Yawning as he padded quietly down the hallway of his Kansas home, Jeff Tracy kept one ear cocked for the sounds of any of his five sons. At 5:30 in the morning, all was quiet, much to his relief. He barely paused at the door of his eldest son, Scott, softly tapping before moving on.

He knew that Scott had asked to join him this morning at the town square where Jeff was slated to work the griddle at the annual Kalvesta Corn Festival pancake breakfast, but the 16 year old hadn't gotten home from his date until after midnight. If the kid got up, fine, but Jeff wasn't of a mind to wake him unnecessarily.

Jeff went quietly down the stairs, automatically sidestepping the squeaky fifth step. As he reached the bottom, his ears perked at a slight sound coming from the kitchen. With a slightly exasperated sigh, he pushed through the swinging door, and found his mother, already up and dressed, pouring coffee into a large thermos jug.

"Mom, you didn't have to get up to do that for me, I could have made my own coffee."

"And who says I was making this for you? Don't think so highly of yourself, Jefferson. It happens I'm making this coffee for Scott."

The tart remark set Jeff back on his heels. "Scott?"

"Yes. That young man has a good heart. He volunteered to work this morning, and without any thought of how it would look. And with nary a complaint either."

Jeff frowned. "What do you mean? Who says I was complaining?"

Ruth looked up at her son, her eyebrow cocked. "Did you not tell Callan Connelly that you were a busy man? That you didn't have time to hang around the park all day?"

Jeff felt his ears redden. "Mom, you know he goads me. He was trying to sign me up for the dunk tank. The last time I did that, I landed up in the ER with a sliced lip."

"Jeff, you're not in sixth grade any more. Cal Connelly is a good man, and he does a good job for the town. You could at least have the courtesy to talk to him as an equal. An equal, Jeff. I swear sometimes I think all of that money has turned your head."

Jeff bit his tongue and took the scolding. Cal Connelly had been a pain in Jeff's butt since grade school. They'd competed over everything from girls to grades, and Jeff hadn't always come out on top. If he was honest with himself, it still rankled that Cal had been senior class president.

Knowing that any attempt at additional defense would only set his mother off more, Jeff pasted a contrite look on his face and said, "I'm sorry Mom. I didn't mean for it to come across that way. I'll apologize, first chance I get. But no dunk tank. I'll give a lot for this town, but I'm not risking another trip to the ER."

Mollified, Ruth Tracy sniffed. "See that you do. Apologize, I mean. And you don't have to do the dunk tank. As it happens, I've signed you up for a shift in the church's roller bowler game."

"That's fine, but I want to spend some time with the boys, too."

"It's only an hour, honey. From three to four. And you'll be working with Tom and Stu, so I'm sure it won't be a chore."

Jeff smiled his pleasure. Tom Garman and Stu Kopecki had been his best friends for as long as he could remember, and his mother was right. With them at his side, nothing was a chore.

"Good morning, Grandma. Is that coffee? Great, I'm going to need it." Scott said as he strode into the kitchen.

Jeff smiled as his son leaned down to kiss his grandmother's cheek. Scott was practically a grown man, and Jeff could barely contain his pride whenever his eldest was in the room. "Son, you ready to flip some flapjacks?"

Scott turned a grin on his father. "I was born ready, Dad."

"Well, let's get going, then."

As he turned to walk out the door, Ruth said, "I'll bring the boys over for breakfast around eight. Save some of that berry syrup if you can."

"All right, Mom. Let's go, boy. If you'd be so kind as to drive?"

"Cool!" Scott was all smiles at the privilege.

On an impulse, Jeff stopped at the desk by the front door. Opening the drawer for a set of keys, he said casually, "We'll take the Bugatti."

Scott stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes wide. Jeff felt a smug satisfaction at being able to surprise the kid. "Of course, if you'd rather, we can take the Lexus?"

Scott laughed heartily, "Yeah, right!"

He reached out to snatch the keys from his father's outstretched hand, but Jeff was just a shade faster, pulling them back. "Well, wait a minute now, let's think this over. Have you finished your homework?"

Scott nodded solemnly. "Yes, Dad. In June. Before school let out for the summer."

"Hmmm. How about your chores? They all done?"

"Absolutely. I traded off with Virgil, did his cleaning up yesterday, so he'd do mine today."

Jeff lifted an eyebrow. "Bed made? Teeth brushed?"

"A quarter will bounce, and the teeth are squeakin'," Scott said, running his tongue over his teeth.

"Will I get a good report from Walt Carstairs?" Jeff cocked his head and squinted. Walt was an old school buddy who'd hired Scott for the summer as a carpenter's gofer.

Scott smiled sweetly, "Well, I guess you'd have to ask him."

Jeff chuckled as he handed the keys over and followed his eager son out the door. It wasn't until they had the cover off of the car that the qualms started. Scott was one of the shining lights in his life, and Jeff loved him dearly, but the Bugatti was the best car he had ever had.

"Son, are you sure you can handle it? It's a stick shift you know."

"I know, Dad. I can do it. I've been practicing."

"Practicing? Where have you been practicing? How have you been practicing?"

"Downshift II. It's a video game, but Mr. Daugherty said it was a good way to learn how to drive a stick."

"Son, no game is going to teach you how. You're got to be able to feel the engine, know what it wants to drive a car like this right."

Scott cocked an eyebrow at his father. "I'd like to try, Dad."

The look on his son's face reminded Jeff of a thousand times in his own lifetime when he wanted desperately to prove himself in his own father's eyes. He nodded his head. "Well, let's see how you do in the driveway."

With a grin that lifted his ears, Scott opened the door and slid into the driver's seat. Hoping he wasn't going to regret it, Jeff opened his own door, and climbed into the passenger seat.

As they pulled into the parking lot by the town hall, both Jeff and Scott were smiling with pride. After only a few false starts, Scott had gotten the hang of shifting, and by the time they had reached town, he was changing gears as if he'd done it all of his life. Jeff couldn't help the way his heart swelled, just being with his boy. As they headed for the park Scott asked, "So, can I borrow it for a date tonight?"

Jeff threw his arm over his son's shoulders. "You've been thinking about changing religions, son?"

Scott blinked, "Uh, changing religions? No sir, why would I?"

"Well, I just though you might be considering Hinduism or maybe Buddhism."

With a puzzled smile, Scott shook his head. "I'm good, religion-wise, Dad."

"Huh. And here I was thinking you were believing in reincarnation, because you taking my Bugatti on a date isn't going to happen in this lifetime."

Scott snorted. "It was worth a shot."

"If you say so."

The two Tracys moved through the park, smiling, comfortable in each other's presence. As they passed through the carnival area, Scott pointed. "Hey, look, Dad, it's your favorite ride!"

Jeff looked and then rolled his eyes. "Oh, ha-ha, very funny."

Scott snickered as he continued to gaze at the Ejector Seat ride. Earlier that summer, the family had gone to the Kansas State Fair, and Jeff had almost had a heart attack as he'd seen his middle boy, John, on the bungee cord thrill ride. Scott had picked up on it, and later when they were home had asked Jeff about it. Jeff had confessed his dislike of the ride.

Passing through a screen of bushes, they arrived at the tennis courts. There were only two courts, and currently the nets had been removed and a series of picnic benches set up. At one end, two men were constructing a mobile kitchen.

Jeff couldn't help the smile that sprang to his face. Stu Kopecki was holding up a pipe, trying to slide it into the fitting on an awning. Jeff strode over, and reached up to help. "Mornin' Stu."

Stu glanced at his helper and tried to frown. "About time. You military types just think you can sleep all day, don't you?"

Pushing the pole until it clicked, Jeff shrugged. "Well, yeah, we do. Because we can sleep all day and still get here on time to get things set up the right way."

Stu laughed out loud. "You keep on believing that Jeff." He looked around. "Scotty, you're here to help?"

Scott flinched a bit at the nickname, but nodded his head with a smile. "Yes, sir. Put me to work."

Hearing this, Tom Garman came up, wiping his hands on a rag. "Scott, good to see you willing to help out. With your dad here, we've got this under control. Where we really could use you is over by the picnic tables. Report to Mr. Milstein, but tell him we need you back here by seven thirty for fry duty."

"Okay. See you later!" Scott trotted off for the far side of the park.

The three men watched him go. As soon as he was out of sight, they chuckled. "He'll get a workout," Tom said, grinning.

Joe Milstein was in charge of stocking the picnic area with the sweet corn that gave the festival its name. Scott would be spending his morning lugging fifty-pound boxes of the stuff. Jeff nodded, as he started tightening the bolts on the wastewater tank, "Thanks for setting a time limit on it. Joe would having him doing his fetch and carry for the rest of the day if he got a chance."

