by Audrey Couloumbis Published 2005

The day before my thirteenth birthday, my big brother, Collin, went to one of those hippie sit-ins? Where he and some likewise stupid boys torched their draft cards.

That draft card was pretty much Collin's invitation to join the army. He wasn't supposed to turn the invitation down, much less burn it. The way we found out, some old busybody called to tell Daddy he ought to truck on over there to the junior college and skin Collin's sorry tail.

Told Daddy Collin was going to get himself arrested in a hot minute. Yelled so loud Daddy couldn't hold the phone to his ear. Everything she said carried real well.

Daddy slammed down the phone. "I've got to see for myself what's going on out there," he said.

"I'll go with you, Daddy." I peeled my sweaty self off the couch and brushed away fuzzy bits of tweed that were stuck to my legs.

"No, Grace," he said, already on his way out of the house. "You stay here."

The screened door swung back with a squeal of the spring. I caught it and stepped out onto the porch, feeling left out. It used to be Daddy took me with him everywhere. Lately, he was always mad about something.

Collin's dog, a big white Lab, was hot on Daddy's heels as he crossed the yard, trying to lick his hand. Daddy didn't want to play. He yelled, "Call this dog back to you."

I made a half-hearted effort. "Caboose."

Daddy aimed a kick at the bright spot of lime green on the truck's rear gate, where Mom once stuck a peace sign. Daddy had scratched off as much of it as he could. He turned around and pointed his finger at me. "Call off your party, too."

"Noooo," I said. I stamped my foot. If this wasn't just typical. Collin got his party, and then he goes and ruins mine. He couldn't pick a better time for this? It's not like anybody had ever made a secret of boys get drafted.

Daddy got in the truck and pointed his finger at me again. The Finger of Doom, my friend Judy called it. She could afford to make jokes. It never got pointed at her. She never got punished for something Collin did.

Daddy drove off with a squeal of tires, the dog running hard behind the truck. Like the dog, I was not giving up that easy. I let the screen door bang shut behind me, and went through the house to tell Mom.

It took me three weeks of begging to get her okay for this party. She kept telling me I was too old for a birthday party. What was she trying to say? Just because this was my only birthday party since I was six years old did not mean I had outgrown them.

Practically the whole twelfth grade came to our house for Collin's graduation party. I only got to invite half my class, but my birthday party could be just as good. If I got any cooperation at all.

It was a good thing that kind of party didn't need silly party favors, only a dance floor and plenty of soda pop. We still had the dance floor Daddy built, standing on edge in the garage. But I still needed music. I had to get permission to use my own money.

"Could we talk about my party?" I would ask at suppertime. "I'd like to buy some new records."

"I thought you bought new records last week," Daddy said.

"I need to have the latest ones for my party."

"The boys aren't going to dance at this party anyway," Daddy said then. If his voice could write on stone, that line would have been added to the Ten Commandments. "Boys your age are too shy of girls."