It’s 1968 – you live in L.A. – well, up until Summer you lived in L.A. – your family decided it was a good idea to move to San Diego. Why? Nobody knows for sure exactly, but there you are; the new kid in school. You don’t know a soul. And like every new kid in school, you are stared at, pointed at, and muttered over. Normally, it’s a strange feeling, like going through life with toilet paper stuck to your shoe or getting food stuck in your braces.
But you don’t care – no, not you – and in true Hendrix spirit, you are waving your Freak Flag high. You have decided to live in your own world and to drag that world around with you wherever you go.
Less than a month in, you’ve already been to the vice-Principal’s office three times. Your grades are good and you’re always on time and you haven’t ditched school – but your teachers can’t quite figure you out – you do things spontaneously – you start singing for no reason, you leap in the air with no warning and you’ve been tie-dying all your clothes. Your Counsellor thinks living in Hollywood has had a permanent affect on you and asks if maybe you should consider not wearing so many beads and bells and ease off on the Patchouli oil, at least until you graduate. Your Counsellor then asks what you are planning on doing after you graduate. You proudly tell her you’re going to Marrakesh and hitch all over Europe before coming home to live on a commune for six months before going to College to get a degree in Language Studies and maybe go work for the United Nations. You don’t want to get married and you don’t want kids.
Your counsellor is baffled. There’s nothing wrong with you – you’re just weird.
And you don’t mind at all.
And as a musical backdrop to the new kid in school, here is a sampling of Bwana Johnny over KGB in San Diego from November 1968.
editors disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.