“Where the hell have you been?!” yelled Frank. “Your mother and I woke up this morning and you were gone, can you imagine how your mother felt?!”

“None of your bloody business” replied Graham, stepping through the front door.

“Of course it’s my bloody business!” yelled Frank, even louder this time, “Don’t tell me you were at that damned war protest in the city with the rest of those tree hugging reds”.

“I’m 20 years of age Dad I can do what I damn well please” Graham retorted, his voice laced with venom.

“Not in this house you can’t, not while you’re living under my rules, God Dammit Graham don’t tell me I raised a Commy!” Frank shouted, “I spent 18 months in a foxhole in Eastern France to defend this country, and now I find my own flesh and blood is working to destroy it!”

Turning to his father, Graham’s glare could have shattered glass. “Your ignorance, even now, continues to astound me,” he said with a look of wisdom that was years older than his face. He turned back to face the door, opened it, and stepped out again. “It’s not like you could understand, anyway” he said as he shut the door behind him.