In the early fifties girls showed up atbirthday parties, dressed to the nine's, in their prettiest and frilliestdresses. You never saw anyone show up ...ho was not dressed up, even theboys wore their Sunday best clothes to the parties.I do remember for some strange reason every once in a while at a party, Iwould look at the girls all dressed up in their pretty outfits. I wouldget this feeling, (Gee! girls really have pretty things to wear, whydon't boys?) But like most boys with sisters, I. "Daddy," Julie said softly, as she touched me in the back. She didn't sound scared, more like supportive. My rage boiled over, my mind filled with white hot anger. Anger at myself for bringing Julie into this dangerous situation. Anger at myself for not having brought a gun, to protect her. Anger at them for what they were doing to my little girl. I was not a prude. I understood about sex with girls this age; hell, I had done it myself. It was not the ideal, but you couldn't stop a young teen. More

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