Hippies and Hobos

My parents were hippies and I think it's so cool. I am not sure why but I just do. They went to Woodstock when my mom was pregnant with my sister. They lived on an Indian reservation in Canada for a while too. My Dad was in college at the time, on a football scholarship to McGill University in Montreal.

My mother. Montreal, Canada, 1969.

My kids mix up hippies and hobos. When they see a hobo, a homeless type man with messy clothes and worn shoes they point him out as a hippie. "Wow, look at that hippie," they say. I've explained the differences before but they still don't get it.
I remember our Volkswagon Camper. It had a vinyl bench seat in back and a little stainless steel sink. When I was in college I went through a phase when I wanted to get one and restore it. That was about the same time I had my Volkswagon Jetta with peace signs and Grateful Dead stickers on the back. I loved that car. I loved the Grateful Dead (and still do). I guess there's a little hippie in me too. However, there is no part of me that is hobo.

My sister Krista and me in the back of the Volkswagon Camper, 1973.