ABSTRACT
I’m a child of the 1960s. I saw plenty of antiwar and civil rights stuff. I took part in some demonstrations, but I was never an activist. I saw people beaten up; I saw a man’s face ground into the pavement with a burning cigarette still in his mouth. I decided that that was not my way of doing things, but I felt guilty about it. I felt I should be doing more, paying back to society. And I realized that that feeling was coming from my own place of inadequacy.
