I spent a few hours this weekend at my mom's house, packing up the detritus of my teens that remains cluttering up my old room.
Revelation #1:
I must have been the most insufferable hippie in high school!
To those of you who knew me then, I apologise.
Now, I still lead a fairly Bohemian lifestule (as I write this, I'm naked in the living room of my friends' house in Bremerton, half-watching Ghandi with Zac as we converse about the woeful lack of public outrage at our country's continuing war in Iraq and wait for a pizza). But you can be the hippest, most loose-hanging ultraliberal or whatever without being a fucking hippie. I can understand why I was, but now that I am not so naive I am dismayed that I believed that hippieism is a particularly valid..."path," for lack of a better word, or an attractive lifestyle, or that it is even remotely without pretense. I have some friends who are hippies yet. I hope they grow out of it.
Revelation #2:
I was a fucking awesome kid. Smart as a bowl full of apples (the most intelligent fruit) and clever and funny to boot. I'd totally hang out with me now, which is way more than I can say for most kids.
The coolest relics I came across were the notes I took from the time I interviewed PAt Cashman for Career Day in fifth grade, and a printout my mom must have made of the first e-mail I ever sent. Surreal.
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