"Scott's a good kid. You should be proud of him."

"I can't tell you how proud. Everything he does just flat out amazes me. I let him drive the Bugatti this morning."

Stu and Tom both raised their eyebrows at that, stopping their assembly of the burners under the flat top. Stu looked at Tom. "He never lets me drive the Bugatti. Does he let you drive the Bugatti?"

Tom shook his head mournfully. "He never even lets me sit in it, let alone drive it."

"Yes, well, you two never take out the trash without me asking four times. Scott does it in three." As his friends laughed, Jeff started in on connecting the propane tanks. "He did amazingly well. Never drove a stick before today, and he took to it like a duck to water. Seems Evan Daugherty recommended a video game to learn how to shift a stick."

Tom, who, along with his wife, taught at the high school, nodded his head. "Yeah, it's amazing what's available out there. Molly says she gets kids with practical knowledge that makes algebra class seem superfluous."

Stu got a dreamy look on his face. "That would have been nice. I would have liked to have given Mr. Broadmore a pass."

Jeff snickered. Stu had struggled with math all through school, but never more so than in Mr. Broadmore's Algebra I class. "Hand me that wrench, would you, Stu?"

Stu reached over and snagged the wrench that Jeff needed and handed it to him. The three friends continued working and chatting until the kitchen was set up, and ready to go. Scott got back just in time to help them unload the breakfast supplies off the truck, barely hiding his dismay at the prospect of more lifting and carrying.

Jeff stood taller as his son pitched in without complaint, fitting in with the older men as an equal. Together they got the truck unloaded in short order and started preparing the breakfast for the crowds to come.

Tom and Stu declared that Jeff was in charge of making the coffee, based on their misguided belief that his mom made excellent coffee, and surely the skill had rubbed off. Scott, who was stirring up gallons of orange juice from huge cans of concentrate, bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud. Jeff took a deep breath, and gamely plunged in, filling the big Grindmaster Triple Urn with a strong black brew.

"Hi guys!" Melissa Grilley came striding up, arms filled with large pink bakery boxes.

"Scott, go help her," Stu said from where he was grilling sausages.

He needn't have bothered as Scott was already hustling forward to take the boxes. "Oh, Scott, honey, thank you. Put them over there. And then if you wouldn't mind, can you go out to the truck, and get the rest? Here's the keys, I'm parked a few spaces down from your Dad's compensation."

Scott blurted a laugh as he took the keys and headed to the parking lot. Melissa came over and accepted pecks on the cheek from the three men. Jeff saying, "You know, he's only a kid, Mel. I'm not sure he needs to hear that kind of comment."

"Oh, please. My Tod is only eleven and he would have gotten that one. Now, where shall I set up?"

"Over here, Mel, by the plates." Stu gestured to one end of a long table set up in front of the kitchen.

Melissa checked the set up, and shook her head. "No, you have it reversed. If we set up the cash box at the other end, then the line can go right out the gate and along the fence. Jeff, help me get this turned around."

Jeff realized that what Melissa said made sense. He moved to one end of the long table, but when Melissa would have picked up the other end, Tom moved in, ignoring her indignant remarks. The two men got the table turned around, and positioned to Melissa's satisfaction.

Scott returned with another load of pink boxes, only to be sent out once more to get the cash box and a whiteboard and stand. When he returned, Melissa asked him to check the quality of the fudge cream puffs she had brought, a task he accepted with alacrity.

Melissa used colorful markers to make up a price list on the whiteboard, and with Stu's help, got it set up just as their first customers of the day, the Milstein family, walked up.

Jeff got to work on the flapjacks, flipping them expertly onto paper plates that Scott then served up to the happy farm family. As Joe Milstein and his wife and daughters moved over to one of the long tables, Jeff called Scott over, "Here son, let's work on your flipping technique before the rush starts."

"Okay, Dad." Scott watched as Jeff showed him the knack of flipping the pancakes. As with everything else, Scott proved to be a fast learner, and after a few mishaps, was handling the flat top like a pro.

It was a good thing that Scott proved so adept, because within fifteen minutes, the crowds had started to gather. The Corn Parade was one of the highlights of the festival. The town council had decided over a decade ago to award prizes to attract bands and marching drill teams. Now the parade was renowned throughout the state as a top competition.

The high school bands and drum and bugle corps were all hungry teens, and it wasn't long before Jeff and his son and his friends were hard put to keep up with the demand. Jeff was concentrating on his work when he heard a call behind him. "Daddy, Daddy! Are you making me pancakes?"

He turned to see his fourth son, Gordon, holding up his plate, a big grin on his face. "Oh, I suppose I could. What do you say?"

"Please! Please can I have some pancakes!"

"How many?"

"Three! Three big ones, Daddy!"

"Big ones, you say?"

Jeff expertly flipped a just-done pancake into the air, and Gordon caught it on his plate.

"Jeff! Stop that!"

Father and son both flinched at Ruth's sharp tone, and with a wink, Jeff gently placed two additional pancakes on Gordon's stack. Gordon's grin turned conspiratorial, but before he could say anything, Ruth shook her head. "Jefferson, I do not need you to teach these boys more ways to vex me when you're on your trips. Gordon, you just forget you ever saw your father do that."

Gordon turned his angel eyes up to full blast and batted his lashes. "Okay, Grandma."

Ruth's harrumph did not disguise the twinkle in her eye. Stu noticed Gordon and asked, "Gordy, where's your uniform?"

Both Gordon and Alan were slated to ride in the parade in a hay wagon with the rest of the town's Cub and Boy Scouts. Stu had been the town's Scoutmaster since old Mr. Wilkens had stepped down years earlier.

Gordon rolled his eyes and said in a supposedly quiet tone that could probably be heard throughout the park, "It's in Grandma's car. She says I'll get syrup on it, so I'm gonna put it on after breakfast."

"Ah. That's a wise woman you've got there. Do you want bacon or sausage with your flapjacks?"

"Bacon, please."

Jeff in the meantime turned to his youngest. "Alan, how many pancakes would you like?"

With shining eyes, the boy shook his head. "I don't want pancakes, Daddy. I want Scotty cakes!"

Scott, who had been working the griddle next to his dad, turned with a smile. "Good choice, kiddo. How many?"

"Scotty, make me those little kind like you did that other time."

"Silver dollar pancakes coming right up."

Scott turned back to the griddle, and Jeff raised his eyebrow. "What's this? You've been holding out on me?"

Scott shrugged. "I gave Grandma the morning off a couple of weeks ago when you were out of town." His ears turned pink, and he leaned close to say, "They weren't very good, but with enough syrup, the kids will eat anything."

Jeff chuckled, then turned back to see John moving down the line. "Whoa, there, Johnny! Don't you want your flapjacks?"

The boy shook his head, pointing to the table with the array of pink boxes. "I'm gonna see if they have any of those white Danishes."

"Well, wait a minute. Take some sausage or bacon, son. It's a long time until lunch."

John looked longingly at the pastry boxes, but then came back and got a couple of sausages. He looked to his father for permission, then headed to the sweets table. Jeff watched as the boy looked through first one, then another of the boxes. After a scouring them all, he came back to the griddle line, cutting in between his grandmother and Virgil who was accepting a tall stack of six pancakes from his father.

"Um, Dad, maybe a couple more, please," Virgil said.

Exasperated, Jeff shook his head. "Eat what you have there, and then come back for seconds if you really want them. I swear, you're going to eat me out of house and home."

"What are you doing, Jeff? Starving the boy? Here, Virgil, take a few more sausages," Stu said piling more than a few on the grinning teen's plate.

By this time, Scott had finished the handful of small pancakes that he piled on Alan's plate. Both he and Jeff looked at the noticeably dejected John. "Back so soon, son?"

The boy shrugged. "They didn't have any of those Danishes that I like, so I guess I'll just have pancakes."

Scott turned to the griddle, while Jeff nodded. "Ah, well. It is a pancake breakfast after all, son."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Here you go, Johnny." Scott turned back around with his pancake spatula, but instead of flapjacks, he slid two Danishes on to his brother's plate.

John's eyes widened with delight. "You saved them for me? You're the best, Scott, thanks!"

"Thank Dad, not me. He's the one who thought of it."

"Thanks, Dad!"

Father and son watched the young blond walk away with a spring in his step. Jeff had a smile on his face as he turned to the next in line. "That's four satisfied customers. And what can I get you, Mom?"

Ruth smiled at her son and grandson. "I'll just have a short stack, honey."

