Waking the Dead
Tonight Steph is taking me to see the Grateful Dead (now just known as the Dead, sans Jerry) in Sacramento. I've never been close to anything like this. I mean, when I finally made it to the Haight in 1992 there was a Ben and Jerry's.
And I am post-hippy era. What did Sid Vicious day, he couldn't remember the summer of love because he was playing with his g.i. joe action figure? Me too. I was entering Kindergarden.
But I do remember the things my mother told me about hippies. I can remember this guy hanging out on a corner of our street right around that time, I was four or five, and he had long hair (which then really was like a purple mohawk now) and was wearing an army jacket and he had a sleeping bag rolled up. And he was just sitting there, doing nothing, on a corner of our little suburban street for much of the day. Why? Trying to catch a ride to S.F.? Maybe. Or just moving through. I'll never know (and how wierd to think that that guy, if he is still alive, is almost a senior citizen now).
But I distinctly recall my mother's attitude: protective terror. Hippies were bad, dopers, all that. I can't even express her hysteria here without this sounding like a scene out of a psycho-horror movie when you get the childhood flashback. But I grew up thinking hippies were dirty, would slip me drugs without telling me and I'd end up in a mental institutution, or overdosed and on life support (which was very new when I was a child). Or worse. My mother didn't even know who the guy was (could have been on his way to a chuck smith calvary chapel camp out) and yet she villanized him, and terrified me, at the same time.
And that's a big part of my mom. I noticed on the DAN website that 88 people from North America died scuba diving last year; that is a lot I admit (a fair number from other health issues, like heart disease, exacerbated by diving) by really, what are my odds? One in 10,000? Less than that?
If my mother heard of anything which could potentially kill me (or cause me to get a girl pregnant, that's another story) she'd instill a fear in me so that I would protect myself. Not just fear, a fear. Does this make sense? No matter what the odds of something disastrous actually happening, she did and does live in fear for her survival. To make sure her sweet boy stayed alive she gave me fears, almost intentionally, to make sure I avoided anything risky (the theme song from Monk is coming to mind; I am of course a fan). Plus children learn fear from their parents whether the parent says anything or not. It's a survival instinct, a way to read the world.
Welcome to my phobias.
Anyway, my mother was terrified of hippies in 1969. I grew my hair later, smoked a little weed (not much, didn't like the effect) and that was about as hippy as I ever got. But you know, going to a Dead concert tonight, which is guaranteed to be chock full of hippy cats of every age, is scary for me. What if someone slips me lsd? Will I be able to relax amidst all this grooviness?
I've told my wife about these fears, and she's been very cool. In fact, the great thing I've learned, or at least begun to experience just this year, is how the only way to beat a fear is to face it. I can talk about the time I was locked in a car all day long and why I'm still afraid of those heavy doors in restrooms at gas stations (what if it won't open) but the fact is the only way out really is through. I place myself in a scary setting and learn to relax. Incidentally, this is the core of erp therapy for ocd.
So I'm going to see the Dead. It would be funny if I went native and my next blog was from Arizona or some place as I travelled with the band, but not likely. My wife has a job; I enjoy my creature comforts now; what would I do without broadband? But yes, I'm going. I don't really know what to expect. I'm not a fan of the music, but that doesn't matter; I might become one. However, just being around that scene, with all its lack of structure and free expression will be strange (or so I imagine it; I moshed and crowd-surfed my brains out in the early 90's, but that somehow feels more proscribed than what I imagine I'll see tonight).
I'll let you guys know how it is. Maybe it won't be any different from any other concert. Only one way to find out....I feel the chain beneath the coaster clicking now!
t
And I am post-hippy era. What did Sid Vicious day, he couldn't remember the summer of love because he was playing with his g.i. joe action figure? Me too. I was entering Kindergarden.
But I do remember the things my mother told me about hippies. I can remember this guy hanging out on a corner of our street right around that time, I was four or five, and he had long hair (which then really was like a purple mohawk now) and was wearing an army jacket and he had a sleeping bag rolled up. And he was just sitting there, doing nothing, on a corner of our little suburban street for much of the day. Why? Trying to catch a ride to S.F.? Maybe. Or just moving through. I'll never know (and how wierd to think that that guy, if he is still alive, is almost a senior citizen now).
But I distinctly recall my mother's attitude: protective terror. Hippies were bad, dopers, all that. I can't even express her hysteria here without this sounding like a scene out of a psycho-horror movie when you get the childhood flashback. But I grew up thinking hippies were dirty, would slip me drugs without telling me and I'd end up in a mental institutution, or overdosed and on life support (which was very new when I was a child). Or worse. My mother didn't even know who the guy was (could have been on his way to a chuck smith calvary chapel camp out) and yet she villanized him, and terrified me, at the same time.
And that's a big part of my mom. I noticed on the DAN website that 88 people from North America died scuba diving last year; that is a lot I admit (a fair number from other health issues, like heart disease, exacerbated by diving) by really, what are my odds? One in 10,000? Less than that?
If my mother heard of anything which could potentially kill me (or cause me to get a girl pregnant, that's another story) she'd instill a fear in me so that I would protect myself. Not just fear, a fear. Does this make sense? No matter what the odds of something disastrous actually happening, she did and does live in fear for her survival. To make sure her sweet boy stayed alive she gave me fears, almost intentionally, to make sure I avoided anything risky (the theme song from Monk is coming to mind; I am of course a fan). Plus children learn fear from their parents whether the parent says anything or not. It's a survival instinct, a way to read the world.
Welcome to my phobias.
Anyway, my mother was terrified of hippies in 1969. I grew my hair later, smoked a little weed (not much, didn't like the effect) and that was about as hippy as I ever got. But you know, going to a Dead concert tonight, which is guaranteed to be chock full of hippy cats of every age, is scary for me. What if someone slips me lsd? Will I be able to relax amidst all this grooviness?
I've told my wife about these fears, and she's been very cool. In fact, the great thing I've learned, or at least begun to experience just this year, is how the only way to beat a fear is to face it. I can talk about the time I was locked in a car all day long and why I'm still afraid of those heavy doors in restrooms at gas stations (what if it won't open) but the fact is the only way out really is through. I place myself in a scary setting and learn to relax. Incidentally, this is the core of erp therapy for ocd.
So I'm going to see the Dead. It would be funny if I went native and my next blog was from Arizona or some place as I travelled with the band, but not likely. My wife has a job; I enjoy my creature comforts now; what would I do without broadband? But yes, I'm going. I don't really know what to expect. I'm not a fan of the music, but that doesn't matter; I might become one. However, just being around that scene, with all its lack of structure and free expression will be strange (or so I imagine it; I moshed and crowd-surfed my brains out in the early 90's, but that somehow feels more proscribed than what I imagine I'll see tonight).
I'll let you guys know how it is. Maybe it won't be any different from any other concert. Only one way to find out....I feel the chain beneath the coaster clicking now!
t
Comments
thanks for posting! I answered your question in the post above.
t