Sunday, May 30, 2010

crunchy

I used to wear a newsboy cap and combat boots. I was, afterall, part of the "grunge" generation. The one that would never make as much money as their parents. The generation that you could identify by their cups of fair trade coffee and their over-sized shirts. My friends balked at corporate America and talked about a return to nature. Some skied. Some camped. We played hackysack and guitar. We made our own ink and tied embroidery string in our hair. We listened to good music, read great books and spent summers studying Philosophy with Edward Allam. We spoke of teaching, serving, and creating art.

Eventually I threw away my flannel shirts and gave my Doc Martins to goodwill. I realized that I like most things better than hackysack. I like perfume and hot baths and little black dresses. I like old Katharine Hepburn movies and the sounds of the big city. Yes, I still like Pearl Jam and my fair trade coffee. I like Sunday morning cookouts up Little Cottonwood Canyon. And I'm a sucker for boys with guitars. But, I was never very good at being crunchy.

Until now.

It's funny what motherhood does.

All the things that defined my generation - the clothes, the music, the attitude didn't bring me any closer to nature. But having a child does. I'm a lioness, in tune with her cub, protective of her pride.
And, the BP oil spill has struck a nerve that I didn't even know existed. It is not my earth that people are screwing with, it is the earth the belongs to my son. And the disgust, and the anger, and the fear dig deep into my core.

Yes, all those things I did and said in the early nineties; trying to fit in; trying to be cool were theatre. I realize that now. But this isn't. This is who I am. I'm too old and too tired to be someone else. And I'm finally a little "crunchy" if only because I want my boy to have solid earth on which to play; clean air to breathe; and clear water to drink.

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