"Dad! We gotta talk!"

Jeff Tracy looked up from the report he'd been studying, his stomach dropping as his two youngest sons bounced into the room. Both boys had a barely contained excitement in their eyes. From long experience, Jeff knew to be very wary.

Fourteen-year-old Gordon was holding a piece of paper in his hand, and he thrust it under his father's nose. "Dad, we can't just go to the fair on Saturday. We gotta go on Friday too."

With an impatient frown, Jeff pulled back, and reached up for the paper. "What? What are you talking about?"

Thirteen-year-old Alan snatched the paper from his father's hand, spreading on the desk, and pointing. "Look, Dad, on Friday night they're doing a demolition derby! We gotta go see that! I mean, come on, a demolition derby!"

"Yeah, Dad! Demolition derbies are the best. Even you have to admit that!"

Jeff raised an eyebrow. "What exactly do you mean, 'even me'?"

Gordon froze, but Alan just rolled his eyes. "Don't listen to him, Dad. He doesn't mean anything by it. Can we go?"

Jeff sat back crossing his arms. "Your brother is showing Cowbert on Saturday."

Gordon put his hand on his heart. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Yeah, besides, Saturday is the Monster Truck Rally, and we don't want to miss that either." Alan's eyes were shining with his expectation.

Jeff held up his hands in mock disbelief. "You two think you should go to the fair for two days?"

The two teens looked at their father as if he had cauliflower growing out if his ears. Then they looked at each other, Gordon asking warily, "Yeah. Why not?"

"Well, what do you think your grandmother would say about spending two days at the fair?" Jeff challenged.

Alan frowned, but Gordon raised his eyebrows, and said in perfect imitation, "She'd say 'Now, Jeff, those boys have been good all summer, you just let them go to the fair.'"

Jeff blurted out a surprised laugh, then looked around guiltily. "Boy, if she ever catches you doing that, we'll all be eating liver casseroles for a month."

Gordon grinned cockily, "That's okay by me. I love that liver casserole."

Alan and Jeff both shared a delicate shudder. "Well, I don't. You just see to it that she never sees that impression."

"Okay, Dad. So, can we go?"

Jeff got a cagey look on his face. "Well now, what will you give me if I let you go?"

The two teens blinked. Gordon raised an eyebrow and deadpanned, "Money."

Jeff sat back and just returned the look. Alan just rolled his eyes, and asked, "What did you have in mind?"

Jeff cocked his head to one side. "Well, it seems your grandmother has decided the house looks… 'ratty,' I believe she called it. She wants it painted inside and out."

Alan's face fell. "That'll take forever."

Gordon glanced at his brother, then said, "Okay, Dad, here's the offer… Six hours a day until we get it done, and you show us how. Not Scott, not Virgil, you."

"Alan's right, son. If you only work six hours a day, it will take you forever. How about eight hours a day, and I'll pay you twenty bucks a day… each."

At the offer of pay, Alan perked right up, but Gordon shook his head. "No can do, Dad. I've got swim practice every day, and I can't let that slide."

Alan socked his brother on the shoulder. "Dad, how about I'll work ten hours a day, and you can pay me twenty-five dollars a day, and pay Gordon fifteen?"

"Hey!" Gordon frowned at his brother, but Alan just ignored him.

Jeff shook his head. "I want quality work out of you boys, so we'll leave it at six hours. Now you understand, there's more to it that just slapping some paint on the wall, right? You'll have to move furniture, do some sanding, and other prep work. Are you two ready for that?"

"We were born ready, Dad, but I'm serious about you showing us how. I want to learn how to do it right," Gordon said earnestly.

"You don't think Scott and Virgil know how to paint a house?"

Alan shook his head. "Oh, they know all right, they just don't know how to teach it is all."

Jeff frowned. Gordon sighed. "Dad, here's the thing. Scott would show us how, then he would hover over us micromanaging everything we did. Virgil would show us, then decide he'd rather do it himself."

"Your brother does not micromanage."

