The Case Against William Read Online Free PDF

sprawling
627-square-mile city of Houston home. Originally excluding minorities and
Jews, River Oaks' real-estate prices now excluded only those without money.
Fourteen hundred families called River Oaks home. The Tucker family lived in
River Oaks because it was the mother's dream and close to the father's office.
Instead of commuting the congested freeways of Houston an hour each way, Frank
had two more hours each day with the kids.
    It
was eight that night, and his daughter stood on the sideline with the other
cheerleaders. His son sat on one side of him and his wife on the other, on the
front row of the small bleachers among other affluent white people whose
children attended the Academy. Since racial integration of the Houston public
schools back in the seventies, it was a given that River Oaks parents would
send their offspring to private schools. Frank sent his children to private
school because his parents could not; he wanted more for his children.
    The
River Oaks parents and children in the stands looked like models from a Neiman
Marcus catalog (there were no Nike sweat suits in these stands) and the parking
lot like a Mercedes-Benz showroom (with a few Ferraris and Bentleys thrown in
for variety). The Academy was a small private school in River Oaks teaching
pre-K through high school; tuition cost $40,000 per year, more than public
colleges in Texas. But graduates of the Academy did not go to college at a
public university in Texas; they went to the Ivy League. The Academy had
become a feeder school for Harvard, Yale, Princeton, Smith, and Wellesley. A
few went west to Stanford or stayed home at Rice. None went to the University
of Texas or Texas A&M.
    "Hi,
William."
    Two
preteen girls who looked as if they had stepped out of a fashion shoot strolled
by in front of them. They did not distract William from the game.
    "Hey."
    They
giggled as girls did. Frank nudged his son's shoulder.
    "Already
got the girls' eyes, huh?"
    "Girls
are lame, Dad."
    His
son was handsome with angular features, blue eyes, and curly blond hair that
fell onto his face. But he had not yet reached the age when girls graduated
from lame to alluring. Sports interested him much more than girls. Which was
a good thing at twelve. For the boy and his father.
    The
first twelve years of William Tucker's life had been easy for Frank Tucker. It
was more like having a younger brother, teaching William all the manly things
Frank knew—how to throw a baseball and swing a bat, pass and punt a football,
swing a golf club—or rather, pay the club pro to teach him; Frank would never
impose his golf swing on his son—and how to spit watermelon seeds. Frank's
father had taught him how to roof and paint a house, use and repair a
lawnmower, snake and unclog a sewer line, and fix and change a tire; that is,
useful life skills. A man did not pay another man to do work he could do. But
Frank was a lawyer not a plant worker so he hired out that work so he would
have time to teach his son the less useful life skills.
    It
had been a fun twelve years with William in his life.
    But
Frank knew the next twelve years would be more challenging for father and son.
His son would go through puberty; his body would transform seemingly overnight
from boy to man. But his mind would not. Physical maturity would come soon
and fast; mental maturity would come later and slower. Studies suggest that
the part of a boy's brain that controls judgment does not fully develop until
his mid-twenties. And that gap between mind and body—a body that could
suddenly do what a man could do and a mind that still thought like a boy—could
put his son's future in jeopardy. Throughout the history of man, testosterone
and stupidity had never joined together to produce a good result. Frank
wondered if he could protect his son from himself. He put an arm around his
son's shoulder.
    "You
going to get the senator off, Frank?"
    The
dad sitting behind them leaned in; his breath evidenced his taste for