When I was a teenager, the British Invasion was underway. Long hair, bell bottoms, rock music with heavy guitar solos and tie-dye and flowered shirts were the rage. Our parents and the rest of the older generation thought we looked like bums at best or hoodlums (their description) at worst.
I still remember the first time my mother saw The Beatles perform. “Well, at least they wore suits,” was the only positive thing she could say and she was virtually speechless the first time she saw The Stones on Ed Sullivan.
You would think that as I got older, I would have remembered how people looked at us for our pseudo-rebellious appearance back then and be a little more tolerant of the different fashion expressions of successive generations but you’d be wrong. As each new generation came along, I found myself raising an eyebrow over some of the things kids were wearing.
