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