As he slid the pancakes onto his mother's plate, Jeff said, "We're going to be shutting down in about thirty minutes. How about I'll meet you and the boys at the reviewing stand? You can save me a good place, and I'll get Gordon and Alan down to the Cub Scout float."

"All right, dear. Have either Tina or Debra come through the line yet?"

"I served Mrs. Mennick about half an hour ago. Haven't seen Aunt Tina yet."

"All right. I'll see you in a bit, then."

"Okay, Mom."

Jeff watched as his mother shepherded his four sons over to the picnic tables, then turned back to his serving duties. Despite what he'd said, the crowds continued, and it was more than an hour later before Melissa Grilley walked over and closed the gate, telling the few remaining stragglers that the breakfast was over. As he and Scott took off the Corn Festival emblazoned aprons, Tom Hallett, one of the local volunteer firemen, came up. "Hey Jeff. The pancakes were great. My crew's ready to take over and clean up."

"Thanks, Tom. Scott and I have to get a hustle on if we're going to make the parade."

"Okay, well, throw a few grapes for me."

Jeff laughed, as he and Scott walked away. "Grapes?" Scott asked speculatively.

"Back when we were kids, we had this notion if horses stepped on grapes they'd prance around, so we'd toss grapes out into the street during the parade."

"You're weird, Dad."

"Oh, you have no idea." Jeff threw his arm over his son's shoulders and the two headed for Kalvesta's main street.

Half an hour later, Jeff sat back down after standing for the high school honor guard as they presented the colors. With a smile, he leaned back and commented to Tom Garman, "Jacey's going to make a fine officer, Tom."

Tom nodded as his older daughter counted the cadence for the honor guard as it marched away up the street. "Yeah. Who would have thought Molly and I could produce such a kid."

Jeff nodded in rueful agreement. His own kids were constantly surprising him, and he thanked the Lord daily for them all. He looked up the street at a sudden blare of trumpets. The first band of the day came from nearby Jetmore, their green and gold uniforms sparkling in the hot Kansas sun.

As a judge, Tom was suddenly attentive, watching for straight lines, and uniform marching. Jeff sat back and relaxed. He'd done his share of judging, but this year he'd begged off, saying he couldn't be objective as Virgil was marching with the Kalvesta High Band.

He glanced down at the order of the entrants and saw that the Cub Scouts would be coming by after the next group of horses. He started to get up, so that he could make his way to the end of the parade route, a few blocks down. His mother put a hand on his arm.
"Honey, the Cub Scouts are next. Sit down."

"I know, Mom. I want to get down to Cypress Street to be there when they get off the float."

"No, dear, sit down. It's more important that they see you up here clapping for them. Stu Kopecki will keep them under control 'til you get there."

Jeff was struck with a sudden memory from his own childhood, when he marched in the parade with his Little League team. He could remember how thrilled he'd been when he'd looked up to see his own dad, standing on the sidewalk, cheering as he marched by.

Nodding, he sat back down, and watched as a group of teenage girls dressed as Arab princesses came by, their horses as gaily bedecked as the girls themselves were. He clapped as loudly as anybody.

As the last horse passed, Jeff turned his head up the street to see a troop of Boy Scouts marching in formation down the street. Jeff smiled to see them looking as drilled and squared away as any formation on a military base.

Behind the troop came two scouts in full uniform complete with white gloves, proudly carrying the troop's banner between them. Jeff's heart swelled as he saw how straight and tall his boy John stood as he marched.

He applauded wildly, whistling through his teeth, his mother clapping just as hard beside him. He grinned when he saw John bite his lip to keep from smiling. The boy marched with pride, his head high.

As he passed, Jeff turned his gaze to the hay wagon being pulled up the street by Vince Purdy's award-winning draft mules. The hay was burdened down with a flock of small boys, all dressed in blue uniforms with yellow neckerchiefs.

The boys were singing at the top of their little lungs, and it only took Jeff a moment to recognize that old favorite, On Top Of Old Smoky. Seeing the grins on the kids' faces, he listened harder, and chuckled when he realized someone had taught the boys the alternate words to the song, turning it into On Top Of Spaghetti.

Jeff stood and clapped and whistled just as loud for his two youngest as he had for Johnny. Unlike their big brother, though, both Gordon and Alan immediately started to wave to their Dad, jumping up and down on the hay bales, to be sure he saw them.

Stu Kopecki, who had been escorting the wagon from a strategic position near the rear wheels, called out, "Scouts, sit down!"

Gordon and Alan, along with several others who had popped up as soon as they saw someone else standing, obediently sat down, but continued to wave madly, calling excitedly to their father.

Jeff waved just as madly back, grinning like a fool. Ruth laughed beside him. "You're just like your father. As much as Grant loved a parade, he loved it all the more if you were in it."

Jeff took a deep breath to calm his heart down. It was true, he loved seeing his boys participating it in the same parade he'd marched in as a kid. He glanced down at the parade order to confirm that Virgil wouldn't be marching by while he was collecting the boys. "Gotta scoot, Mom. Stu will have his hands full with those two."

"I'll keep your seat warm."

"Thanks, Mom." Jeff made his way to the end of the reviewing stand, in truth, a flat bed farm trailer set up with a small set of bleachers and an awning. Hopping down the steps, he greeted several friends and acquaintances as he headed to the disbanding area.

"Jeff! John looked pretty good walking there with Tod," Melissa said from a lawn chair at the curb.

Jeff grinned, "Tod looked pretty spiffy himself. How long do you think those gloves will stay white?"

"Forever if I have any say in it. Here, take these. It's time you initiated your kids into the fine art of horse torture." Melissa reached into a cooler at her feet and pulled out a large bag of green grapes.

"You know, I was hoping to raise them better."

Melissa laughed, "Oh, I've got you now! Just wait until Ruth hears what you think of her child-raising abilities!"

"Oh, Gawd." Jeff rolled his eyes. "One of these days I'm going to move to a nice big anonymous city."

"Good luck with that. Hey, if you see Tod, tell him where I am. I swear, he was so determined to be the eyes front soldier that I don't think he even saw me here."

"All right, Mel. I gotta go." Jeff lifted the bag of grapes in acknowledgement as he strode away.

By the time he reached the end of the parade route, several more bands and drill teams had completed their march through town, and the area was awash in a sea of brightly colored uniforms and spangled outfits. It took him some time to find the hay wagon. He actually heard it before he saw it. The Cubs were singing again, waiting for their parents to come pick them up.

With a smile he walked up beside his friend, Stu. "Stu, I don't know how you do it. How do you keep all these wild men under control?"

"Well, I cheat, of course. Any scout who misbehaves misses out on that most coveted of prizes, the parade participation badge."

Jeff gave his friend a wry look, and Stu ducked his head, shrugging. "Hey, welcome to the wonderful world of inclusion. I swear, I saw a bulletin just the other day talking about giving a badge for shoe tying to the Tiger Cubs."

Remembering how hard he had worked to earn his scout badges, Jeff could only shake his head. About that time, young Alan noticed him, and started yelling loud enough to wake the dead. "Daddy! Daddy, here we are! Mr. Kopecki, can we get down now? Our daddy's here. Can we get down?"

"All right, boys, you can come on down, but be careful on that ladder," Stu called out.

"Or they won't get their ladder descending badges?" Jeff muttered.

Stu chuckled, but then was drawn away by other arriving parents. Alan and Gordon climbed down off of the high wagon and ran to their father. "Daddy, did you see us? We waved to you!"

"How could I miss it? You boys did a good job. Did you like being in the parade?"

Gordon nodded, "Yeah, kinda. It was fun, but we didn't get to see the parade because we were in it."

"But all the people clapped for us, and that was fun," Alan chimed in.

"Well, let's go find John, so we can get back in time to see Virgil march by. Here, take a bunch." Jeff held out the bag of grapes, and the two youngsters reached in and grabbed handfuls. In the meantime, Jeff scanned the clumps of khaki green for a certain blond head.

He jumped at a voice behind him. "Hey, Dad, me and the guys want to go do some of the rides before the crowds start, okay?"

Jeff turned to find John standing with Jake Lawrence and Davy Schlagle, a hopeful glint in his eye. Jeff glanced around. "Isn't Tod Grilley with you?"

All three boys rolled their eyes. "No, Dad. Grilley's an idiot. He ruined the parade."

Jeff's eyebrows climbed. "Ruined it? How?"

"He can't even march right, Dad. He was either too slow or too fast, and he didn't hold the banner right, and it was sagging most of the way."

Knowing his son was as much a perfectionist as he was, Jeff nevertheless felt a bit sad that John had never much liked Tod Grilley. Tod's mom had been one of his best friends all of his life, and if things had been a bit different, he might even have married her. Still, he knew better than to try to force the boys to be friends.

