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about it. There was no avoiding it.

He was in the living room reading his paper

after dinner as usual. I approached him with my

request. "Excuse me, Uncle Jacob," I said from the

doorway.

He slowly lowered the paper, his eyebrows

tilting and the skin folding along his forehead. I

couldn't recall speaking to Daddy without seeing a

smile in his eyes or on his lips.

"Yes?"

"Some of the girls in my class at school are

having a party on the beach tomorrow night and they

have invited me. Aunt Sara said I should ask your

permission. I would like to go. It's the fastest way to

get to know people," I offered as a practical reason. He nodded.

"It don't surprise me you'd like to go to a party

where they'll be no adults supervising."

"What do you mean?"

He leaned forward with a wry smile. "Don't you

think I know what goes on at those beach parties: how

they drink and smoke dope and debauch themselves?" "De. . . what?"

"Perversions," he declared, that irritating

forefinger raised like a flag of righteousness again.

"Young girls parade around with their revealing

clothing and then roll around on blankets with young

men to lose their innocence. It's pagan. While you are

under my roof, you will live decent, look decent, and

act decent, even if it flies in the face of your instincts." He snapped his paper like a whip. "Now, I

don't want to hear another word on it."

"What instincts?" I asked. He ignored me. "I am