Isn't that so strange, how different the lens is for so many of us?

The spring of '68 was when I really thought the world was starting to fall apart. The race riots the previous year, followed by political assassinations right and left, more race riots.

I remember how disillusioned I became over Vietnam as so many kids came home mangled. How betrayed by the country I felt. I grew up a very optimistic and patriotic (I thought) sort of kid.

But hell, JFK was assassinated on my Irish Catholic father's birthday--the only Democrat my father ever voted for, I might add.

My family moved to suburban Chicago at the end of the summer of '68.

I listened to "Pet Sounds" over and over and over.