Day two of the Carson's visit was on a Sunday and we had a worship service in our homechurch. My father led the service which, coincidently, seemed centered around the covenants of marriage and purity. This was a frequent theme in our church but it still made me feel 'on the spot'. After service, we went to the park for a picnic. Historically, these picnics were semi-segregated by sex. The boys would gather around one area and do activities or chat with the men. The girls and women would set out the food and then congregate for "fellowship". On this day, however, my dad suggested that I take drinks over to the boys and see if they needed anything.
Adam was, in hindsight, waiting for me to approach him. I asked the group if they needed anything and I was bombarded by requests. So much so that I couldn't possibly carry everything back on my own. Adam volunteered to help me. The 100 yards or so back to the covered picnic area was the longest walk I'd ever had alone with a boy that wasn't a family member. Adam took full advantage of the time and continued his interrogation from the day before. I answered in one word answers and didn't contribute much to the discussion. Shortly thereafter, my dad grabbed me by the arm and drug me behind the van to ask why I was being so short with Adam - apparently, Adam had told his father, who told my father, that I wasn't being friendly enough. I told my dad that I was uncomfortable discussing personal things with Adam as I barely knew him and I had never been with a boy alone. My dad reacted in a way I thought, and still think, was strange! Instead of understanding the position I was in and congratulating me for maintaining the boundaries he'd instilled in me, he was enraged! He told me that I *would* answer all of Adam's quetsions and I would do it JOYfully. I *would* be the "epitome of grace and womanhood" and I would "remember my place" as the eldest, "example" daughter. With that, I was pushed back to the fray. Adam was right there waiting.
The Carson's visit ended with Adam asking if he could call me. When I told him he'd have to talk to my dad, hoping that would dissuade him, he said he already had and had been told he could. It made me feel like my permission was just a quaint formality, but unnecessary. I didn't say I would respond but said I'd have to pray about maintaining communication. We weren't supposed to communicate with boys unless God told us he was 'the one', after all.
A week later, the phone rang and it was Adam. I begged not to take the call and my mom made an excuse for me. This happened several times while my dad was away on business. As soon as he returned, Adam called again and I tried to beg out of it - this time, I was told that I was taking the call. Thus began a year of phone calls I dreaded and my father regulated.