn flowers in the hair; who’ve never rocked out to a Grateful Dead concert and dropped acid. The young whippersnappers who are dissing older protesters by calling them “Elderly White Hippies” are in for a big surprise. Don’t tell them though. They won’t believe you.

Nor were all hippies white although I will concede that the majority of the self-described hippies I met way back when were the children of white or whitish upper middle class professionals. For some of them, being a hippie was just a phase (I fall into that category). And after a few vagabond years, they settled into what could be described as normal lives. But many “hippies” turned their experiences on communes into lives devoted to socially and environmentally aware living. Many did great things. For sure, we changed the world although not as much as we’d naively hoped.

And so, if you’re over a certain age, sing along with me. Even if you’re not, someday, if you’re lucky, you will be. Might as well get prepared for the dissing of the young and clueless whippersnappers.

THEY SAY WE’RE OLD AND WE DON’T VOTE

They say we’re old and we don’t vote
All we do is sleep and watch TV
They don’t know the risk they take
For dissing one’s elders never turns out great.

My granny after a few vodkas and after being dissed – watch out!

Although it’s true, we may smoke pot,
At least I’m sure of all the things we got
We’ve got the time, to organize.
We’ve got the patience, to see it through.
And if they think we’re scared, then they don’t know,
about the Four Dead in Ohio.

Let them say our hair’s too gray
We don’t care. What we’ve got, they cannot take away
So, put your wrinkled hand in mine
There ain’t no hill or mountain we can’t climb.

Apologies to Sonny and Cher

My father, who would have turned one hundred and one years old today, always had “a twinkle in his eye.”

One of the last pictures I have of my dad. He’s the one with the mustache.

His brother-in-law, my Uncle Ralph, wrote at least three books on Abraham Lincoln: Lincoln, What He Stood For, Abraham Lincoln and the Western Territories and Lincoln Quotat (a collection of Lincoln sayings). Uncle Ralph was tall and thin – a lively man who taught speech and debate and, of course, quoted Lincoln at every turn.

And so, this morning as I fuddled about with some bills that needed paying I watched the HBO Max series: Lincoln, Divided We Fall. This series covers Lincoln’s entire life but primarily challenges the myth of Lincoln as a willing and eager abolitionist. While he always felt slavery was an abomination,

He began politics believing that the black race was inferior and that the two races could never peacefully coexist. The expansion of slavery to new territories was the issue that forced him to listen to his heart over his head. If they couldn’t erase slavery without severe consequences, they must not allow the abomination to spread. It was Frederick Douglass who convinced him the black man was not inferior and so he changed his mind. Changed his mind. Imagine. Such an impossible thing for a politician to do in this era of nonstop armchair quarterbacking.

Anyway Happy Birthday Dad. If there is an afterlife, I imagine you’re listening to Uncle Ralph tell another Lincoln anecdote, or perhaps debating the man himself! Wish I was there.