"Jake, do your parents know about this plan? How about you, Davy?" Jeff raised a skeptical eyebrow at the twin nods. "Well, okay, go ahead, but I want to see all three of you over by the corn stand at two, and don't be late."

The boys ran away to forestall any change of mind, and Jeff called after them, "You boys better behave, or I'll hear about it."

Jeff looked down at the hands pulling on his shirt for attention. With big eyes, Alan said, "Daddy, we want to go on rides, too. Can we, Daddy? Can we go on the rides?"

"Absolutely, but not until the end of the parade. Now come on, boys, we have some serious cheering to do."

Jeff led his boys back up the parade route. When they reached the reviewing stand, Gordon balked. "Dad, can't we sit on the curb? I want to be up close."

Jeff looked around, but this close to the reviewing stand, where the judging took place was the most crowded area of the route. He started to shake his head no, when a boy in Cub Scout blue came running up. "Hey Red! My mom says you can come sit with us. Come on."

"Cool!" Gordon turned to leave, then remembered to ask, "Dad, can I go sit with Eddie?"

Jeff crossed his arms. "What about Alan?"

"He can come too, Mr. Tracy. We got a big blanket right on the curb. It's right there across the street."

Jeff looked up where Eddie pointed and saw Kirsten Brooks waving to him. With a smile, he nodded and waved back. "All right, boys, go ahead. But as soon as the parade is over, I want you both right back here, understand? And be careful crossing the street. Wait… Gordon, take these grapes, and be sure to share them. And behave for Mrs. Brooks!"

With vigorous assurances that they'd be careful, the three boys ran across the street cutting in front of a drill team of impossibly tiny girls all carrying batons as big as they were. Jeff watched as they settled themselves down next to Eddie's mother, then turned and climbed up the steps to the reviewing stand.

As he sat down next to his mother, she turned to him with shining eyes. "Oh, honey, did you see those little girls who just went by? Weren't they wonderful?"

Jeff smiled. "Darn cute, weren't they, with those spangles?"

Ruth's eyes narrowed. "If I'd had a girl, I could have taught her baton twirling. I could have made her one of those spangled outfits."

Jeff cocked an eyebrow. It was a game they had played for years. Every Corn Parade his mother would tease him over the fact that he hadn't been born a girl. He'd learned there was no successful argument he could make for the superiority of boys. According to Ruth, there was absolutely nothing a boy could do better than a girl, up to and including becoming a world famous astronaut. "Well, Mother, I'm pretty sure that Gordon would let you dress him up in spangles if you gave him a quarter."

Ruth barked a sudden laugh. For the last few months, his fourth son had been obsessed with earning money, doing any chore his brothers or grandmother set him for the price of a quarter.

"Actually, Dad, I don't think so. I heard him telling Alan he was bringing all of his hard earned cash to the fair today."

Jeff looked up at the bleacher behind his mother. "Scott, I didn't see you there. So the big project was just to get money for the Corn Festival? Well, I must say, I'm a bit disappointed. I assumed he'd intended to buy his own navy, at the very least."

Both Ruth and Scott chuckled. Gordon's reason for saving the money had been so secret, that not even Alan had a clue. Jeff turned back to applaud for the town's fire truck, manned by its entire crew, as it slowly drove by, lights flashing and horn honking.

Behind came another troop of little girls, this time dressed in spangled cowgirl outfits, and doing a fancy stepping drill that had the audience cheering. Jeff watched as the girls strutted by, followed by a drum and bugle corps.

The parade continued and Jeff cheered and applauded with the best of them. There was just something about this parade that he loved. He'd seen other parades, had even been in the Rose Parade one memorable year, but only the Corn Festival Parade held a place in his heart.

When he thought about it, he realized it was probably because it had been his father's favorite parade. When he was growing up, his dad would begin to get excited days before the parade, and when it marched by, his dad would barely sit, preferring to stand and cheer to show his appreciation.

Jeff looked up the street at a loud trumpet fanfare, and a huge grin came over his face. The traditional end of the parade, the Kalvesta High Unified Marching Band, had paused, and everyone lining the streets had gotten to their feet, and grown quiet. Jeff felt his heart swell seeing those young people so straight and proud, in their blinding white pants and red and blue tunics.

The drum major, an impossibly tall and skinny kid named Kyle Jacobs, stood like an arrow, head held high, the tall hat with its plumes adding to his height. He slowly lifted the long gold-capped baton called a mace, and with a sudden flourish threw it high into the sky. As tradition required, he stood stock still, not looking up, and almost casually flicked out his hand to pluck it out of the air as it plummeted back down.

With the successful catch, he thrust the mace high, and with that signal, the band burst out into the Kalvesta High fight song, and the entire crowd went wild. Jeff was yelling at the top of his lungs, his face aching from the force of his smile. He wiped his hand across his eyes to clear the sudden moisture, and he wasn't alone in doing so.

The band moved in slow time, lifting their feet high as they marched. Jeff could barely hear the music over the cheering of the crowd, and when he saw his boy, Virgil, in the back ranks, with the other glockenspiel players, he felt as if his heart would burst from the sheer emotion of it.

Despite the slow cadence of the march, it was over far too quickly, in Jeff's opinion, and he sat back down to catch his breath. Ruth, whose eyes were shining with her tears, patted Jeff's leg, saying, "There, now, honey, you've had your excitement for the year. You can go back to being your normal staid, stuffy self."

Jeff shot a snickering Scott a dirty look, but didn't say anything, knowing his mother could easily one up him in any response he might make. He realized in a way she was right. This parade was the only place he ever really gave himself permission to really cut loose, and he had to admit, he valued the opportunity.

He leaned back with a sigh, stretching. "It was a good parade."

Ruth smiled. "Yes, it was, wasn't it? I thought Virgil looked so nice in that band uniform."

"Well, it was a good thing I was filming it, Grandma, because he told me he doesn't want to be in the band."

"What? When did he tell you this, son?" Jeff asked, not really concerned. Virgil had joined the summer band program for incoming high school freshmen, a bit to everyone's surprise, as he'd previously shown no interest in any other instrument than the piano. Scott had cleared up the mystery for his father telling him that there was a girl involved.

"Just yesterday. Coach Daugherty gave him the try out schedule for the frosh football team, and that was that as far as Virg was concerned."

"What about that girl… what was her name again?"

"Kayla. Apparently clarinetists do not find glockenspielers sexy."

Jeff chuckled, and Ruth sighed, "Well, then I guess it's a good thing he only borrowed that instrument. It would have been a shame to have spent money for a summer fancy. Jeff, where are the boys?"

Jeff glanced around and could just make out the top of a little red head covered by a blue cap. He pointed. "Right there. I told them to meet me when the parade ended. Scott, go corral them, would you?"

"Okay. Grandma, where'd you park the van? How about we meet there? I'll take the guys over so they can get out of those uniforms."

"Thank you, dear. It's just up Euclid, near Erna. Take these cushions, if you would."

"Okay, Grandma. I'll see you there."

Scott moved away down the bleachers while Jeff and his mother sat back a bit to let the crowd thin out. "So, what is your plan for the day?"

"Well, I thought I'd take the boys around. Johnny took off with his friends to get in a few rides before the crowds. I told him to meet me by the corn stand at two. I figure he'll have run out of money by then, so we can get some lunch, and I'll take the boys home and be back by three to work the booth."

"I think that will work out perfectly, but I'll take the boys home. I'm promised to work the coin toss from noon to two, and I'll be just about ready to leave."

Jeff checked his watch. It was already 11:30. He nodded his head. Two and a half hours would be plenty of time for the youngsters to tire themselves out. In truth, compared to any festival in a bigger town, the Corn Festival was a small fair with only a dozen or so rides, and a midway with only about twenty games. To Jeff's mind, it was just the right size.

Most of the people who had crowded this area of the parade route had headed off, either to their cars, to drop off blankets and lawn chairs, or straight to the town park to enjoy the delights of the festival. Jeff led his mother to the temporary steel steps at the back of the trailer, and carefully helped her down.

"I'm not made of porcelain, Jefferson," Ruth huffed, annoyed more that pleased at the courtesy.

"I know that, Mom," Jeff replied with equanimity. "Can I help you dodder across the street?"

Ruth raised an eyebrow. "You're feeling mighty feisty today."

Jeff grinned. "You know, I am. Nothing like a good parade to lift the spirits."

Ruth's look turned wistful. "You sound just like your father."

"Yeah. You know, I think I miss him most on parade day."

