From what I’ve heard, this weekend is the fiftieth anniversary of the Woodstock music festival. It was billed as “An Aquarian Exposition: 3 Days of Peace & Music.” I was nineteen years old when that granddaddy of all music festivals took place.
The Brown Acid
The previous spring, an acquaintance at college mentioned to me he was planning on attending. That’s about all I ever heard about it and promptly forgot it entirely. Besides that, I had a summer job, and making money was a tad more important at the time. It was only after the fact that I realized what I had missed. Oh well… In those days, I was much more of a follower than a leader and may well have taken the, now infamous, brown acid.
That event took place during the Vietnam War era. This was another event that I narrowly missed. I had a low number when the military draft was reinstituted. Had I not been in college at the time, I would undoubtedly have been shipped off to the front. Then, when I took the physical ordered by the draft board, I didn’t make the cut.
There have been moments when I’ve regretted not serving. These moments never seem to last when I realize I was never the military type. Regimentation was not my thing. Besides that, each time I visit The Wall and see the names of guys I knew, I realize my name could be there instead of at the bottom of this blog.
Then, of course, there are three other events I missed attending. These would be the seventh game of the three World Series that my beloved Pittsburgh Pirates won—1960, 1971, and 1979. On October 13, 1960, I was in sixth grade. As I left school that day, all the kids were jumping up and down, screaming about the Mazeroski home run and the Pirate championship.
On October 17, 1971, I was working at a gas station. It was a beautiful, autumn day with sunshine and a gentle breeze blowing the falling leaves around the streets of my college town. Some Pirate fans rode through those streets in a convertible while holding up a homemade sign which read, “Pittsburgh Pirates, 1971 World Champs!”
Then there was October 17, 1979. It was a Wednesday night game in Baltimore. I didn’t even entertain the thought of laying out the money on top of taking off from work to attend the game. I had kids to feed—boys, nonetheless. I had to settle for seeing it on TV. At least I got to watch it that time.
Throughout our lifetimes, we will have a lot of near misses. Some will be to our benefit while others we may regret. Through it all, I suspect the Lord will lead us to where we need to be when we need to be there. At any rate, rather than dwelling on what we might have missed, let’s live the present moment to the fullest.
[Dave Zuchelli is a graduate of Pittsburgh Theological Seminary and currently resides in Aldie, VA.]