The Summer of ‘66
Posted: Thursday, May 22, 2008
by Judi Lake
Judi Lake Advertising
Restlessly squirming inside my desk, my eyes insidiously
gaze at the clock above Sister Angela Joseph as she gave her final “speech of
the year" to the class.
“Now remember, boys and girls, even though it’s summer
vacation, you are still students of St. Rose of Lima School. I expect each one of you to act appropriately and
make Jesus proud of you."
Monotonously, the class shoots back a bland “Ye-e-es,
Sister."
“Well, then, class, I expect only good news to reach me
concerning my little men and women.“
Eager for my “freedom," I silently count the last few
minutes of forth grade: two fifty-six; two fifty-seven; two fifty-eight; three
o’clock! Finally! Schools out for the summer!
It was the summer of ‘66 and I was a carefree, nine-year-old
little girl growing up in the “burbs" of Long Island amidst the turbulent
Vietnam War era and hippie movement.
Hastily walking home, I hear someone call out to me from
behind: “Hey, Judi, wait up! ‘wanna walk home together?"
I turn around and my heart skips a beat. Jimmy O’Conner is
calling out to me. Me! And he wants to walk home from school with me. Oh, is
this heaven or what!
“A woman of multiple personalities," I quickly transform
into my “aloof" personality and, nonchalantly tossing my long auburn hair over
my shoulders, casually shake my head in agreement. By the time we reach my
block, my sweaty, trembling hand is clasped tightly within his.
My blissful mood quickly changes to worry as I enter my
house. With a grim expression, my mother lovingly motions me to sit beside her
at the kitchen table.
“Jude, baby, we’ve gotten some bad news today about Dinka."
Without another word, I angrily run to my bedroom upstairs
and slam the door. When I return to my mother hours later, my eyes are red and
swollen. Not missing a beat, I run into her “mommy" arms and, embracing each
other very tightly, spill yet more tears.
Those days brought upon much anxiety and many tears. All
of the mother’s, including my own, were tense. All of the father’s, including
mine, looked pensive. While
my older brother was safely stationed in the states, Ronny Kovic returned home
from Nam a paraplegic. East of Park Boulevard, where my friends and I usually
played, a memorial now stood in honor of the first war casualty from our neighborhood:
Dinka, aka Timothy McCauley.
Reality had hit Massapequa hard and the Vietnam War was now
personal.
My friends and I instinctively changed our plans for the
summer. Instead of “hanging at the beach" everyday, we decided to take shifts
and visit each family in need.
For the “cause," and with the ingenious direction of Jimmy
O’Connor, we performed the play, “West Side Story" for everyone in the
neighborhood. It was a smash and, with the proceeds earned from the admission
tickets and refreshment sales, were able to send out over one hundred care
packages to our boys at war.
It became a “giving" season and we were proud to be part of
the “cause."
It was also the summer of my first kiss. With a mouth full
of bubble gum, Jimmy awkwardly pecked my lips as we were planning a battle of
the bands to raise even more money. I wasn’t quite sure what to do, but,
technically, it was my first kiss, and it was special.
Everyone was affected by
the sudden changes occurring that summer. Unknowingly, my friends and I learned
how to reach out to others unconditionally and joyfully. That summer, although
still very young, a small part of each one of us “grew up."
As I reflect back on those days, I am saddened by how things
have changed within the society of today. Somehow, back then, in the midst of all
the uncertainty and sadness, we, as a people, found a way to unite and support
each other.
For most, empathy and compassion were a part of being human.
Religion actually had very little to do with anything.
Not today, ain’t the way no more. These days many people
either have an agenda or don’t want to be involved in anything. I call it “the
age of sleepwalking."
As I pen this, I think of the lyrics from the ‘60s group,
“Sweetwater" entitled, “What’s Wrong?"
What’s wrong in our schools?
Politicians are blowing their cools
Over they who refuse to abide by the rules
Though they should be separate dealings
What’s wrong at the zoo?
The animals sense all our fears coming through
Our facade yet there’s not a thing that they can do
It’s hurting their poor, helpless feelings
What’s wrong?
What is wrong?...
…Won’t you tell me
What is wrong in your heart?
Do you feel that soon mankind and reason will part?
As each day it worsens you feel we will start
On that anxiously dark, endless journey
What’s wrong with this top?
As it spins each year gives us a worsening crop
Of hatred that one day will cause it to stop
A lesson we all should be learning
What’s wrong?...
What is wrong? Maybe this void I see these days is supposed
to happen when God is no longer a part of a society, I don’t know, but at least
I do know that Sister Angela Joseph was very proud of us that year.
Very reflective of a saner world where communities grew up together. United we stand. United States. Union. Country, honor, loyalty, committment, one to another. We haven't lost it, yet. Many, like Judi, remind us every day. Country, Duty, Honor, Family. You go, girl.Yes, Ted, it did seem to be a saner time, didn't it? I certainly hope, as you state, that we haven't lost it... You are a dear to comment and thank you!