"Me too, baby, me too." Ruth reached up and caressed Jeff's cheek. Then she shook off the sentiment and said, "Well, I need to hurry it up. We open the booth at noon, and we don't want to miss taking any of the rubes' money."

Jeff chuckled as his mother walked away, calling out to a friend as she went. He watched her go for a moment, then headed across the street himself, heading for the family van. He walked the two short blocks in a matter of moments, but still, he was too slow for his youngest sons.

Gordon and Alan were jittering with excitement, their Cub Scout uniforms exchanged for tee shirts and shorts. When they spotted his approach, they made as if to run to him, but Scott stopped them with a sharp order. As he walked up, the van's side door slid open, and out stepped Virgil, and surprisingly, John, also dressed in tees and shorts.

John would have bolted but for a comment from Scott. Jeff looked out on his boys, pride in his heart. "John, I thought you were off with your friends."

"Yeah, but that uniform is just too hot, so I came to change. Jake and Davy are waiting. Can I go now?"

"We wanna go too, Daddy, we wanna go ride that octopus thing," Alan piped up.

"Just hold your horses a moment, boys. Here John, treat your friends." Jeff handed the surprised boy a couple of large bills. "Virgil, here's some money for you. Scott, take this. Now, I want you all at the corn stand at two on the dot. We'll have lunch with your Grandma."

"Okay, Dad," John said, grinning. He ran off with the boundless energy of the young.

Scott and Virgil were grinning, too. Holding up the money, Virgil asked, "Dad, what time are you in the dunk tank?"

Jeff narrowed his eyes at the tall boy. "I'm not. I'm doing the roller bowler game from three to four, but that actually takes skill, so I don't expect I'll see you there."

Virgil's eyes lit. "You shouldn't have said that, Dad. Now I gotta come and take all of your prizes, you know that."

"Only if I haven't cleaned him out first," Scott smirked, his arms crossed.

"Bring it on, suckers," Jeff said with his own smirk.

Scott and Virgil laughed, then with waves headed off to enjoy their day. Jeff looked down at a tug on his shirt. "Daddy, can I play that roller game, too?"

"Before or after the octopus ride?"

Alan's blue eyes lit up. "After, Daddy, after! We wanna go on the octopus right now, don't we, Gordy?"

Gordon, who had been unusually quiet, looked up at his father. "Do we have to pay for it ourselves, Daddy?"

The worried look on his son's face pinged on Jeff's parental radar. "I understand you've brought all that money you were saving today, son. How much have you got?"

"Sixty-two dollars and seventy-five cents."

Jeff's eyebrows climbed. "You earned sixty-two dollars this summer?"

"Well, I already had forty-eight dollars left from when we went to the state fair."

"Well, if you have that much money, don't you think you could pay for your own rides?"

To Jeff's surprise, Gordon swallowed hard, as if he were going to cry. When the boy didn't answer his question, Jeff frowned. Gordon had always been a generous child willing to share anything he had, especially with his brother Alan. This sudden selfishness was totally unlike him. "Gordon, what exactly is it that you need sixty-two dollars for?"

With big-eyed sincerity, the boy blurted out. "I want to win a goldfish. I wanna win one really bad, but I can't even try until it's almost time to go home, because when you win, they give you the goldfish in a little bag, and in the book I read it said that goldfish can die if you leave them in the little bag too long, so I have to wait until it's time to go home, so I can't spend my money because I really, really, really want a goldfish, and I don't know how much money it will take to win one."

Jeff listened to the desperation in the boy's voice, surprised at its intensity. "Son, a goldfish only costs a couple of dollars at the pet store, why didn't you just tell me you wanted a goldfish? We could have gone and gotten one, and you'd still have most of your money."

Jeff's heart melted at the wary hope in his son's eye. "Grandma doesn't like it when I bring home pets, but if I win it, she'd have to let me keep it. She'd have to."

Jeff fought not to roll his eyes. His son had a long history of bringing home "pets". Usually they were garter snakes, frogs or bugs, and on one memorable occasion, a half-dead skunk that a dog had gotten a hold of.

"All right, I'll tell you what. We'll go over to the fish toss right now. You can use two dollars and seventy-five cents to try and win a goldfish. If you don't win one with that much money, we'll go to the store and you can buy your goldfish. I'll square it with your grandmother."

Instead of the smile Jeff expected, Gordon shook his head violently. "No, Dad. If we go now, and I win one, they'll put it in a little bag, and it will die. It has to be right before we go home."

Jeff smiled. "I'll tell you what, let's just go check it out, what do you say? Who knows, maybe they won't even have any goldfish worth winning."

Jeff stuck out his hand and with a tentative smile, Gordon took hold. On his other side, Alan took his other hand. "Daddy, can I have a goldfish too?"

"Have you saved your money all summer?"

"No, but…"

"No buts. You can play the game, but if you don't win, then you'll just have to wait until you earn the money like your brother did."

Alan sighed. "Okay, but then can we go ride the octopus thing?"

"What do you think, Gordon? Goldfish, then the octopus?"

His natural exuberance returning with the promise of his own pet fish, Gordon nodded his head. "Yeah, then that Tilt-A-Whirl one, okay, Dad?"

"My head is spinning already."

To the two boys' cheers, Jeff led the way to the park. As it happened, the game midway was at the main entrance, and so the boys' eyes were shooting from one side to the other. They pulled their hands away from their father to point out various games they wanted to try.

The ping pong toss was near the grandstand where George Romney was announcing various awards for the parade participants over the loud speakers. The area in front of the grandstand was packed with various groups of kids in band uniforms or drill team outfits.

Jeff kept a close eye on his boys, knowing anything he tried to say would be lost in the loudspeaker's roar. They reached the ping pong toss, a series of closely packed glass bowls with fluted tops that seemed specifically designed to foil any attempt to get a ball to land in them.

Gordon immediately moved to one corner where a child's swimming pool had been set up. The pool had what seemed to be a hundred small golden fish darting around. Jeff moved up behind him, putting his hands on the small shoulders. "So, do you think any of them are worth winning?"

Gordon's head bobbed rapidly as he nodded, his eyes never leaving the pool. Suddenly, he stilled. "Daddy, what if they don't have any left when I come to win one?"

Jeff could remember wanting something so badly that it hurt, but he found it a bit unsettling that the boy would get so worked up over a fish. Still, if that was what the boy wanted, who was Jeff to deny him?

Instead of answering Gordon's anxious question, Jeff caught DeRon Dorn's eye, and called him over. As the smiling man walked up, he said, "Jeff! How's that riding mower working out for you?"

DeRon was his mother's age, and had owned the local hardware store for as long as Jeff could remember. "Well, to tell the truth, I just don't know. One of the advantages of five boys is, I haven't had to mow a lawn myself in years."

DeRon chuckled and looked down at the two youngsters. "You boys here to try your luck?"

Alan nodded, but Gordon shook his head vehemently. "What? Now that surprises me. I thought you were going to be my best customer today."

"Well, Gordon has a concern. Go ahead, son, tell Mr. Dorn what you told me."

The youngster spoke up to be heard over the loudspeaker. "I got a book at the library about goldfish, and it said if you leave them in little bags for too long, they'll die, so I don't want to win one until it's time to go home."

DeRon smiled, nodding. "Well, I am very glad to hear you understand that these fish are live animals and need to be taken care of properly. Do you have a fishbowl at home?"

Gordon shook his head. "No, but I have a big jar that mayonnaise came in."

DeRon frowned. "Hmmm. No, that won't really be a good home. I suggest after you win your fish you head on over to the coin toss. I believe they have some nice bowls over there."

"But Mr. Dorn, what if all the goldfish are gone when it's time for me to play?"

DeRon raised an eyebrow at the anguish in the boy's voice, and with a smile shook his head. He reached over to a clipboard lying on the counter. Holding it so Gordon could see the short list of names on it, he said, "You don't have to wait to win it. See? If you win a goldfish, you put your name on this list, and we'll save one for you until you're ready to leave."

With a sudden gasp, Gordon looked up at Jeff. "Dad, did you hear that? Can I play now? Please? Please can I play now?"

Jeff was almost tempted to tell the boy no. Gordon was so excited and anxious to win his fish that Jeff feared he'd be devastated if he failed. Hoping that the promise of a trip to the pet store would keep the child from a total breakdown, he nodded his head. "Go ahead and bring out your money, son. Give it a shot."

"Daddy? I wanna play too."

"All right. Now, let's see, I told Gordon he could spend 2.75, but I see here that it's three balls for a dollar. Gordon, you can spend three dollars." Jeff put three dollars down on a pie plate intended to hold the balls for the players.

