No, not one of my novels but my baby offspring. She’s the one in the front row in the hat. She and her brother (who, incidentally, has sported a mohawk every summer for the last three years) go to this church to listen to underground or alternative bands. Good clean fun. Most of the kids I know who go are in Catholic school, driven by or picked up by parents (often me or my husband).
To the neighborhood I say, lighten up. They may be loud and dressed in a way your generation deems inappropriate, but at least the pack of teenagers on the street isn’t hitting you over the head or thiefing your purse. Not that night, anyway.