"Maybe not, but you know how Virg is, and Scott will back him up a thousand percent. Besides, you know how you love teaching us stuff. You can tell us how your dad taught you, and his dad taught him. We'll bond. It'll be great," Gordon said, batting his eyes.

Jeff sighed, shaking his head. He was not about to admit that his son had his number. He paused for effect, then said, "Okay, the fair is this weekend. I want your solemn promise that you'll work until the job is done, even if it takes the rest of the summer."

The two teens glanced at each other and struck identical poses, standing straight with their hands held up in a boy scout salute. "We solemnly promise to work until the job is done, even if it takes all summer."

"Excellent. We'll talk to your grandmother about colors after dinner."

A thought occurring, Alan asked, "Can we pick our own colors for our room?"

"No black, no fluorescent orange, no neon pink."

Gordon smiled at his father with his best guileless look, "So neon orange is okay?"

Jeff barked a laugh. "Go on, get out of here, I have work to do."

Jeff sat down at the dinner table, looking over the spread. "Mom, this looks great, as usual. Alan, pass me that corn on the cob."

As his youngest hefted the overloaded platter and passed it down, Ruth Tracy sat down saying, "You'll be so kind as to wait for grace."

"Ah, but Grandma, she's always late," Gordon quipped cheerily as he loaded his own plate with bread and sliced tomatoes. John, Scott and Virgil filed into the room and took their places at the table. Jeff paused looking at his three older boys. The lack of chatter told him something was up.

"Alright, Alan, I believe it is your turn," Ruth said, folding her hands and bowing her head.

"We thank you, Lord, for this bountiful meal, Amen."

The entire family paused, waiting for Ruth to raise her head. As soon as she did, the tension broke, and the entire family dug in. Jeff was on his second piece of corn when John cleared his throat. "Dad, I'm going to rent a trailer hitch and borrow a stock trailer from the Wilkens to get Cowbert to the fair. Scott doesn't think I'm capable of doing it."

Exhaling a slightly annoyed breath, Scott plunged in "Yes. He's never towed anything before, and he's decided he'll just start with a seven thousand pound stock trailer. I've told him I'd drive it for him, or even rent him a stock truck, but he won't listen."

"Oh, I've listened all right. I've listened to you tell me you think I can't do it. I've listened to you tell me that you think I'm an idiot. I just don't happen to agree with you," John responded coldly.

"I never called you an idiot, John."

"All right, boys, enough of that. John, it just so happens I agree with your brother. A stock trailer is nothing to sneeze at. They're unwieldy, and they change the entire dynamic of driving." Jeff watched as the blond seventeen year old schooled his look to cool indifference. "On the other hand, there's no time like the present to learn. As it happens, Gordon and Alan have agreed to work for me this summer re-painting the house. What we'll do is go tomorrow to rent that hitch, then we'll borrow that trailer, and use it to go into town and get the paint and supplies. That'll give you some practice, and you can do some hauling for me around the farm, and get more practice before you try transporting a live animal."

"Dad, I've been thinking. How about we paint the house purple? Make it stand out for once?" Gordon asked, to all appearances totally serious.

"You'll do no such thing! There is nothing wrong with white. White with gray trim," Ruth harrumphed.

"How about a red front door, Grandma? Just something to make it pop?" Virgil entered the conversation.

"Well, I was hoping your father would buy me the front door of my dreams," Ruth said, looking pointedly at her son.

"You have a dream door, Grandma?" Alan asked, a smile on his face.

"If Dad won't buy it for you, we will, Grandma. We're about to come into some money." Gordon piped up.

"We can all go in on it, Grandma," Scott said decisively, as his brothers all nodded.

Jeff sat shaking his head. His mother never asked for anything, so he understood why his sons were so eager, but he was every bit as eager himself to please her. "Nice try, boys, but your grandmother asked me. Now, Mom, what does your dream door look like?"

Ruth leaned over and took her son's hand. "Do you remember that time when we went to visit your Great Aunt Nella in Cleveland? Do you remember her front door?"

Jeff frowned. "Mom, I was what? Six years old at the time? I can barely remember Aunt Nella, let alone her door."