As DeRon put nine balls into Alan's pie tin, the young blond pointed to the center of the field of glass bowls. "Mr. Dorn, what if you get it in that big blue bowl in the middle?"

"Why, you win the grand prize, of course. A BIG goldfish."

"I'm gonna win a big one!" Alan exclaimed and threw the first of his ping pong balls at the blue bowl. He'd thrown it overhand, and the ball sailed over the center bowl, and bounced clean out of the booth.

Jeff rolled his eyes. "No, son, you want to toss it underhand up high so it will go right into the bowl."

"Oh!" Alan nodded. Catching on quickly, he tossed the second ball high. It came down and caught a fluted edge and bounced harmlessly to the ground. Concentrating, the boy tried again and again, with no better luck, and finally ran out of balls.

In the meantime, Gordon had stood clutching his own ping pong ball in a death grip. Jeff frowned as the boy seemed paralyzed. "Hey, boy, give it a whirl. You never know, you could win."

Taking a shuddering breath, the boy finally tossed his ball. It arced through the air to the far side of the bowls where it caught a fluted lip, and instead of bouncing away, it bounced back, right into the big blue bowl in the center of the display.

After a breathless moment of shock, DeRon's voice boomed out. "Winner, winner, we have a winner here!"

"Hurray! Hurray! You won!" Alan jumped up and down as excited as if he'd won himself.

Gordon stood in drop-jawed wonder, breathing hard. Jeff breathed a sigh of relief for the child. "Good job, boy."

DeRon, held out the clipboard. "Put your John Hancock right here, Gordon. I've already put the gold star so everyone will know you won the grand prize."

With his hand shaking, Gordon painstakingly wrote out his name. When he was done, he looked up with big eyes. "Can I see the grand prize fish?"

"You certainly can. You can not only look at them, but you can pick out the one you want, and we'll save it for you."

DeRon led the boys around to where a large cooler sat inconspicuously in a corner of the booth. Opening it up, both boys crowded close to look. Alan harrumphed. "I thought they'd be really big. They're not big at all."

Jeff looked into the cooler, and saw fish, some orange, some black, and some multicolored. It was true that compared with say, a trout, they were tiny, but he recognized that these were actually fancy goldfish. "Look at that one." He pointed to one with outsized diaphanous fins.

Alan pointed to one that had white and black patches interspersed on its golden body. "I like that one. Gordy, see that one with the black spot like a kitty's head?"

Gordon glanced at his brother's choice then dismissed it with a shake of his head. After a long tense minute, he pointed. "That one, Mr. Dorn. I want that one."

Jeff frowned. His son's choice seemed very plain compared to some of the other fancier fish, but as he looked, he realized it was the brightest orange of any fish in the box. DeRon was nodding his head. "You have a discerning eye, there, Gordon."

Dorn closed up the cooler and said, "It will be here when you come back. You might want to think of a name for it."

"Nemo! You should call it Nemo!"

Gordon shook his head. "Nemo was a clown fish. I'm gonna name him Face."

"Face? What kind of name is that?"

"Because he's my fish. He's my fish, Face. Get it? Fish face?"

"Oh!" Alan started laughing, and Jeff shook his head in fond amusement.

"All right, boys, how about that Octopus?"

"Wait, Daddy. Gordy has eight more balls to throw. Maybe he can win another one!"

Jeff drew a breath to say no. One goldfish was plenty until he was sure Gordon would take proper care of it. But Gordon beat him to it, shaking his head. "I don't need another one. You can have my balls, Allie. See if you can win one for you."

Alan lit up like a Christmas tree. "Okay!"

The two children crowded the counter as Alan tried his luck. DeRon moved over to where Jeff stood, and with a rueful smile said, "You know, Jeff, I meant it when I said your boy had a discerning eye. That fish is actually show quality because of its color. You might want to consider going over to the store and picking up one of those aquarium sets I have in the back. It has a five gallon tank, an air filter, even the colored gravel for the bottom of the tank"

Jeff grimaced. "I'm not sure I want to invest that much. This it probably just a passing fancy. He'll watch it for a few minutes then go on to something else."

"Well, of course, it's your own business, but I think you're wrong about the kid. He has that fish lover look to him."

"I think that's actually constipation, but I'll keep it in mind."

Both men looked over at the twin groans that signaled the last of the ping pong balls flying off the table. Alan was a picture of dejection, and Gordon was full of sympathy. "You can watch Face all you want, Allie. It'll be like it's almost your fish too."

"Alan, you've won a consolation prize." Dorn reached under the counter, and pulled out a small cellophane bag with a flash of bright color in it.

Alan snatched it up, and held it in the light. "Cool! Dad, look, it's a keychain, but it looks like a fish!"

Jeff peered at the small prize. "Very nice. Very nice, indeed. Now, I've been very patient with you boys, but now, it is my turn. Now we're going to ride the octopus!"

The two boys cheered, and grabbed their father's hands to drag him away. Jeff looked back over his shoulder and smiled his thanks to DeRon, who waved, then turned to a girl in black and gold tights to take the dollar she held out.

Jeff checked his wristwatch. It was a quarter to two, and he shook his head. "No, we don't have time for another ride on the Tilt-A-Whirl. We need to head on over to the corn stand. I promised your grandma we'd meet her there at two."

Surprisingly, Alan nodded his head. "I'm kinda hungry, so I guess that's okay. We can go on it again after lunch."

"Oh! Oh, Dad, I forgot! I need to win a fish bowl for Face!" Gordon's eyes were big.

Jeff considered. The boys had run him ragged wanting to ride all the rides, with the exception of The Mouse roller coaster, which they had scoffed at as a baby ride, much to Jeff's secret disappointment.

He cocked his head, "Well, I'll tell you what. Your grandma happens to be working the coin toss booth. What say, we go over and pick her up, and you can take a few shots at winning a bowl while we wait for her."

"Okay!" Gordon was all smiles.

Alan had a different agenda as they headed for the coin toss booth. "Daddy, can we have funnel cakes for lunch?"

Jeff shook his head. "You had pancakes for breakfast. For lunch, we're having corn on the cob. It is a corn festival after all. Wouldn't make much sense to go to the Corn Festival and not eat corn."

"Well, maybe we could have funnel cakes for dessert…"

"Are you kidding? When there's ice-cold watermelon to be had? Sometimes I worry about you, boy."

Alan sighed, but didn't put up a fuss. Jeff had hit one of the child's weak spots. Alan would eat watermelon until he got sick. As they approached coin toss booth, and their grandmother came in sight, both boys broke into a run.

"Grandma, Grandma! I won a fish! I won a goldfish, and now I wanna win a goldfish bowl!"

"Grandma! I went on the big kid rides! I went on the Octopus two times, and on that Ejector Seat ride like at the State Fair!"

"Whoa, boys! Settle down for a moment. Let me get this young man some change." Ruth was decked out in a straw hat and a Corn Festival apron, with a moneychanger strapped around her waist. She took the dollar the teen was holding out, and gave him four quarters in return. "Good luck, dear."

The boy moved away to try his luck. The object of the coin toss was very similar to the ping pong toss. The center of the booth was filled with all shapes and sizes of sparkling glassware, everything from tiny shot glasses to candy dishes and bowls. The players tossed quarters to try to land on or in the glass. Any dish that your money landed on was your prize.

Jeff recognized a few of the pieces as having come from the farm. Throughout the year, the Ladies' Auxiliary collected unwanted glassware for this very booth. Jeff knew his mother had spent an afternoon last week with her friends washing and cleaning up the pieces to make this sparkling display.

Years of experience had taught Jeff that the game was much harder than it looked, and as he watched, the teenager who'd gotten the quarters, tossed them one by one with no luck.

"Grandma, I wanna win that big fishbowl there, but there's a plate on it. How can I get my quarter to go in, if the top is covered?" Gordon asked.

"Well, honey, what you want to do is land your quarter right on that plate. Do you have any quarters?"

Gordon dug into his pocket and pulled out a small wad of dollars, several dropping on the ground at his feet. Alan was quick to scurry around and pick up the dropped money before any of it was lost. "I got a whole bunch of dollars, Grandma."

"Well, you certainly are not going to spend it all. Give me two dollars, and I'll give you change."

"But Grandma…"

"Baby, this game is very hard. I had one young lady insist on spending ten dollars, and she walked away empty-handed. Now, you give me two dollars, and we will see what we will see."

"Daddy? Can I play too?"

Having anticipated the request, Jeff had already dug out eight quarters, which he handed to the boy. Alan frowned. "But I want two dollars, just like Gordy."

