by Valerie White
One of my favorite songs is Bob Blue’s “My Mom Was a Hippie”, in which a young boy bemoans his parents’ crunchy-granola values. They care more about protesting war than they care about getting a half-decent car. His friends’ parents live more traditional lives, while his are “counter-culture”, and he doesn’t even know what that means. He wishes racism, pollution, sexism and nuclear bombs would just go away so his parents could be ordinary.
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