This is one of my favorite pictures of myself. (I look slightly less traumatized than in most of my childhood pictures. The casual viewer might think my gaping mouth makes me look stupid, but I think the fact that I'm holding a book kind of balances it out.) Mom used to take us to the beach, late in the afternoon. We'd pick up Kentucky Fried Chicken, on the way, and lay blankets out on the sand and spend a few hours swimming and, apparently, reading. I loved those days. The main things I remember about those trips to the beach, besides that chicken, was when a lady on the beach thought Jerry was Mary's father because he was playing with her in the waves and I remember thinking how she really didn't know anything about us. And, I remember when Donnie, on a visit from college, referred to some Coast Guard guys driving their jeep along the beach, next to the ocean, as "fascist pigs." I thought, hmmm, that's interesting - he's certainly picking up some new ideas in college. I hesitate to tell that story. Don't get the wrong idea. Donnie is a sweet little lamb.