"Oh, that's a shame. She had the most beautiful stained glass panel in her front door. It had leaves and flowers, and I've wanted one like it ever since."

Jeff's eyebrows went up. His mother was nothing if not practical. The idea of a stained glass door seemed pretty frivolous, but if that was what she wanted, then he would see to it that she got it.

"Okay, Mom. I suppose DeRon Dorn can order it up for us. I'll talk to him when John and I go in to get the paint tomorrow."

Ruth rolled her eyes. "It's not like ordering a ladder, honey. I want to pick out the design myself. And no, it won't have rocket ships or airplanes or fish. I want what I want. Roses, or maybe spring flowers."

Alan had perked up. "They make stained glass windows with rocket ships? How about race cars? Do they make them with race cars?"

"And what's wrong with fish? Tropical fish are pretty," Gordon asserted.

Virgil smiled, saying, "Well, if anything, it should reflect the area. Grandma, what do you say to one with a big ol' John Deere on it?"

"No, it should be more personal than that. I think it should have a collage of TE products. You know, fasteners and bolts and things," Scott said, eyes twinkling.

"If I were you, Grandma, I'd go for something cosmic," John interjected.

"And this is exactly why I'll be doing the ordering, thank you very much," Ruth said firmly. All of the boys and Jeff broke into a laugh, then returned to their meal.

Dinner was winding down when Virgil said, "You know Grandma, if you can't find what you want, I could take a stab at designing one for you."

Ruth looked thoughtfully at her grandson. "I'll tell you what, baby. After dinner, we'll get on the internet, you and me, and we'll take a look at what's available. When you see what I have in mind, you can draw me up some designs, and we'll see if we can make them work."

Virgil beamed. "It's a date!"

Alan and Gordon smirked at each other, and Jeff sighed, knowing the family was about to be subjected to what the two youngest considered wit. Sure enough, Alan started in. "Isn't it illegal to date your own grandmother?"

Gordon shook his head, "Not illegal, but definitely immoral."

"Course, on the other hand, it's not like Virg can get dates with normal girls."

"True. Sad, but true. Oh, wait, now, what about Jessica? Does she count as normal?"

"Yes, she does. She absolutely does. That's probably why she doesn't see him any more."

Gordon shook his head. "I dunno, seems to me he's really taking a chance dating Grandma. What's he gonna do when she dumps him?"

"Oooo. Good point. Seems risky."

"All right, that's just about enough of that. You boys could do worse than look to your brother as a role model, and I won't have you impugning his character," Ruth said firmly. "Alan, if you'd be so kind as to go to the refrigerator and bring in the watermelon for dessert."

"Yes, ma'am," Alan replied, bouncing to his feet.

The next morning, Jeff stepped out of his son's old SUV smiling with quiet satisfaction. He had suspected that John hadn't really believed his brother when Scott had told him that driving a stock trailer wasn't easy. Just the trip from Greg Wilken's place into town had disabused the boy of that idea.

After a harrowing few minutes turning onto the highway from the Wilken's driveway, John had realized it was not an easy task, and by they time they had gotten the paint and supplies from town and returned to the farm, he had learned a lot.

Jeff was confident that John would be able to safely drive the trailer to the fair. And the way his sometimes mule-stubborn son had settled down and accepted his father's advice filled Jeff with pride.

"All right, son, go get your brothers and we'll get this stuff unloaded, then I'm going to want you to load up that lumber and take it out to the hangar for me."

"Okay, Dad," the 17-year-old started to walk away, then paused and turned back. Cocking his head to the side, John said, "And thanks."

Pausing as he opened the back ramp on the trailer, he raised an eyebrow. "For what, son?"

John shrugged his shoulders and with a small smile shook his head. "Nothing. Just thanks."

Jeff smiled back. "You're welcome."

He watched for a moment as John walked away, then turned back to the trailer. Hefting the first of several gallon cans of paint, Jeff headed for the barn where he had decided to set up a staging area.

