August 7, 1962
Rose turned from her latest painting when she heard a knock on her door. After wiping her hands on a rag, she went to answer the door, finding her father standing on the other side with a wrapped gift in his hand.
"Happy birthday, Rose," he told her, handing her the package.
"Thanks, Dad." She moved back and sat on her bed while he stepped inside the room, closing the door behind him.
Tom studied Rose’s latest painting, a picture of a voluptuous blonde actress on a black background. "You’re painting Marilyn Monroe, I see."
Rose looked at the painting. "It’s for Lucy. She is so bummed out that her idol died—I thought the painting might cheer her up a little." She turned over the package in her hands. "I thought you gave me all my presents this morning."
"This one is just between you and me. After all, it isn’t every day a girl turns sixteen."
Rose grinned. It was her sixteenth birthday, her painting was going well, and her parents were throwing a big party for her and friends that night—life was good.
"Well, go ahead. Open it," Tom encouraged her, seeing her tugging impatiently at the bow.
Rose didn’t need any further encouragement. She tore the ribbon and paper off, gasping in delight at the two record albums. "El—"
Tom put a hand over her mouth. "Don’t let your mother know. You know how she feels about rock and roll."
Rose held up the albums, both by her favorite musician, Elvis Presley. She looked longingly at her record player, but knew she couldn’t play the records while her mother was at home. "Thanks, Dad!" She turned the covers over to see what songs were on the records, just then noticing something. "Why are they already open?"
Her father looked a bit sheepish. "I decided to listen to them myself first."
"And you still approved?" Rose was a bit shocked that either of her parents would approve of Elvis.
"You aren’t the only one who likes rock and roll."
Rose gave her father a flabbergasted look. It had never occurred to her that her father might be a fan of Elvis Presley.
"Don’t get me wrong, Rose. I don’t approve of his dancing, or the way young girls throw themselves at him. But his music…well, that’s pretty good." He smiled. "I guess your old man isn’t as much of a square as you thought, huh?"
Rose threw her arms around him. "You aren’t old, Dad, and you aren’t a square, either."
"Glad to hear you think so." He paled slightly, clutching at his chest.
"Dad? Are you okay?" Rose looked at him worriedly.
After a moment, he answered her. "I’m fine, Rose. It’s just a little heartburn."
"Are you sure?" At his expression, she tried to lighten her voice. "You need to be healthy to escort me to the debutante ball on Friday."
"I’m fine, sweetie. I just had a little too much spicy food for lunch."
Rose was still concerned—he seemed to have heartburn far too much lately—but knowing that he wasn’t going to discuss it with her, she turned her attention back to the records. "Do you think I could get away with playing these at my party tonight? Mom doesn’t have to know they’re mine. I could say one of the other kids brought the records."
"I don’t think that would be a good idea. You don’t want to risk her taking them away."
Rose sighed. "I know, but one of my favorite songs is on here. All Shook Up." She sang a few lines under her breath, tapping her feet to the words. Brightening, she said, "You could tell Mom the records are yours."
Tom laughed. "She wouldn’t believe it for a minute. I’ll tell you what. You can play them, but if your mother gets offended, I’ll take them away myself. That way you won’t lose them."
"Okay. I guess you can do that." She walked over to the shelf that housed her record collection, carefully putting the albums away amongst the music her mother gave her slight approval to. "Mom really is a square," she mumbled under her breath.
"Now, Rose, don’t be so hard on your mother. She’s doing the best she can. It isn’t easy to raise teenagers in this day and age."
"Not like when you were kids, right? Back then, all you had to worry about was losing all your money and starving to death."
"Rose…" There was a warning note in Tom’s voice.
"Sorry, Dad. But Mom just doesn’t understand. She wants me to grow up just like her and be a part of society, but I want to do more than that. I mean, country clubs and parties and fancy clothes are nice, but…there’s so much more to life than that. And there’s so many people who don’t enjoy half the things we have. There are people who aren’t even allowed to go into some places because of stupid laws. And women who work…they don’t earn as much as men for doing the same jobs, and it’s hard for us to get ahead. If I wanted to go into business like you, I probably wouldn’t be able to get all the way to the top and make the decisions for whole businesses…I’d have to let some man do it for me, even if I knew more than him."
"I never thought you wanted to go into business."
"I don’t…I want to be an artist. But I bet men artists make more than women artists! And I bet they get more jobs, too."
"That may be. Now, the question is, what do you want to do about it?"
Rose turned to look at her father. "I don’t know. Something. Things are changing, Dad. People are marching for their rights and getting attention…but I don’t want to just sit and wait for things to change. I want to be a part of it, maybe help make things change faster. I mean, it’s 1962, not 1862!"
