Earning a varsity letter was a big deal in high school although the Future Farmers of America (4H on steroids) [Sorry, Bolton Carley] thought their blue corduroy jackets were 'the shit,' and the jocks were harbingers of apathy while nerds made their ways to the Science and Chess Clubs, and the marching band...well, you know...all the while, the hip and chronically cool 'heads' sported flip flops to complement faded bib coveralls with flowers embroideed on the bib replete with a peace sign or patch centered on the stitched diamond on the back.
The hippies' "Free Love" Haight-Ashbury "Make Love Not War" thing seemed to transform melancholy into 'mellow-choly', behind the most omnipotent of shibboleths--the peace sign--ranging in form and size adorning pendants, necklaces, rings, lighters, earrings, billboards, VW vans and brick walls; one always seemed to be in glance range.
Viet Nam was the nightly news' war, dishing-up battlefield smoke of canisters and cannon and small arms from distant jungles served to our dinner tables, countered by coverage of domestic demonstrations documenting protesters against that youth-erasing military action, while clouds above the U.S. were largely those of incense or carrying the prolific pungence of 'pot' incinerated behind the bong-bubbled mantra of "Wow" taking on several syllables.
Saturday Night Live was funny and avant garde, then, when going steady meant an angora-wound class ring visually dominating hands of the cute girls while the zitted and heftier girls caught dates with the out-of-sorts guys or became devotees of she-sports, chorus, or became garage band groupies sitting on the floor of the dances way to close to us and our amplifiers, and our after-gig snacks consisted of Cheetos, LSD, mescaline, and peyote buttons.
A raised middle finger usually enjoyed the company of the index digit, flashed in passing with "Peace, man!" and one's head nodding just so, as The Beatles celebrated their 8-handed extinction of the surf music movement kicking the door open to 'The British Invasion' of bands such as The Rolling Stones and countless others, answered under the red, white and blue banner by the home-growns: Jefferson Airplane, The Doors and Jimi Hendrix unleashing our anthems of post-adolescence.
I can't imagine how teens will feel defined by this, their era, unless it's simply by thumbs-driven interaction with miniature keypads Tweeting and Facebooking and texting and experiencing formation of world views and news from a 3-inch screen, ever keenly aware of battery meters, the closest recharger's location, which YouTube videos have gone 'viral' and, of course, tattoos.
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