When he came back out, he found not his youngest, but instead his oldest two sons grabbing paint cans. When Virgil looked up at his father, Jeff knew from the frown that there was something on his mind.

"Appreciate the help, boys. Just put it on the workbench with the cans I've already taken in."

"Dad…" Virgil wasn't so easily put off. He stood foursquare in front of his father three gallon-sized cans of paint dangling from each hand. Quietly impressed by his son's easy strength, Jeff nevertheless simply raised a questioning eyebrow.

Scott, not to be outdone by his brother, was holding his own six paint cans. "Dad, the kids are saying they're going to the county fair on Friday. They say you said it was okay."

"It's part of the deal. They paint the house and they get to go to the fair for two days in a row. They want to see the demolition derby on Friday night."

A flicker of something passed between the two young men. Virgil, still frowning, shook his head. "Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean those two on their own at the fair?"

Jeff frowned himself. "What do you mean? They aren't little kids anymore. They aren't troublemakers. Why shouldn't they go to the fair on their own?"

"You always told Scott and me that it wasn't safe."

That raised Jeff's eyebrows. It wasn't often that he got this sense of sibling rivalry, but it seemed to be coming through loud and clear right now. He crossed his arms.

"You're upset that they're getting to do something you didn't?"

A look of surprise flitted across Scott's face. "No, of course not. We just think maybe Virg and I should go with them is all."

A grimace from Virgil, quickly hidden, told Jeff there was more to this story than his sons were telling him, but he decided to let it go. He trusted Scott. If there was something going on that the young man didn't want his father to know, so be it.

Jeff shook his head. "Actually, it's not necessary. I'm going with them myself. As Alan said, come on, it's a demolition derby!"

Both boys started, looking consternated, and Jeff was even more convinced that something was up. Before he could say anything, John returned with Gordon and Alan in tow.

Alan peered into the trailer and whistled. "Wow that's a lot of paint."

"Yes, and we need to get it all into the barn, so everybody grab a can or two. Alan, you'll stay in the barn. I want you to sort the cans we bring in by color."

Gordon watched as his two oldest brothers lugged their six cans, and reached into the trailer and got a small can of trim. Acting as if it was too heavy for him, he started tottering toward the barn. Jeff rolled his eyes as he grabbed the new ladder he had bought.

His brothers all snorted laughter at Gordon's antics, and in fact Jeff was smiling. He knew that the red haired teen would do his share once he'd gotten the laugh he was looking for.

As Gordon passed his oldest brother, Scott reached over and playfully cuffed him. The show over, all of the boys buckled down, and soon the trailer was empty.

When John lifted the first of the 2x4's that he was to take to the hangar on the far side of the farm, Scott asked him what he was doing. When John told him, all four brothers immediately pitched in loading up the trailer.

Scott and Virgil got in the SUV to help John unload at the hangar, but Jeff knew it was also Scott's intention to be sure his brother could handle driving with the unwieldy trailer.

Jeff turned back to his youngest sons, saying, "All right, boys. We'll start with the exterior of the house. First, we're going to need to trim back the bushes from the front, so grab the garden shears, and let's get hopping."

Three days later, and Jeff was very pleased with the progress his sons had made painting the house. Gordon, being Gordon, had insisted on getting white coveralls and a white painter's hat, but he'd also jumped in with true enthusiasm, and listened carefully to all of Jeff's instructions.

Alan was less enthusiastic, but he had a good eye for detail, and was every bit as conscientious as his brother. Together, they had already finished the back and sides of the house and today had started taking down the shutters from the front of the house.

After spending one day showing them what to do, and getting them started, Jeff had felt confident enough to get back to work, albeit in his home office rather than taking the drive into the satellite office he'd set up in Jetmore.

To his mild surprise, neither Scott nor Virgil had shown any interest in 'supervising' their younger brothers, caught up as they were in some project with Wyatt Esterhaus. John had taken his Red Angus steer, Cowbert, to the fairgrounds the afternoon before.

