wool being pulled over their eyes. I hate to call them dopes after the nice thing they're doing, but . . .

The night before "back-to-college" for the girls, their Dad and Mother threw a going-away party for all of us. Paulette, still playing the chaste young virgin goddess, was breath-taking in an old-fashioned formal in eyelet lace. Cynical Meg wore a black satin siren gown I privately thought in bad taste. Mother, of course, wore a flower- splattered chiffon thing out of the thirties. Their Dad really outdid us all in white tie and tails . . . smelling only a little of mothballs . . . and a high intake of soul-juice. His dancing with me was not only closer than I was used to, but really felt too much like an embrace. Which I found myself rather liking. As we swayed closer and more closely to a Glenn Miller bounce, the generation gap practically melted away. If he were twenty years younger ...

"I don't know when I'll ever feel this close to you again, Zelda—but I must let something out. Then we're both obligated to forget it forever. Let's see... (long pause while I attempted to follow his shag). Mother and I vaguely recognized Paul from the first. Then became sure of it. We'd dreamed of the daughter we'd have liked so much and always mentally redid Paul in her image." (My inexpert shag degener- ated into a stumble while he went on.)

"Perhaps that's why Paul pulled his Hippie revolt. Now he's still in revolt and thinks he's put it over on us. Well let him. He can have his revolt and his parents, too. And we've regained a son secretly, though he doesn't know it . . . and also found our daughter. Whatever will be will be, I guess."

The generation gap closed with a resounding "clang" in my ears. As last goodbyes were being kissed, I stroked Paulette's soft hair back from her ear and whispered, "Don't think your parents are square be- yond all curvilinearness, Paulette. You may think you've outsmarted those old codgers . . . but you've got a Dad and Mother who are hip, but HIP!"