a, other’s an o and has a capital C but I don’t know who meets,” and Julie says “Not fair,” and I say “You’re so ehjacated as my dad liked to say, probably anudder reason I wasn’t, but how would that account for you girls being so smart? Your brainy mom, who doesn’t laugh at my anti-intellectual jokes, while my brainy mom did at my dad’s,” and Margo says “When do I get my prize?” and I say “At the next rest stop, and Julie too, but smaller,” and Margo says “That’s not fair.” “Anyway,” I say, “if you want to continue this till the first sweet stop, another reason for the dismalness of life today is that most people don’t read, and I kid you not. What’s the figure I read in the paper — fifty percent of the people don’t even read a book a year? And if they don’t this year, why would they the next, and so on, so maybe the real figure, unless I don’t understand statistics — you know…well, just statistics — is that they don’t read a book in five or ten years — Americans — twenty, maybe the rest of their lives,” and Julie says “I read a lot — three books in one day last week and I’m American,” and I say “They’re small books, and kids don’t count in this report; it’s for people after they’re done with school, and not for the day done but life. But you do, fine, I’m proud of ya, Margo too, what a read-team, and I just hope the habit sticks. But the entertainment or diversion or outside activity or just intellectual pleasure, and I use the word — term — loosely — phrase — is, well, lots of things — music, movies, catalogs, TV, but creepy demonic killer music, movies and TV, where it’s cool, dude, to say dumb things and that you hate cops and you take advantage of old ladies and young girls — I’m talking here of the—” and Julie says “What girls, what do they say to them?” and I say “No girls, shouldn’t have brought them up. But of talk music I’m talking of — you know, the one with the flat mangled speech and clumsy headachy beat. I mean, when I was a kid your age we couldn’t wait — and not seven but ten, eleven, I swear to you — and I don’t want to go into my own dad’s when-I-was-a-kid routine, though they had some wonderful artful songs then too, something with a honey blonde and the bicycle-built-for-two one and before his time there was ‘Beautiful Dreamer’ and ‘Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair’—but kids my age couldn’t wait for the next Broadway musical by Rodgers and—” and Margo says “Well I like rap,” and I say “Who said anything about that? I don’t even know what it is,” and Julie says “Oh sure, Dad, tell us,” and I say “Rap, like chitchat, right, or is that the one with the flat popular-ugly-music-one beat?” and Julie says “You know what it is,” and I say “Okay, I won’t lie, and I dislike it immensely and think it’s hateful — I give that music four aspirins, maybe five,” and Margo says “You won’t lie after you’re caught, because everyone knows rap and that must mean it’s good,” and I say “Oh, ‘good’—a great critical word, ‘good.’ it’s good, this movie’s good, this book’s good, this line of poetry’s real good,’ or it’s bad, this bassoon quintet’s bad, The Iliad’s bad, War and Peace is both good and bad,’ some title of a great work with three names which I can’t come up with right now, The Red and the Black and the Green or something, is good, bad and I-don’t-know,” and she says “I still think rap’s very good and that life is better for kids today than when you were one. Kids are freer to choose their own things and styles more,” and I say “Freer to choose what the advertisers gorge down their little throats,” “and have more selections to do what they want most times, while you’ve always said you couldn’t as a boy,” and I say “Advertisers, store owners, record company heads and the piggies who rant these songs, all they want is your money. And we too could say what we wanted when we were kids, to adults, but about important things, if we had anything important to say — racial and religious prejudice, for instance. Those were big issues for kids then, and the right of people to live freely — in freedom — you know, so long as they’re not killing other people, I’m speaking of whole countries. But other things, some not even important, we listened rather than shot off our mouths every first chance, not that you do that. But anywhere, I mean anyway, look what your freer freedom’s ended up in — I’m saying rap and music like it that makes kids want to do hateful things because the rappers encourage them to—‘Hey babe, beat, bleed and bleat, ‘cause it feels good’—and the kids think ‘Say, these dudes are cool and cute and just great because they’re popular and hip and make a mint, so they must know about life and what’s right, wrong and I-don’t-know,’” and she says “You’re not making sense again,” and Julie says “She’s right, Daddy, you’re not,” and I say “Ahh, she’s always right to you, but good, you’re inseparable sisses and she’s a thinker so a good one to look up to, and your loyalty’s fine too to a certain extent, you two will be true comrades forever or so I hope,” and Margo says “I admit some rap might be like what you said but there’s other nicer kinds that—” and I say “Look, those guys before riding alongside us looking as if they wanted to shoot — freedom, oh boy great freedom when they plug us dead, give me five,” and I hold up my right palm for someone to slap though know no one will, and she says “I don’t see the connection,” and I say “And you know something, for a few moments there I almost did think we’d get shot at — I didn’t see any gun but I was sure they had one, for what other way to travel today? And that face filled with a rapper’s put-down hate, though at least the rapper gets paid for it so his is mostly fake, while these guys make it for real; they hated me, but why? They don’t know me from Charlie, do they? Someone here snitch on her dad? So we got a man you don’t know who’s doing nothing to you and with two kids in back who are obviously his — that’s who you take out your rage on?” and Margo says “Maybe they didn’t see me and Julie,” and I say “They saw, you yourself said you were sitting up and staring at them, or at least staring at them so you had to be sitting up and for them to see, and if they didn’t, even so, for what I do? What’s really to mock and go ha-ha about in me if my driving was okay which I think it was? Before, sure, I laughed at myself in saying maybe they think I look funny. I’ve seen my mug in the mirror enough to know it’s often good for a laugh. But tell me, why am I letting it upset me so? Listen, one good thing from it once the scare was over is that they helped us pass the time for a while talking about them and anything that came out of it, and that’s always a relief. This trip’s too familiar and the scenery’s pretty dull so it can be a longie for me without someone to chat with in the front seat, not that that’s an invite for either of you to come up here. You can amuse yourself and each other much better back there and maybe get a snooze in too. And for safety sake, meaning I bet you get a leverage — ooh, I hate that word, it doesn’t mean anything and defies definition — an edge, an advantage of maybe ten percentage points in living and skipping injury from being in back rather than up front if let’s say, God forbid, there was ever a crash. If anybody’s got to get it, let it be me, though nothing’s gonna happen, take my word. This is all what they call conjecture — supposing, perhapsing, like that. But I’ll never understand why people act so savagely to people, do you? No matter what the reasons — meaning, what disadvantages they might have in life — you both know what I mean by ‘disadvantages,’” and Julie says yes and Margo says nothing but I know she knows. “And they were driving an expensive new car, though maybe stolen, but anyway, things seemed to be going okay with them and they didn’t look poor by any means. But even if you’re poor — hold on, what you’ve been waiting for, the lecture; even if you’re looked down on by a lot of insensitive stupid society who gotta look down on someone to think they’re better, all of which you’ve heard. Even if—” and Margo says “