Jeff had been a bit on edge as his son had driven away with the stock trailer in tow, and his mother, taking her own fair entries, in the passenger seat. But when they arrived home that evening, neither had reported any problems. And Jeff later overheard John apologizing to Scott for not understanding what the older boy had been trying to say.

It was three in the afternoon when Jeff had called the boys in from their painting, telling them they could knock off early and get ready for the fair. The two boys jumped at the chance to quit, but Jeff noted in satisfaction that they both worked to clean up the job site before heading in to shower and change clothes.

It gave Jeff a melancholy feeling to realize that all of his sons were growing up. The days of exasperation, having to tell a kid several times to complete a chore seemed to be over. Jeff didn't want to go back to those days exactly, but he also wished life could slow down, give him more time with his boys.

Scott had received his notice to report to the Air Force and would be leaving for basic training in a few weeks time. Virgil was already a star student at D.I.A.T. in Denver. John would be leaving home for Harvard at the end of the month. And his babies, his little boys, were showing more maturity than Jeff would have thought possible.

Well, maybe not that much. Alan came flying down the stairs, Gordon's painter hat in hand, cackling madly with his brother in hot pursuit.

"Boys! Stop that running in the house!" Ruth called out sharply.

"Okay, Grandma!" Alan called, dancing away from his brother's reaching hands.

"Hey! Settle down. Are you ready to go?"

Gordon finally snatched the hat from his brother, and said, "Always ready, you know that Dad."

"Can I trust you to eat a decent dinner?" Ruth turned narrow eyes on her son.

"Absolutely, Mom." Jeff turned his most innocent look in his mother's direction.

She wasn't fooled. She was never fooled. She sighed, saying, "Well, just you boys keep in mind that tomorrow will be a long hot day at the fair, and you'll not be very happy if you eat too much junk tonight."

"Yes, Grandma," the two boys chorused.

Ruth rolled her eyes, then said, "Well, have fun. And be careful. Those demolition derbies can be dangerous."

Jeff smiled fondly at his mother and pecked her cheek. "Okay Mom. Don't stay up for us we'll be late."

The boys said their goodbyes and all three headed out the door. As soon as they were in the car, Gordon said, "Fried candy bars, here we come."

Jeff laughed along with Alan, but then said, "All right, we're not actually going to look for a health food restaurant, but your grandma was right. We need to show at least a modicum of restraint. Got it?"

"As soon as I look up 'modicum,' sure thing, Dad," Alan responded.

From the backseat, Gordon quipped, "And as soon as I look up 'restraint,' sure thing, Dad."

Grinning, Jeff started up the car, and to the boys impromptu cheer, headed out.

Jeff sat back in the grandstand watching the first preliminary with John, Gordon and Alan, all cheering beside him.

When they'd arrived at the fairgrounds, Jeff had insisted that they head for the cattle pens to see how John was doing. The boys had readily agreed, and they had found John engaged in combing out Cowbert's tail. Jeff looked around at his son's competition, and felt satisfied that the boy would not be embarrassed in the show ring.

Gordon and Alan both teased their brother, asking for ice cream. Jeff smiled remembering his own days teasing friends about the white on white 4H uniforms they wore. He would have made a crack about street sweepers, but he didn't want to give the younger boys the ammunition.

Despite their teasing, both boys urged John to join them all at the demolition derby. The older teen was no less enthusiastic about it than his brothers, and they all waited while John finished up with Cowbert, then headed over to the grandstand together.

Once they had found good seats, Jeff gave each of the boys money, and told them to go get some dinner while he saved the seats. Gordon had come back with everything, including his 'drink' on a stick. Jeff had frowned and asked, "What is that, son?"

"Deep fried Coke," the teen responded, a silly grin on his face. Alan showed up a few moments later with a barbecued turkey leg the size of a Shetland pony, and what looked like half a watermelon.

"What happened to restraint, son?" Jeff asked dryly.

Alan looked at his prizes, then batted his eyes at his father. "This is restraint, Dad. No fried foods, unlike some people I could name."

