Hippies
I’ll admit it. In some ways, I’m a simple boy from the Midwest and am occasionally reminded of my cultural or worldly ignorance. In other ways I’m better traveled or “cultured” than others. It’s all relative I guess. But even though I’ve lived in South America, learned Spanish, and tried to understand the culture, there is one domestic people group I will never understand. Hippies. I do not get them.
Prior to living in Missoula, MT, I did not know that there was such a thing as a young hippie. I’m being serious. I thought all hippies were baby boomers and living in a bygone era. They had long gray ponytails, wore peace signs, and drove Volkswagen vans. Or, they were philosophy teachers at the local community college, stirring up dissent and hatred. But when I ventured to Montana’s capital of liberalism, there they were. There was a culture of young people with long hair, tie-died shirts, body odor, “natural” food, and more bumper stickers than you could imagine. Transplant me to Eugene, Oregon, which is essentially a Missoula of four times the size, and there are more hippies! Maybe there had been a handful in Fargo while I was growing up, but it would have taken quite a surveillance effort to find them. But not here!
Meredee and I went downtown Saturday to take some pictures and enjoy the weather. We decided to head over a few blocks for my official initiation into living in Eugene–the Saturday Market. Hippies everywhere! There were more earrings, outlandish hairdos, and skinny, frail men than I could believe. There is much about this place that I have not been exposed to and may never understand.
When I walk by the downtown bus stop on any given weekday, it’s sad to see what this “freedom” has done to young kids who don’t go to school, are trying too hard to express themselves, and are set on rebellion against the traditions that have given them the luxury of living a hippie lifestyle. They’ve been lied to and have bought into it hook, line, and sinker. There are other groups of people that my heart breaks for, but I will admit it doesn’t break for the hippies. Maybe it should, but it doesn’t. Perhaps my attitude is unbiblical. If it is, I’m not sure what to do because I’m finding it extremely difficult to have compassion for people so bent on complaining, obstruction, and destroying much of what I believe in.
I could go on and debate the differences I have with the hippies, but that would take more writing than I’m up for right now. Besides, anyone who knows me would assume I have little to nothing in common with a hippie. Let’s just say I’ve learned that there are young hippies and they obviously prefer a warmer climate than that of Fargo, North Dakota.
