I was not at Woodstock

I was not at Woodstock, but my brother was.  Woodstock was right near my parents' house in Sullivan County, New York.  My brother lived in a tepee on Bob Dylan's land.  He stole firewood from my father and used his pick up truck to live in the wild.  I, on the other hand, found the whole hippie movement rather repulsive.  I could tell you stories of drug infested orgies in the mountains, and how I ran away with motor cycles chasing me through the woods.  I never told until now.  Famous people's homes were often invaded by marauding hippies who believed in free love and freedom of expression.  I was an outcast.  I didn't believe in drugs and free sex.  I, according to them, was a conformist, but I beg to differ.  In that society, I was the non-conformist.  It was easy to tune in and drop out, but I voted, saluted the flag, and married the only man with whom I have ever been. 

As for my brother, he has three wives, five children, and many health problems.  He's fine now, but he tuned in and dropped out in the eighth grade.  Woodstock to me was a way to destroy good woodland with pollution and germs.  I couldn't eat with these people.  My brother was angry with me, and asked if I were repelled by him.  Yes, and your friends.

I guess I haven't changed much since Woodstock.