I have a brother and a sister. At home, when we were teenagers, the arguments with our parents were always about the length of hair and skirts. Views were divergent and discussions heated.
My parents were quite religious and moved in circles where the virtues of the good ones and the vices of the bad ones were a constant topic of conversation. Long hair and short skirts were not good, and neither were the things that went with it, like rock music, drink and "all such things", as my mother would say, without ever specifying what was meant by "all such things" (although we had a pretty good idea).
I don't think they minded our "style" so much in itself. We were after all doing well in school, were polite to other people, got along well with friends and only on very rare occasions drank excessively. It was probably more the idea of what the others would think and say that motivated their opposition.
I was 19 when the first rock festival in the region took place. I was obsessed with rock music and "all such things" and desperately wanted to go. I pleaded with my parents for a long time, and finally got their reluctant acceptance.
It was a great festival. I went with friends and we spent three days in the rain and mud with rock music, beer and "all such things".
When I got home I had a much needed shower and put on clean clothes. I went into the living room. My mother was looking quite stern. On the table was the local newspaper. On the front page was a big photo from the festival. I took the paper and looked at the photo. It was a very small section of the very large audience, standing in the field gazing at the stage. Right in the middle you saw a young man with greasy long hair, a bottle of beer in the hand and the arm around a beautiful young girl in a mini-skirt. The young man was me!
All my mother said was, "why did you have to stand right there"?