If I didn't live through them myself, I'd believe the '60s were a myth.

They say the decade was all about Sex, Drugs and Rock & Roll. I can vouch for the Rock & Roll. As for the other two, I'd say the aftermath of the 70s & 80s is strong circumstantial evidence.

I was in my sophomore year at military school.

It was Dad's idea, he thought it would 'make a man out of me', and Mom was only more than happy to see me go. She had no idea how to be a mother, and was in many ways more of a child than I was.

When Dad went MIA deployed in southeast Asia, Mom completely lost it. By the time I got home from school on emergency leave, she was gone – along with the mobile home where we lived.

I heard from neighbors that she sold it, and no one saw her since she cashed the check. I guess she couldn't face being a single parent.

Although I was just 15 and she had recently turned 30 – which was traumatic for her – I knew I was going to end up being the parent.

Maybe that's the real reason Dad sent me to military school.

It certainly didn't 'make a man out of me'. I was still the smallest one in my class, and my delicate features made me a magnet for anyone wanting to feel like the alpha male by wailing on the smallest in the pack.

Military school changed me in ways I don't think Dad planned.

I learned discipline. I learned how much physical and psychological abuse I could take. I learned that what others thought may affect my opportunities and obstacles, but my self esteem was based on being true to myself and never acquiescing to the opinion of others.

I was clearly never going to cut it as a soldier.

We arrived at a stalemate.

They were never going to break me. I was never going to change them.

I just tried my best not to stick out... though even at my most “macho” I simply looked like a tomboy.

The resourcefulness, discipline and self-reliance I learned at school prepared me to take care of Mom now that Dad was gone. But now Mom was gone without a trace and I was on my own.

I couldn't go back to school, I couldn't afford the tuition even if I wanted to. It was the spring of 1969 and I was on my own. I decided to make the best of it.

Fortunately the buzzcut from school grew out really quickly while I sofa hopped from former neighbors who felt awful at how Mom had ditched me, but didn't want to get any more involved than giving me an occasional couch to sleep on and the odd job mowing a lawn or something.

Puberty seemed really behind schedule, so I couldn't grow sideburns, let alone facial hair, but the hair on my head quickly reached my shoulders.

I thought I started to look like a hippie, and the idea appealed to me since it's the last thing my folks would have wanted.

It was a good time to be a hippie, but not a good place.

Kansas seemed in no rush to embrace the cultural revolution, so I figured it was time to find somewhere more ….progressive. I think by that time I had overstayed my welcome, and my many former neighbors were happy to bid farewell to the 'community stray'.

I raided a charity clothing bin for my first “hippie clothes”.

I figured the frilly British invasion stuff would make me look the part more. I ended up with a velvet jacket, flowing cotton top and ragged jeans. I also found a long silky scarf that I thought made me look like someone from an album cover.

If I had given it any thought, I would have realized that there weren't any hippies in Kansas donating old clothing.

I probably grabbed some old deceased grannie's jacket and scarf and thought it made me look totally groovy.

I didn't find any shoes that fit my small feet and hated my shiny black school shoes. Fortunately, barefoot was an acceptable look at the time, so I just let my dogs go free.

The final touch was putting some flowers in my now long-ish hair. I heard it in a song on the radio so it seemed like a good idea. A pair of big pink sunglasses someone left at a bus stop completed the ensemble, and I was confident that I was ready to go.

Now that I looked the part, I figured it was time to act the part. I needed a ride, but who would pick up a hitchhiking flower child in Kansas?

Even VW vans need gas, so I hung near a truckstop near the interstate.

After a few tense encounters with truckers who kept calling me “little lady” and were more than eager to take me for a ride, I found a group of kids in an old bus who had room for one more.

“Hi, I'm Saffron!” said the bubbly girl with the dirty blonde hair. “...like in the song....” she smiled waiting for a flash of recognition.

I stared blankly. We weren't allowed radios in the dorms at military school so I didn't know a lot of pop music.

The scruffy guy with hair like a head of sandy brown broccoli began singing “I'm just mad about Sally... Sal-ly's mad about me...” She shot him a glare and barked “MAX! …. I so hate that name!” That made him laugh hysterically, and kind of freaked me out. I don't know what he was high on, but it was something.

“YOU can call me Saffron! That...” she glowered “is Max... my brother's friend from college. This is his bus.” Max was still laughing, apparently unable to stop.

“I'm Jody” I smiled. ...Why did I tell them that? I've always hated that nickname. My Mom gave it to me because she loved the little boy on “Family Affair” and it always made me wince. Still, It was better than Joseph. Hey, hippies can make up their own names... I've already radically reinvented myself. I should give this some thought. Still, I already blurted it out, so I was 'Jody' for now.

