As I floated down the perfectly tarred, scorching hot sidewalk,

Explosions of protest music and pop art enveloped me like a cozy blanket,

Tinty tots tote their twinkling toys,

Allowing them to forget about life's adversities for awhile,

Snickers of laughter touched my heart,

Eager teens scurried for the last copy of Rolling Stone Magazine,

To catch up on the latest British Invasion gossip,

Overheard the whispered words of adulating fans,

"Did you notice John's dreamy new haircut?"

I felt my lips curl upward into a toothy grin,

What does the Sixties mean to me?

Rounded the corner to approach my rustic, red-bricked home,

Could barely contain my excitement,

Hisses of television static and distant chants filled my ears,

Busted into catch a glimpse of Ali's prized Olympic fight,

Freshly popped popcorn infused the air,

Bringing my family closer together,

Demonstrating American pride,

What does the Sixties mean to me?

After a restful sleep of unforgettable memories blanketing me,

I was off to Woodstock, my head wrapped tightly in a peace symbol headband,

Like a mummy that had been preserved for 10,000 years,

Music has always empowered me,

Practiced my best dance moves in my bathroom mirror for months,

With sun-kissed skin, I lent my voice to a cause,

While embracing community, harmony, and peace,

What does the Sixties mean to me?

Bonding with those you hold dear,

Absorbing every last second of your favorite song,

Getting lost in the magic of art,

Snatching up the last copy of Rolling Stone,

Peacefully protesting a neverending war,

Cherishing the innocent laughter of children,

Hoping the giggles will linger forever,

Turning despair in the world to brightness,

Making each moment count,

That is what the Sixties means to me.