Using a particular parental tone, Jeff asked, "Son, how many quarters are in a dollar."

The boy thought for a moment. "Four?"

"Very good. And how many quarters did I give you?"

"Um, six… seven… eight. You gave me eight. OH! That IS two dollars!"

Jeff nodded. "Now, go see what you can do."

The boy turned to join his brother who had already tossed a couple of quarters with no success. Ruth kept an eye on them, but was soon called away to make change on another side of the booth.

Jeff watched as Gordon grew more and more tense with each failed attempt. He didn't even notice what Alan was doing until the boy yelled, "OH! It went in! It went in! I won! Grandma, I won!"

Ruth came over, smiling, "Where, baby?"

"There, Grandma, there! See that glass? No, the one next to it! My quarter went in it!"

"And so it did! Here you go. No, wait, let me wrap it up for you so you don't break it."

"Daddy, did you see? I won!"

"I sure did. Good job, boy."

Gordon watched as his brother received his wrapped glass with sad eyes. His luck had not held, and his quarters had run out. Alan turned to him, oblivious in his happiness. "Gordy, I won a glass!"

Gordon nodded and tried to smile, but couldn't in the face of his tragic loss. "That's good, Allie."

"Oh. You didn't win?"

Gordon shook his head, the very picture of dejection. Alan put his hand on his brother's shoulder. "I still got quarters. I'll try to win that bowl for you, okay?"

Gordon didn't say a word, but just nodded. Alan returned to the counter, and tossed the rest of his quarters, but none made it to the plate. The last quarter, though, fell into another glass.

Alan looked like he'd cheer again, but then remembered Gordon, and turned to his brother. "I'm sorry, Gordy. I tried, but all I won was another glass."

With a heavy sigh, Gordon nodded, saying, "That's okay. I'm really glad you won two glasses."

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, child. How much money do you have?" Ruth said as she removed the moneychanger to hand to her replacement.

Gordon shrugged. "I don't know. I had sixty-two dollars and seventy-five cents, but I spent some of it."

"Jeff, please?" Ruth held out her hand in an appeal for assistance in climbing over the railing around the booth. Jeff steadied the small woman as she spoke. "Well, let's go get some of that good Kansas corn, and we'll sit and count your money. I recall there are fishbowls over at Dorn's Hardware, and at the Feed and Seed too, if I remember rightly. If you have the money, we'll go buy a bowl on the way home."

There was a deathless pause as Gordon stared at his grandmother. Then, with a cry of sheer joy he flung himself into her arms. "Thank you, Grandma! Thank you!"

Surprised, and not a little consternated, Ruth held the boy, patting his back. She looked over at Jeff, who shrugged with a fond smile, then broke up the scene by saying, "The corn's a'calling. Let's go eat."

With shining eyes, Gordon released his hold, and with Alan ran ahead to get in line.

Some ninety minutes later, Jeff was telling his friends about his son's fish adventure. The three men were sitting on the rail of the Roller Bowler booth. It was mid-afternoon, and the crowds of band kids and drill team members had thinned as buses loaded up for the long trip home. The heat of the Kansas sun had driven a most of the local festivalgoers away. They'd return in full force in the cool of the evening, but for now customers for the Roller Bowler booth were few and far between.

"So anyway, Mom told him they'd stop at Dorn's and pick up a fishbowl, and I thought the kid would cry he was so happy."

Stu shook his head. "You gotta get that kid a dog."

Jeff snorted, and Tom said, "Hey, it could be worse. Believe me, it could be worse."

Both Jeff and Stu chuckled at Tom's rueful remark. His younger daughter's pet, a hamster that Tom had nicknamed Beelzebub, had been a thorn in Tom's side for the better part of a year. Every time the three men got together, Tom had another tale of horror to tell them.

"Hey, Dad, how do you play this?"

Jeff turned to see his boy, John, at the front of the booth, eating a chocolate covered frozen banana, a look of interest in his eye. "It's as easy as pie, son. You just roll that ball up the track so it goes over the hump and stays in the valley right there. Only a dollar to play."

John looked up at the large stuffed animals hanging from the rafters of the booth. Wrinkling his nose, he said, "Do you have any good prizes?"

"And what's wrong with the prizes you see?" Stu lifted an eyebrow.

John shot the scoutmaster a look. "Number one, I'm not a girl. Number two, I'm not five years old. And number three, I never liked Wacky Banana Time."

Jeff glanced up at the critters above his head. They were all based on cartoon characters from a popular Saturday morning show, and frankly, he was relieved to hear his son had better taste than to like them.

Tom laughed, "Good answer, Johnny. As it happens we do have more manly prizes. Check this out."

Tom held up a long thin box with a colorful graphic of a spyglass. John's interest peaked and he looked the box over carefully. "Yeah, okay, that's a pretty good prize. How do I do this again?"

Jeff and Tom both stepped back to let Stu give the demonstration. Stu had a knack for this game that had caused him to be banned from playing back when they were kids. "Okay, you want to roll the ball just hard enough to make it over the first hump. If you roll it too hard, it will roll to the back and come right back over the hump. If you roll it too soft, it won't make it over the hump."

As he explained, Stu rolled the ball, and sure enough, it barely made it over the hump, but then did not gain enough momentum to make it back, and it rolled to a stop safely in the valley. As he demonstrated, John's friends came from wherever they had been and watched. Davy shook his head. "Don't fall for it. There's a trick to it, and it's really hard. Let's go ride the Ejector Seat again. I want to see if I can do it without yelling like you did."

"No, I want to try. I want that spyglass," John said with determination. "Dad, will you hold this for me?"

Jeff took the frozen banana from his son, and watched as the boy plunked down his dollar. "Good luck, son."

John flashed a grin at his father, and took the ball from Stu, weighing it in his hand. He carefully positioned it on the rails of the game, and taking a deep breath, gave it a push. The ball rolled up, but did not have enough speed to clear the hump, and it rolled back to where John stood, frowning. "I want to try that again."

As he reached for his wallet, Stu put his hand on the ball. "It's a dollar a try, but for five dollars, you get six balls. You want to give me five dollars for the extra try?"

"Don't do it, Johnny. It's a rip-off," Davy said, shaking his head.

"Aw, you say that about all the games. I wanna try. Mr. Kopecki, here's my five dollars." Jake slapped a bill down on the counter.

Tom moved up to take the money. "That's what I like, a man who knows his own mind. Come on over to this one, Jake, so you don't get distracted."

The game had could accommodate five players, and Tom set the ball down on the farthest track. John, in the meantime, had pulled out his five dollars, and was concentrating on his own ball. Other people, mostly teens, paused to watch the action.

Jeff watched his son, hoping the boy would win, but knowing it was unlikely. The game was deceptive, and from the winner's list on the clipboard, not many prizes were being given out.

John's next two tries ended like the first, with the ball not making it over the first hump. His frown got deeper as his frustration grew. The next try, he pushed the ball far too hard, and it made the hump, but continued to the far side of the valley where it went up the rail, paused, and came back with enough momentum to make it back over the hump.

"C'mon, Johnny, you can do it!" Jeff looked up to see Virgil had joined the small crowd of people watching the game. John glanced over his shoulder at his brother, then turned back, a look of renewed determination on his face.

The boy pushed the ball, and Jeff's heart went up in his throat. The roll looked good, with the ball barely making it to the top of the hump, where it paused, before rolling into the valley. Jeff heard John gasp. The ball continued to the back of the rails, and came back, and with the same heart-stopping pause at the top of the hump, rolled forward to the groans of the bystanders.

"You've got it now, kiddo! Try it again." Virgil encouraged from his position at the back of the crowd.

John concentrated fiercely on his next roll, but his hand seemed to slip, and as soon as he released the ball, he reached out as if to take it back, but the ball was already on its way, and it was clear, John had pushed too hard. Once again the ball made the hump but then had too much momentum, and it came all the way back to the disgruntled boy.

"Last try, son," Jeff said. John never even looked up, but pushed his last ball. It was another heartbreaker. It had just a tad too much momentum, and though it paused, it still came all the way back out to the front of the track.

The crowd of teens groaned in commiseration, and then started to drift away. "I want to go again," John said digging into his shorts to pull out his wallet.

"No, son, you've spent six dollars, that's enough." Jeff said with parental authority. It was an unspoken rule at the Corn Festival that the local kids were not allowed to overspend on any one game.

John's shoulders slumped, but he nodded. Then he looked up and cried out in indignation, "Hey! That was MY frozen banana!"

Jeff looked down at the treat he'd held for his son. He'd only meant to take a small bite, but somehow most of it had disappeared. He put on a contrite face and held out the stick with the nub of banana on it. "Surely you wouldn't begrudge your old dad a tiny bite?"

