The radio clicked on. Rock music blasted forth. Like a shot, the music woke Sandy. She looked at the clock; it was 6:15 A.M. Sandy sang along with the words as she lay listening to her favorite radio station. "Sandy," shouted her father. "Sandy, turn that music off!" Steve Finch burst into her room. "Why do you have to listen to such horrible stuff? It's the same thing over and over. I'm not sure it is really music, though it does have rhythm." "I like that music, Dad; it's my favorite. Listen for a minute; I'm sure you'll like it." Sandy reached for the radio to turn it up louder. "No, no, don't do that. I can't stand it. Turn that radio down so your mother and I can't hear it. I'm sure that music is hurting your ears as well as your brain." Sandy walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Then she grabbed the soap and washed thoroughly, including her hair. After her shower, Sandy brushed her hair, put on her old, green T-shirt and some jeans. Then she put on her makeup and went to the kitchen. As usual, she didn't know what to have for breakfast, so she grabbed a glass of milk and ate a piece of toast while standing by the sink. Just then, her mother, Jane, entered the kitchen. "Sandy, why don't you sit down and eat your breakfast? It isn't healthy to eat standing up." "I know, Mom, but I don't have time to sit down and eat." "Did you finish your homework, dear?" "Yes." "Did you brush your teeth?" "Mom, I haven't finished eating breakfast yet. I'll brush my teeth when I'm done." "Sandy, why are you wearing that old T-shirt? It's disgusting." "Mom, please stop." "Stop what, dear?" "Stop bugging me." "Sandy, are you wearing eyeliner?" "Yes, Mom, I've been wearing eyeliner for months. Isn't it pretty? " "Sandy Finch, you're too young to wear that much makeup." "Mom, I'm fifteen. I'm old enough to wear makeup. Believe me, all the girls at school wear makeup. Some have tattoos and pierced ears, and noses and tongues, too. Mom, I don't have time to talk about this now—I'm late. I've got to go. See you later." Sandy kissed her mother quickly on the cheek, picked up her books, and bolted out of the house. After Sandy had left for school, Jane Finch sat down in peace and quiet to drink her coffee. Soon her husband joined her. "Would you like some coffee, Steve?" asked Jane. "No, thanks, honey. My stomach feels upset—like it's full of knots. It's probably that awful music that wakes me up every morning. I don't think I'm old-fashioned, but hearing those tuneless, offensive lyrics repeatedly makes my blood boil." "You know, honey, different music appeals to different generations," reasoned Jane. "Remember some of the music we listened to?" Steve smiled. "You're right. Maybe eating breakfast will help me get rid of some of the knots in my stomach." "Did you notice how much makeup our fifteen-year-old daughter was wearing this morning? I can't believe I didn't notice. I suppose we should feel lucky because makeup is our biggest problem with her. I've seen other teenagers walking around town with tattoos and piercings all over their bodies." "What worries me," said Steve, "is that music could have a negative influence on Sandy. I don't know what's happening to our little girl. She's changing and I'm concerned about her. Makeup, terrible music—who knows what will be next? We need to have a talk with her. The news is full of stories about teenagers in trouble whose parents hardly know anything about their problems." "Oh, I don't think her music is so terrible. But in any case, you're right. We need to have a talk with Sandy," said Jane. As Jane Finch drove to work, she thought about her Sandy. She knew what she wanted to say, what she had to say to Sandy. She was so glad that she and Sandy could still talk things over. She knew she had to have patience and keep the lines of communication with her daughter open. She wanted to be there as an anchor for her, but at the same time she would give her freedom to find her own identity. Write down the topic and the key idea of the text.