Child of the 60s

Child of the 60s

As a child of the 60s -- albeit one who didn’t participate in the more controversial aspects -- I grew up with a fairly liberal and middle class attitude of acceptance towards friends who made different choices. Individual freedom was where it was at. We’re all OK. Push the boundaries a little.

We had an expectation of good outcomes, and collectively flirted with danger. We just knew that the invincibility of youth would somehow prevail. There was excitement and energy in the air everywhere, and especially in the waterfront areas where folks congregated.

Driving through the Downtown Eastside now, I see a young woman dance down the street, arms waving, oblivious to other people. Oblivious to traffic. Painfully thin. High on crystal meth.

I see the x rays of the brain of a young woman who has retreated into severe mental illness as a result of crystal meth use. She alternates between mumbling and shouting at the disembodied voices. The vast holes (black areas) revealed in the x rays shock me.

A teen smokes pot, surprised that drug tests reveal that it was laced with other substances, unknown to him.

My 60s outlook remains: I still strongly believe in personal freedoms, in the right to behave outrageously (at least to some degree), and to not conform, while respecting and accepting others. But what I’ve seen is that drugs prevent people from being themselves. And that’s unacceptable.

(Sorry if this feels like a rant today, but I challenge you anyway to help someone to make good choices for themselves.)