Jeff rolled his eyes, then waited to see what John would return with. A few minutes later, the older teen strolled up, carrying several skewers with grilled shrimp, and a deep fried lump of something, and a large lemonade.

The smell of the shrimp hit Jeff's nose, and he licked his lips, almost changing his mind from the barbecued pork that he'd planned on. Gordon immediately frowned. "Where'd you get that shrimp, Johnny? I didn't see that out there."

Chewing one of the delicate pink bites, Johnny swallowed and said dryly, "It was right by the ice cream stand."

Jeff nodded to the brown lump. "What's that?"

"Deep fried pineapple. I'm eating Polynesian style tonight."

Jeff snorted a laugh. "All right boys, I'll be back in a few. Don't cause any riots while I'm gone."

"Aw, you're no fun." Gordon pouted.

Jeff ignored him and went out to the midway. As tasty as the shrimp had smelled, he was determined to get some of that award winning pork. He walked down the midway, ignoring all other sights, but just as he neared his destination, his eye was drawn by a colorful sign.

Jeff stopped dead in his tracks. A hot beef sundae? The picture showed a bowl of mashed potatoes, topped by several balls of shredded beef, with barbecue sauce, grated cheese, and with a cherry tomato on top. A slow grin formed as he considered how surprised his kids would be if their stodgy old dad showed up with a beef sundae.

He joined the line, hoping that it would at least be tasty. Once he had the dish in his hand, along with a can of soda, and another bowl filled with french fries covered in cheese, he headed back to the grandstand.

He hurried along when he heard the roar of car engines, and the blare of a loudspeaker. Jeff was surprised at how many more people had filled the stands in the bare ten minutes he'd been gone. He climbed the steps to where his sons waited, expecting to see surprise in their eyes at his dinner choices.

When he reached his seats, he was disappointed. The boys were all so intent on the action that they never even noticed what he had gotten. He sat down and looked out over the field, where at least two of the ten cars were already in trouble.

He grinned as one old junker took a smack in the rear. It had already taken several hits, the passenger door caved in, and more dangerously, the front grill was hanging down, dragging on the ground. Jeff could tell that when it went, it would foul the undercarriage, and probably take out at least one of the tires.

His sons were all screaming with teenage bloodlust. Gordon was laughing hysterically at one driver who was attempting to protect his engine by driving in reverse around the field. Both John and Alan were red-cheeked with excitement, wincing at the screeching of torn metal as the cars came together again and again.

After far to short a time, with one last hit, a winner was declared. Jeff let out a satisfied breath and sat back, a huge grin on his face. John and Alan also sat back, but Gordon burst into fresh laughter when the winner's car wheezed to a halt in the middle of its victory lap.

Turning shining eyes on his father, the red haired teen exclaimed, "This is the greatest sport in the history of sports!"

Jeff laughed and offered his son a high five, which the boy gladly slapped. Alan was nodding ferociously and slapped his father's hand himself. "Totally worth painting the house! Totally!"

Jeff turned to his other son. "John?"

Practical as ever, John had turned back to his dinner, but at his father's questioning tone, responded. "Oh, I agree completely. This is totally worth them painting the house."

Jeff laughed, eliciting a small smile from John. From the other side, Gordon poked him. "Dad, what's that?"

Following his son's gaze, Jeff said, "It's a hot beef sundae."

He picked up the paper bowl from where he had put it down next to himself on the bleacher. The preliminary had taken about ten minutes, and his hot sundae had cooled considerably. Picking up his fork, he speared some of the shredded beef and after a hesitation, took a bite.

All three of his sons were watching, and it was John who asked, "Well? Is it any good?"

Relieved Jeff nodded. "Actually yes. Would have been better hotter, but it's pretty darn tasty."

The four Tracys settled down, and watching as a series of tow trucks cleared the field, ate their dinners. The cars for the next preliminary started entering the arena, taking up positions around the perimeter.

Once the cars were positioned, the drivers all climbed up on the hoods of the cars for the introductions, most having to wiggle their ways out the driver side windows of the cars. The crowd started cheering and yelling, drowning out the loudspeaker system, and Jeff's sons were as loud as anyone.

