Even though you were gone long before I was born, I still feel like I knew you. I find traces of you on the dusty shelves of thrift stores and church basement sales, buried among the myriads of rusted blenders and ugly Christmas sweaters. Little mementos of your existence, discarded and forgotten like the old and yellowing love letters of a former lover.
Even if you aren’t as loved as some decades, I still appreciate your bright and vibrant colors, your psychedelic style, your free-spirited…um, spirit. Anyways, Sixties, I like you. I don’t want you to come back or anything crazy like that, I’m just saying I admire you in a way. You really broke the mold and set yourself apart from those who came before you. In truth, I still kind of prefer your predecessors (I have an ongoing love affair with Fifties) but you really are all right. Pretty groovy, really. Just don’t tell anyone I like you…it’s not something I really like to brag about.