Good times, these are the good times.

During the 1970's it was:

Ok not to wash your hair every day.

Ok for the first lady's agenda to be alcohol or CB radios.

Ok to wear homemade clothes.

Ok to have to help tend the family garden.

Ok to be black and beautiful, even if your name was Grace Jones.

Ok to watch Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom on a Saturday afternoon because the TV set only got 4 networks and one had to get their sorry rump off the sofa to change the channel.

Ok to ride over the levee, play Pink Floyd at full volume and make loops on dirt roads. It was the best party in town, and everyone was welcome.

Ok to tie wads of hemp together in knots and call it art.

Ok to cut the legs off your pants and wear them during the summer and not to get new shoes until the fall.

Ok if Barry Gibb, Barry White or Barry Goldwater wasn't your man.

Ok to be a girl and wear a tuxedo to the prom or wear overalls without a bra.

Ok to fix up a junker as a teenager's first car.

Ok to roll your own cigarettes and nobody got suspicious.

Ok to hear the words "I want to try a Harvey Wallbanger!" to come out my mother's mouth, even though I had no idea what she was talking about at the time.

Ok to travel cross-country to the Grand Canyon in a vehicle with the kids and all it a vacation.

Ok to drink cheap beer because there was no such thing as a microbrewery.

Ok to be a white southern democrat.

Admirable to work hard and save your money to buy something special that you really wanted, like a double-knit western cut leisure suit instead of putting it on plastic.

And a Working Class Hero was something to be.