I just had a flashback to my summer days in California. In 1984 (oh my god, 20 years ago!), way before my brother was born, we made a roadtrip from San Diego to San Francisco. Those were the days when things were easier and -as far as I know- my grandfather paid for everything. My uncle even bought a van for the trip. It was my uncle, my mother, my grandmother, my grandfather, my sister, my two cousins and myself in the van. It took us about a week to get to San Francisco, after visiting Los Angeles, Santa Barbara, Morro Bay, Monterey and Carmel, Sacramento and Fresno (or did we get to Sacramento and Fresno after San Francisco, I don’t remember that well).
When we got to San Francisco, the Democratic Convention was taking place, and it was my first encounter with street demonstrations, marches and rallies (and as it turned out, the first of a whole bunch, but my readers will have to wait for a more suitable opportunity to hear about the things I did before coming to Toronto). I was amazed to see that people could make fun of the president (in this case Reagan) without fear of being arrested or punished. It really impressed me, just a kid, to see all this going on in the street.
It’s all coming back to me, what a weird sensation. I haven’t thought about it for a really long time, and I am just remembering now after reading about the National Democratic Convention going on in Boston right now and seeing pictures of people wearing a George W. Bush mask. Jesse Jackson was contending for the nomination, but Walter Mondale and Geraldine Ferraro were elected to run for President and Vicepresident (those are the things that stuck in my mind and I think I’ll never forget, those two names). As we all know, they did not win the election, but they left a lasting impression on me.
