The heroine of this tale was such a child. Her mother, after careful forethought during a commercial break before her favorite soap opera, decided that her child would be called SURF. Again I must emphasize that she only had a few minutes before Brad, who was returning from the dead to prove to Laura that no other man could love her half as much as he could, walked in on Laura trying to find comfort from her grief in the waterbed of his half-brother, the one that his mother had given up for adoption 15 episodes ago. So you see, SURF was a good name. A simple name. And wasn't terribly hard to spell or say like La-kesha Ro-shay Javal the name that her best friend and Whist partner had wanted her to name the baby.

But there was one problem with it. Although SURF was a good name. A simple name. And was not so terribly hard to say or spell. It was also not a pretty name. Just the position of your lips before you said it indicated that either you were about to sneeze or someone had expelled an unpleasant odor into the room. An odor that you were just becoming noticeably aware of. Then too, if you just tried to say it simply, with no attempts to soften it, It sort of dropped off the ears of your listener. SURF. Usually you would have to repeat it again so that your hearer would have a chance to gather it in. But, that was what she was called and aren't we glad no feminine hygiene products occupied that two minute slot in that most critical hour.

SURF was a good baby. She weight 7 lb. 4 ounces and had the usual number of arms and heads. She was also born with a shocking amount of hair. Shocking in the fact that she was a black baby and she was born with no hair at all. Now, no hair on a black baby always pointed to the midnight-creeping habits of a father who may have been of a lighter persuasion. So there was no amount of questioning eyebrows raised when SURF also arrived two shades lighter than any respectable black baby ought.

Her mother said that the florescent lights at the hospital should be factored in before the neighborhood jury went out for deliberations. Then too, she was known as a woman who always drank her coffee strong and black. But others remarked that they had seen her dip her spoon in the sugar bowl a time or two as well.

Some skeptics pointed to the baby's name. SURF. What kind of a name was THAT for a black child. Not a "sha" or a "lisa" in it. Besides, water is water and that kind of water was 900 miles away. At any rate, SURF came into the world, bald and light. This fact could not be denied. Her mother, who knew the facts, having been an active participate in the event, was at a loss to explain why the cloth hadn't taken the father's dye.

Through this cloud of community support, the little baby was brought home. A few semi-virgins fired piercing stares and launched parachuting sighs from behind their barricades of sympathy, but no one had the courage to directly approach her with the fatherhood question. Thankfully, SURF spoke for herself when, at three months, she came into season, ripe, beautiful, golden brown with hair like black yarn. Those who had kept the faith knew that some babies have that biological delay. So SURF's brief flirt with composite lineage was generally attributed to the acceptable "ROOTS" connection and not because of the undesirable "JUNGLE FEVER" one.

From the start SURF knew her mother loved her. She would hold her in her arms while she was making her bids at Whist. And SURF was allowed to hear all kinds of colorful expressions when her mother led with an ace and her partner trumped her. How she did marveled at the bilingual skill of her mother. Puzzling to her was the fact that while her mother's expressions always generated laughter and smiles, her own weak attempts were greeted with silence and stern punishments. She was at a loss as to how she was to master this language without the needed practice. She finally concluded that mother preferred her to master English, the children's language, while adults were free to express themselves in this native tongue.