The Summer of LOVE.

1969 was a pivotal year, marking the beginning of my journey into self-discovery as a human being. The early months felt much like any typical experience for a child on the cusp of turning four, filled with the innocent joys of play and curiosity. However, as the summer rolled in, my life took a thrilling turn that would stay etched in my memory forever.

I can still hear the echoes of a passionate telephone argument between my mother and father, their voices rising and falling with the weight of their disagreement. My mother was eager to take me somewhere extraordinary in August, though I couldn't grasp the gravity of the conversation at the time. All I knew was that music filled the air, a melody I found delightful and enchanting. Little did I realize that my mother's plan was to whisk me away to one of the most legendary music festivals in history: Woodstock.

That experience remains one of my most vivid and cherished childhood memories. We spent at least two days at the festival, maybe even three, wandering through the sea of people and sounds that enveloped us. I remember the exhilarating freedom of racing around in just a diaper, even at four years old, my cheeky insistence on this attire reflecting the carefree spirit of youth. But as I observed the world around me, and noticed that most children had shed their diapers, I eventually followed suit, embracing the adventure of bare-skinned exploration.

For much of those two days, I joyfully cavorted among a diverse crowd of fascinating people, each one a character in a story that still resonates within me over five decades later. Among them, I was privileged to experience the warmth and charm of someone slightly famous: Michelle Gilliam Phillips from The Mamas and the Papas. For two magical nights, I curled up on her soft, inviting belly, a cozy space surrounded by other children drawn to her like moths to a flame. Together, we formed a delightful pile of giggles and warmth, as she welcomed us with open arms. But there were many others, just blurred faces within my memory.

I've often been told that a photograph exists capturing that beautiful moment, a snapshot of our innocent joy, but despite my efforts, I've never been able to find it. During those transformative days, I came face to face with musical legends; their faces are still imprinted in my mind, each one a fleeting glimpse of greatness. While I wish I possessed an eidetic memory to recall every detail, the essence of that experience continues to be a cherished recollection, a beautiful fragment of my childhood that I hold dear.