“Groovy! Like Jodie Foster! ….far out!” Jodie Foster? I had never thought of it that way. But I didn't give it any further thought at the time. Sal.... I mean Saffron then introduced me to the others on the bus, most of whom seemed to also choose their own names. There was Raven, and old man Dog – which I'm guessing was the laziest way of hippifying Doug, River, Bliss, Owl and Snowcap ….yes snowcap. I guessed a lot of hallucinogenics were involved in the naming rituals. Suddenly Jody – even 'like Jodie Foster' - didn't seem so bad.

I was accepted into this road-family unhesitatingly, and alarmingly quickly. I just took it all in. This was so alien to me after a childhood filled with military school. I wanted a change. I got more than I bargained for, but I decided to roll with it.

Bliss was brushing my hair and braiding flowers into it when she grabbed my ear lobe. “Saffron!” she exclaimed excitedly..... “We have a virgin!”

I stifled a bewildered gulp and wondered how she could tell from my earlobe. Yeah, 8 years at a boarding school doesn't bode well for losing ones virginity ….unless you're into rugged military types, which I definitely wasn't. I wondered for a moment if I was about to be deflowered by this flower child who was braiding flowers into my hair. While I was sorting through the irony of that, Saffron came over and admired my ears, checking them both and scampering off to fetch a small kit and some matches. Apparently I was the only one on the bus – of either gender, without pierced ears. I figured 'what the hell?' and indulged the girls, who seemed positively gleeful. I thought I had already gone 'whole-hippie' but apparently there was always something else, so I just lay back and tried to embrace the experience.

We had been on the road for a few days, and I had proved my worth. Funny, but the skills I learned taking care of myself at military school really came in handy with these older college kids who couldn't even mend a tear or cook the simplest thing. Laundry also seemed to elude them, and it was beginning to become a problem. ...at least for me.

We stopped at an old ranch in New Mexico that I guess was some sort of commune now. They met up with some more old college friends, and again I was welcomed in as if I'd always been part of the group. I asked if there was someplace I could go and get the road off my skin and they pointed me to an old creek behind the barn. I grabbed some soap and took the opportunity to wash myself and my sweaty clothes in the briskly running water. I was neck deep, with my jeans in my hands, scrubbing the funk out, when Rain came over the ridge. “Those are way too hot for the desert. Toss them up and let me get you something cooler”

“Thanks!” I said. Tossing the heavy wet Levis up to her. She shortly returned with a bundle of folded clothes and lay them on the rocks.

“These should be your size. I also left some other stuff Maya said she thinks is really you.”

I think Maya was the old lady of Bear, the guy who seemed to run the place – as much as anyone ran anything in hippie enclaves.

“We're having a drum circle. When you're done and dressed, just look for the fire.” Rain shouted down to me.

The sun was beginning to set, and I was getting chilly, so as soon as she left, I scrambled out of the stream and up to my care package.

It was a cotton maxi dress, denim jacket and sandals. Dangly earrings and necklace in some Navaho design …..And a bottle of patchoulli oil.

I had been with them for almost a week. How could they not know I was a guy? How could I not know they thought I was a girl? …..”Just like Jodie Foster....” I put my head in my hands and let out an involuntary little moan.

I had two choices. Show up naked and prove to them all that I wasn't the girl they mistook me for, or put on the maxi dress and buy some time to sort out how to deal with this.

The maxi dress fit surprisingly well, and I must concede was much more comfortable than the scavenged charity bin jeans.

Unfortunately, it also made it really easy to see the outline of my ….junk. A little creative tucking and folding and I managed to hide my ...tell. I had to buy some time to figure out how to deal with this misunderstanding. 'In for a penny..' I figured, so I threaded the earrings through my fresh piercings, donned the necklace, dabbed some oil in my pits, clavicle and behind my ears, threw the denim jacket on for warmth, stepped into the thong sandals and set off to find the drum circle.

I didn't need to look for the fire, I could just follow the sound.... or one of the 3 friendly dogs who ran out to greet me and lead me back to the group. Everyone looked up when I arrived and most seemed to be positively beaming. “I knew it would fit!” Maya smiled. “That's so much better than those grubby old boy jeans.” She motioned for me to come over and sit by her and Bear and passed over a jug of wine, and as it came around, what I assume was a joint.

I quickly forgot the awkwardness of everyone thinking I was something I was not. Actually, I was not a girl, I was not a hippie, I was not a pot smoking drum circle person. But here I was. I soon decided it didn't matter what I thought I was or what they thought I was or the difference between the two views. I was sitting around a drum circle, warm by a fire, smoking pot and drinking wine, earrings glistening from the flames, with the same stupid grin everyone else wore, and having a mellow good time.

I didn't sleep much that night. I had fun. I was surprised at how quickly I got over them thinking I was a girl. It didn't seem to make much difference actually. Except the guys were a lot nicer to me. And the girls seemed less ….wary... than girls I had known as a guy. Still, I didn't want to deceive anyone. I decided I'd talk to Saffron when I got a chance.