Then came 1968, and it was, not only for me, a overwhelming year. After all, more than politics, what united us was the diversity we felt towards the previous generations. We were freer, richer, friendlier, more recognizable (we had the same way of dressing, from the first jeans, the eskimos, to miniskirts, bikinis, things that made the respectable people of the previous generation shudder). Our fathers had fought the wars. We celebrated peace, at least almost always.