all the above events (she also works eight hours a day). And you cry, because nothing else can express the feeling. And perhaps you, too, would quietly put the gown back in the closet and the lingerie-- because you've found something so far beyond that there's no comparison.

TV'

s have children like a lot of other people. But the problems are worse. You feel guilty, you're afraid of causing them permanent damage if they find out, you're concerned with your image, you're afraid they'll tell the neighbors. A single TV most likely won't have this problem--certainly won't have to live with it. The single TV won't face the shatter- ing experience of having spent two hours carefully getting dressed, striving for that just so appear- ance and having achieved it, steps out to have his oldest child say--"Gee Dad, you look funny.'

But he also won't be able to overhear his old- est child, within a few days, saying to the next door neighbor--My dad can do anything. And again you feel that funny tightness in your throat and a little blurredness in your vision, because not only can you look like a real live lady, but you can also put the wheels back on a toy truck, re-solder a loose wire in a toy robot, and make him his very own toolbox--all on the same day. And suddenly the whole business appears inconsequential (remember the three days you spent sitting in a hospital corridor while you waited to see if a little boy's shattered skull would heal after his babysitter had hit a tree with her car?) A single TV doesn't have all those things to face--doesn't have to make the choice - (because there is no choice) when he goes out to buy a new outfit--and instead, with the money he's saved for a year--buys a bicycle.

But then, the single TV won't know the feeling of having his son throw an arm around his neck and say, very solemnly, with no prompting, "It;s okay with me if you want to wear a dress." At that moment

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