Tom shook his head. "Sweet sixteen, and ready to set the world on fire."
"It’s not funny!"
"I’m not laughing at you, sweetie. Really, I’m not. But you are young, and your feelings may change. You still have two years of high school left, and then…"
"And then I’m going to college. I’m going to get a degree and have a career. I’m going to do something with my life. I’m not going to just get married and have babies. But that’s what Mom thinks I should do!"
"There’s nothing wrong with marriage and babies, Rose. Your mother and I have been married for twenty-two years and raised four of you."
"But I want more! Someday, I’ll probably get married and have kids. I want more than that, though…I mean, some women dedicate their whole lives to raising children, but what do they do when the children are grown up? And lots of the girls my age…they think about nothing but boys and finding Mr. Right before they graduate from high school. I’m not getting married until I find someone really special, and I’m not having more than two kids. There are too many people in the world, and the environment is hurting because of it. Two kids just replaces the parents."
Tom stood, giving Rose a hug. "I’m glad you have ambition, Rose, and you’re right that you would probably never be satisfied with a conventional life. Still, you don’t know what the future will hold, and life may take you places you never expected. I know you think you’re ready to go out there and change the world, but please, humor your mother, would you? She’s not always wrong."
Rose sighed. "Dad…"
"And we’ve heard your arguments before. You and Jack have similar views…and a similar inability to keep your opinions to yourself."
"There’s nothing wrong with saying what you think."
"No, there isn’t, and I agree with you on many things, Rose. However, I still want you to respect your mother, no matter how ‘square’ you think she is. She’s doing her best to raise you right, regardless of how old-fashioned she might seem."
Rose sighed again. "I guess, Dad."
Tom reached into his pocket. "Now, Rose, there’s another gift for you, but it’s downstairs."
"Is it something else I have to hide from Mom?"
"No…your mother and I picked this out for you together." He opened the door. "Come on."
Intrigued, Rose followed him down the stairs. "What is it?"
"You’ll have to come with me to find out."
She hurried after him, surprised when he opened the front door and led her outside. "Dad, what…oh!" Rose stopped, staring at the new car in the driveway, not quite believing that it was for her.
"Happy birthday, Rose." Tom pulled the key from his pocket and handed it to her.
Rose stared at the car, a brand new Corvette roadster, hardly able to believe her parents were giving it to her. She had only gotten her driver’s license that morning.
"Dad…oh, wow!" Rose hurried forward, examining the candy apple red convertible. When her parents had asked her what kind of car she wanted when she got her license, she had mentioned that she would like a convertible, but hadn’t expected them to actually get one for her.
Tom had a wide grin on his face. "So…I take it you like it?"
"I love it!" Rose threw her arms around her father.
Ruth came out of the backyard. "Happy birthday, Rose. Mrs. di Rossi and Fabrizio went and got it after I brought you home with your license this morning."
Rose hugged her mother, forgetting her earlier irritation. "Thanks, Mom. It’s great." Looking around, she asked, "Where’s Jack and the twins? I want to show it to them."
"Jack is in the backyard drawing something, Lucy is inside watching TV, and Julie went to her friend Beth’s house," Ruth told her, watching as Rose turned and headed for the backyard, calling Jack’s name. "I think she likes it," she told Tom.
"I think she’d be surprised if she knew you were the one who picked it out, and all I did was pay for it."
Rose returned with Jack and Lucy a moment later. "Oh, wow…cool!" were Jack’s first words upon seeing the car.
"Isn’t it a gas?" Rose followed him, Lucy close behind her, as he looked over the car, opening the hood and checking out the engine. "Who wants a ride first?"
"Me!"
"I do!"
Jack and Lucy responded to her question in unison, then glared at each other.
"Take your sister first, Rose," Ruth told her. "You can give Jack a ride later."
Rose looked at her mother. She would have preferred to give Jack a ride first—he seemed more enthusiastic about the car, after all—but Lucy’s beaming face left no doubt that her younger sister was eager to ride in the new car, too.
"Okay." She nodded, gesturing to Lucy to go to the passenger side while she dashed inside to get her purse. "I’ll give you a ride in a little while, Jack."
"Sure." He waved as she backed out of the driveway and took off with a screech of tires, making her parents cringe.
"I hope she can handle that car," Ruth remarked to Tom.
"She’ll be fine, Ruth," Tom replied, craning his neck to watch as Rose pulled to a careful stop at the end of the street. "She just likes to show off a little."
Ruth sighed, but knowing that Tom had been the one to take Rose to practice driving the most—she herself would cringe, grab the dashboard, and try to take the steering wheel away from an inexperienced driver—she deferred to his judgment.