Trying to maintain some decorum, Jeff stood with his sons grinning to beat the band, but not yelling. Suddenly, John froze beside him. "Dad, look. Isn't that Wyatt?"

Looking where John pointed to a driver who'd removed his helmet to scratch his head, Jeff's eyebrows climbed. It was indeed his son Scott's best friend, Wyatt Esterhaus. "Oh my God. Is that what they were working on?"

Jeff felt a rush of emotions at seeing his son's friend. His first thought was having to explain to Wyatt's parents how their beloved only son was hurt. The second thought was with Scott and Virgil as pit crew, Wyatt probably had the best hunk of junk out there.

Before he could sort through his thoughts, Alan yelled, "OH! MY! GOD! Look! It's Virgil!"

Jeff's head snapped to the left. Sure enough, standing on the hood of a fragile looking piece of automotive scrap was his son Virgil, unmistakable despite fire suit and helmet.

It was with a sense of inevitability that Jeff searched the rest of the drivers, who had all started climbing back into their cars. It was John who pointed to a car that was almost directly below where they stood in the grandstand. "There."

"Scott? That's Scott!" Alan exclaimed, a tone of awe in his voice.

"Aw, I wanna play," Gordon whined.

With his stomach on the ground, Jeff swallowed. He reminded himself that no one in the previous heat had been hurt. He reminded himself that both Scott and Virgil were legally adults. He reminded himself that both of his sons were responsible and trustworthy. He reminded himself this was really no more dangerous than the football hits they'd both taken in high school

As the cars revved up their engines, Jeff clenched his jaw. He hoped he wouldn't embarrass himself by looking away, or passing out. He worked to calm his breathing, and hopefully his blood pressure.

His sons had no such fears. All three of the boys were on their feet cheering their brothers on. When the horn blared starting the heat, Jeff felt like it sounded like doom. Sure enough, both boys fearlessly charged into the fray.

The first hit that Virgil took spun him around, and Jeff winced so hard, he thought he might have cracked a tooth. The car that had struck Virgil backed up to try again, but like an avenging angel, Scott came in, driving full speed from across the arena to nail that driver in the passenger side door, pushing the car a good ten feet.

Scott was trying to back away from that car when he took a hit in the rear. Alan and Gordon cheered, clapping wildly, and Jeff just shook his head. It was Virgil who had tagged his older brother before driving wildly away after some new prey.

"Uh-oh. You shouldn't oughta've done that," John said, shaking his head.

All three brothers watched Scott's car. It wasn't moving. And Jeff noticed a growing pool of oil beneath the tires. After several minutes, it was obvious that the car was going nowhere.

With a relieved breath, Jeff turned his attention to Virgil, who was currently retreating across the arena in reverse with a badly banged up car in hot pursuit. He was just about out of room, when he spun the wheel, and the other car, instead of hitting him full on, struck him just in front of the passenger side door.

The strategy seemed to work, because while Virgil's car wobbled away, the other car was at a dead stop, with steam leaking from a punctured radiator. The victory was short-lived, however, as another car targeted Virgil almost immediately. Unfortunately, this time, the luckless Tracy's car didn't have the power left to escape, and all four in the bleachers cringed when it took a hit directly in the engine compartment.

Jeff watched closely, and when he saw Virgil hitting the steering wheel in frustrated defeat, he breathed easier. Gordon and Alan were laughing again, and Jeff looked to see what was so funny. He barked a surprised laugh when he saw one of only three cars still moving was Wyatt.

Both of his front fenders were crumpled, but the car was still moving easily. Gordon grabbed his father's arm, crying gleefully, "Dad, watch this. Wyatt's practicing pit maneuvers!"

Sure enough, as Jeff watched, Wyatt pulled along side the rear bumper of another of the moving cars, and in a classic police move, spun the car around. Jeff couldn't help but laugh. Like Scott, Wyatt had graduated college earlier in the spring. His course of study had been criminal justice, and he often bragged that his minor was in donuts and pit maneuvers.

