Get real," Cora says when I ask her how long she thinks Dad will stay in the BOQ. "Just lighten up, will you?" and she smacks the page down on her movie magazine.

One of my father's black M. P.'s is substitute bus driver this morning. You can already see waves over the macadam so he keeps the door open, which my sister says is against military regulations. As soon as we're past the guard hut, he switches on his portable radio, which Cora whispers "qualifies for an Article 15."

It's a half hour from the proving ground to Yuma Grammar and mostly the enlisted kids do their homework. Except Jeffrey Orr, who Cora claims is "narcoleptic." Last month when he fell into the aisle and knocked himself unconscious, our regular driver, Corporal Greenspun, had to race back to the dispensary, and we were an hour late for school. Now everyone tries to get Jeffrey to take an aisle seat.