I was supposed to be a Hippie.
But I was born too late, and I was secretly upset that my parents didn’t have old bell bottoms in the back of their closets. Why wasn’t I blessed with parents who had a collection of love beads and named me Cloud Catcher?
(Only years later did I learn that my dad, who grew up in the Bay Area, adored the Beats and had interviewed Allen Ginsberg, but I digress.)
I used to draw pictures of Hippies (peace sign, headband, bellbottoms) in my free time, so when a doctor who was giving me an IQ test said to draw something while he set up, I went to it. He then asked me to describe the Hippie.
“I don’t know. He’s kind of weird.”
The doctor then told me that this was a test, and that how you describe your picture is how you think of yourself.
I didn’t draw hippies after that.