Wyatt's victim was only stopped for a moment, but in the world of demolition derby, a moment was an eternity, and the third car was quick to take advantage. Backing up at full speed, it slammed into the hapless car's engine.

"Get him, Wyatt!" Alan and Gordon were yelling at the top of their lungs and it was John who was laughing wildly at the spectacle. Jeff joined in the cheering. And when Wyatt pinned the other car against the wall, the four Tracys cheered as hard for him as they would have for Scott or Virgil.

Finally, the heat was over, and Wyatt was the one taking the victory lap. From their broken rides, both Scott and Virgil pumped their fists in the air for their friend.

Jeff watched as the tow trucks trundled onto the field, only now realizing that all of the drivers had remained in their vehicles throughout the heat. As he watched his son's cars being dragged away, he stood up. "I think I'll take a walk. You boys can stay here."

"Ping…. Ping… Ping, ping, ping." Gordon said as Jeff started to move down the aisle.

He didn't ask, deciding he didn't want to know, but at John's question, Gordon replied loudly enough for Jeff to hear. "That's the sound of the gray hairs popping out on Dad's head."

Rolling his eyes, Jeff kept moving. Once out of the grandstands, he headed for the staging area. The next heat's cars were moving out into the arena, and it wasn't hard to see where the tow trucks had dropped off the losers. A series of flat bed trucks were busy loading the junked cars to be taken off for recycling.

It was harder finding his sons. Finally, he spotted Wyatt's car off to one side. He headed over, finding three young men with their heads in the engine compartment, conferring over some repair or other.

Despite the fair's loud ambient noise level, when Jeff cleared his throat, both Scott and Virgil jumped. "Uh… Hi, Dad."

Wyatt, apparently oblivious to his friends' consternation, grinned, "Hey Mr. T! Didja see me win?"

Jeff had always liked Wyatt, appreciating his buoyant spirit. He smiled, reaching to shake the young man's hand. "Yes, I did. Good job."

"Thanks, sir. A second trophy's gonna look real good in my apartment."

Jeff froze. Scott had a bland look, but Virgil definitely flinched. "A second trophy?"

"Well, yeah, last year's was just a runner up, but this year I'm going to take it all. It was just plain bad luck that we all landed up in the same heat this time."

"Not your first rodeo?" Jeff sighed.

"Huh? No, we've been competing for… the… last…few…um…"

Scott looked his friend in the eye. "Damn, you're slow."

Jeff crossed his arms, and stared at Virgil in particular. "The last few years?"

Virgil swallowed hard. "Uh, well, I've only driven in this one and last year's. Scott wouldn't let me drive until I was eighteen."

Jeff turned his laser-like gaze on his eldest. Scott put on a brave face. "Well, yes. We've been doing this for the last four years. It's given us all great experience in car repair and driving too."

Jeff raised an eyebrow. "So it was a learning experience."

Wyatt stepped up, throwing an arm across Scott's shoulders. "Oh heck no, Mr. T. It was fun. You oughta join us next year."

Jeff bit his tongue to keep from laughing. He shook his head. "No, I don't think that's going to happen, but let me tell you, all three of your brothers saw this, and you're going to have your work cut out for you, keeping them from joining in."

As expected, Scott's face fell. Sometimes Jeff thought his oldest son was more of a worrywart than he was where the younger boys were concerned. "Well, I'd better head back to the grandstand before Alan tries to bribe someone into letting him drive. Oh, and Scott? You get to tell your grandma what you've been doing."

Jeff turned and walked away with the young men calling their farewells. He considered raising hell over this, but in the end, he knew he had to trust his boys to do what was right. Knowing how some people had to deal with children who made seriously wrong choices, he supposed he should be thankful this was the worst kind of activity his sons engaged in.

With a sigh, he climbed the grandstand, knowing he'd have to give the boys strict orders, no driving in demolition derbies until they were eighteen. He smiled as he had another thought. Perhaps he could tie in a requirement for good grades too. With a decisive nod, he marched forward to lay down the law.