This is a public letter for my brother Murray. Other readers may chuckle but only he can truly appreciate the shades of this brief biographical episode. It was a hot Ontario summer Saturday. We were kids. Dad worked in a factory all week. Wasaga Beach was and is a popular attraction, both for the great stretches of white sand and the foody nightspots. It was a 2.5 hour trip from St. Catharines. My dad and mom decided to take Murray and I and my uncle Bill and aunt Ruth for the day. Uncle and Aunt were newly weds. Change rooms were a distance from the car that was parked as they all were on the sand. Murray and I were out of our street clothes and into trunks within seconds. After some adult discussion, a decision was made, and I watched as Uncle Bill and Aunt Ruth entered the rear car doors and pinched towels at the top of each window, and changed together. My juvenile mind tried to grasp the notion of them squirming to undress and redress in the back seat of dad’s car. That was a modest lesson in my primer for life. Riding in the back seat of dad’s car was never without that flashback, made more amusing today as I think of my dignified uncle and aunt now in their early eighties.