Utterly dear, the whorling of his hair -- and hers, the way it falls across her eyes squinting in the sun. These burnished blonds must twist the heart with anguish as they trudge toward the chartered gate and turn around to toss their parents an offhand goodbye. The mother shrills, ``Remember what I said. Be sure to wear your glasses. Brush your hair.'' Why can't she tell them what she really feels?