Facing Facts<br >me 27， 1983 dawned bright and breezy in the Bay Area. Around the<br >reakfast table in the Thomas home in an affluent suburb， good-<br >umored conversation was interrupted by the honk of a hona. Mark<br >ot up from the table， put his plate and cup in the kitchen sink， grabbed<br >ae sweater slung over the back of his chair， and made for the door to<br >)in his friends.<br > His father stopped him. Pressing a twenty-dollar bill into Mark s<br >rand， he rested his arm for a moment over his son s shoulder and made<br >n embarrassed joke about the money. "lust in case you guys get into<br >rouble in the big city." He winked.<br > Mr. Thomas could afford to make such jokes. Mark， as clean-cut<br >t blond as any model middle-class family could hope to produce， had<br >lever been in trouble in his life. He wasn t outstanding in any partic-<br >dar way， but he was a willing， smiling， reliable boy， the sort who is<br >~ hosen to monitor the halls in grade school， who volunteers for com-<br >nunity projects in junior high， and， in high school， runs the com-<br >nittee to make arrangements for the senior orom.<br >