Recently I was visiting some old friends of mine who live in the country, and we were sitting around in the kitchen after lunch one fine summer afternoon when their teenage daughter returned home after a drive to town to visit some of her friends.

     She sat down at the table and reached for a cookie, and she was looking so lovely and sweet that the grownups were all sitting there smiling at her while she ate it.

     Everyone was delighted to see her as always. But her Dad and I are old friends, as I said, and I could tell that he was starting to feel almost alarmed by his daughter's beauty. Somewhere in his mind, strong young men with battering-rams were about to assault his castle.

     Of course, she took no notice at all of our antique reactions to things. She started singing that old song of the Big Bopper's, "Chatilly Lace".

      Then she stood up, sort of danced over to the fridge with her ponytail swinging, opened the door and got out a bottle of orange pop, exclaiming, "I just love that song! It's by the Big Bopper! That is such a cool name! I really, really want to go to one of his concerts some time - okay, Dad? Can I? Please?"

     I saw that her Dad was having some trouble getting out the word 'No', so I spoke into the awkward silence and, as gently as I could, informed her of the Big Bopper's tragic death in an airplane accident a long, long time ago.

     She turned and stared at me in disbelief and then her innocent blue eyes filled with tears.