"A tiny bite? Dad, you ate the whole thing."

Jeff nodded solemnly. "And it was delicious, too. Thank you, son."

John rolled his eyes, then looked up, startled as Tom called out, "Winner, winner, winner! We're giving it away here, folks!"

Jake was all smiles as he pointed up at a particularly garish pink banana-shaped dog. "That one, Mr. Garman."

John's jaw dropped. "You won, and you're getting THAT?"

Jake looked over, slightly embarrassed. "Yeah. It's for my little sister. Her birthday's next month, and she loves Pritty Poodle."

John and Davy looked at each other, then crossed their arms, shaking their heads. "Jake, there is absolutely no way we're going to go around with you if you're lugging a big pink poodle."

Tom adopted an identical crossed arm pose, and in the same tone, answered for the disconcerted Jake. "Well, he's not going to lug it around. He's going to put his name on the list, and come back and pick it up when it's time to go home."

"Yeah," Jake affirmed, his head held high.

John and Davy shook their heads, and Davy said, "Let's go ride the Ejector Seat."

John and Jake both nodded, and without a second glance ran off. Jeff watched them go, but had bigger fish to fry. Sniffing ostentatiously, he turned to Stu. "Do you smell that? Smells like a sucker to me."

Virgil, who'd been standing patiently waiting his turn, smirked, "Maybe you should take a shower more often, Dad."

Tom whistled the theme from The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly, as father and son squared off. "Well, now, look who's here to be fleeced, boys."

"Yeah, I'll be getting a good sweater out of you three."

As Tom and Stu hooted, Jeff narrowed his eyes. "How about a little side bet, son?"

"Bring it on, Pops." Virgil's smirk grew wider.

"Pops? Did you just call me Pops?"

Virgil turned serious. "Mr. Kopecki, have you got any hearing aids back there? I'd like to win one for my elderly father, here."

"Oh, you are so going down, kid."

Grinning, Virgil cocked his head. "What's this side bet?"

"Five dollars, six tries. You win, I'll give you a driving lesson tomorrow afternoon."

"In the Bugatti?"

There was sudden silence as Tom and Stu sucked in their breath. Jeff just snorted, "No, in the Lexus. Take it or leave it."

"And if I lose?"

"You go over to the frozen banana booth and you buy us three frozen bananas. The big ones."

"Cool." Stu grinned.

"You're on." Virgil stepped up and handed his father a five-dollar bill.

Jeff handed the teen a ball, and as John had, Virgil hefted it in his hand before setting it on the rails. He sucked in a breath, held it, and pushed the ball. It rolled up, over and settled in the valley beyond.

Jeff stood blinking. Tom and Stu both groaned, Tom saying, "Dang, I was looking forward to that frozen banana!"

Virgil just smiled sweetly. Holding up the ball, he said, "If I do it again, can we upgrade to the Bugatti?"

"No, but I'll give you two lessons in the Lexus."

"Good enough." Virgil set the ball down and again made a perfect roll, the ball coming to rest in the valley.

"Holy Guacamole, Batman, where did you learn to do that?" Tom asked, an admiring grin on his face.

"I dunno, Mr. Garman, it just doesn't seem all that hard to me."

With narrowed eyes, Jeff handed his son the ball. "Do that again."

"Sure, Dad," Virgil said cockily. This time, he didn't even look, instead staring straight at his father, a grin on his face, as he pushed the ball one-handed. The result was the same, and the ball rested in the valley.

"Okay, that's it. Three prizes are the maximum. Can I interest you in a pink poodle?" Stu lifted his hands to present the prizes like a game show hostess.

"Uh, no, I don't think so. What was it that Johnny was trying to win?"

"This spyglass. We also have a penknife and a wallet, and this watch."

Virgil glanced at the tray of prizes that Stu had pulled out from under the counter. "Have you got three of the spyglasses? If I get one for Johnny, I have to get one for Allie and Gords."

Jeff watched as Virgil dutifully signed the prize list three times. He was a bit stunned at his son's skill at the game. With a big grin, the young teen threw a cocky salute, "Catch you later, Dad!"

Jeff nodded as his son strode away, head held high. He looked over at his friends, and the three friends suddenly burst out laughing. After a few moments, Jeff shrugged. "Okay. That was amazing."

"You suppose he practiced all winter?" Stu asked, still grinning.

"Like you did that year?" Tom smirked.

"Hey, I had to. Cal was rubbing my nose in it from the first day of school." Jeff and Tom both nodded. Only they knew the truth about Stu's carnival game expertise. They had been about Virgil's age when Cal Connelly had shown all three up at this self same festival, winning the largest stuffed animal available, and parlaying the win into stealing Stu's girlfriend at the time.

Jeff shook off the memory and said plaintively, "I feel quite sure I would have noticed if Virgil was practicing Roller Bowler in the living room."

"Hey, Dad!" Virgil called as he walked up, juggling three frozen bananas.

"Ah, great!" Stu reached for one.

As Tom took his, he smiled sagely, "I've always liked you the best, you know that, don't you?"

Virgil handed his father the last of the bananas, and crossed his heart. "Yes, Mr. Garman, I did know that. Of course, I think it just shows your intelligence."

"And has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you'll have him for Earth Science this fall," Stu cocked an eyebrow.

Virgil batted his eyes. "I will? Huh."

"Get out of here!" Jeff barked, his grin showing nothing but fondness. Virgil grinned back at his dad, then strolled away.

As they watched the boy leave, Stu said quietly, "You know, Jeff, you're a lucky man."

Jeff glanced at his friend, who had not been lucky in love, his wife having left him, taking their daughter with her, some years past. "Don't I know it."

The friends sat on the counter of the booth, eating their chocolate covered fruit in silence. Before they finished they had a small spate of customers that Jeff recognized from their band uniforms as being from the nearby town of Jetmore. Of the six who played, only one won a prize.

As the kids walked off admiring the winner's large blue banana-shaped giraffe, two couples walked up. "Hey Mr. T. I see the Vortex hasn't hit here yet."

Jeff smiled at Scott and his friends. "The Vortex? What do you mean, Wyatt?"

Scott shook his head. "He means Virgil, Dad."

"Yeah, Mr. T. Virgil's been laying waste to the entire midway. No prize is safe. I see you've got prizes, so I figure he hasn't been here yet."

Jeff looked to Scott for an explanation. The teen shook his head in bewilderment. "Virgil has won literally every game he's tried. It's been totally freaky. He's popped the balloons, knocked over the milk bottles, covered the spot, scored over, heck, he even won the pinball horse race."

"But don't worry, Scott's not jealous at all," Wyatt commented wryly.

Scott shot his friend a look. The pretty blond who Scott had an arm draped over, held up a huge fluffy teddy bear. "Scott does just fine, Wyatt. Better than you, anyway."

Wyatt's girl held up a slightly smaller, brightly colored plush fish. "It's true. Scott is better at clown toss, but I like my fish. It has personality, just like Wyatt."

Wyatt grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. Scott just rolled his eyes. "So, Dad, what about it? Has Virg been here?"

"Three balls, three prizes."

"So, Scotty, tell us the truth. Your brother's been practicing, hasn't he?" Stu asked.

Scott shook his head. "No, not that I know of. It's like I said, it's just plain freaky. He didn't win a thing last year, but this year he can do no wrong."

"Hmmm. Well, if you see him, I have a proposition for him."

"Okay, I'll let him know, Mr. Kopecki." Scott turned to his friends. "Come on, guys, let's go check out the Fun House."

"No, wait," Scott's girlfriend Allison said. "Scott, see that purple cat? Win it for me, okay? Please?"

"Wy, I want that orange… pig? Whatever. Win me that orange thing!" Faith Milstein ordered.

Scott and Wyatt looked at each other and rolled their eyes, and stepped up, each slapping five-dollar bills down on the counter. Jeff made eye contact with his friends, then just as Scott pushed the ball, said, "Your brother didn't even look the third time."

Scott pushed too hard, and the ball went over the hump, hit the back and came back over the hump a second time. Scott turned a betrayed look on his father. "Dad, you're not helping."

"Sorry, son," Jeff said with mock contrition. Scott gave him a dirty look, and tried a second time. Once again, as the teen was releasing the ball, Jeff commented, "Johnny did pretty well, too."

The result was the same, and the ball rolled back to the beginning. Scott stared with narrowed eyes. "Step back."

Eyes wide with innocence, Jeff took a large step backward. Scott kept a gimlet eye on his father and he prepared to roll. Like a baseball pitcher with a runner on first, he kept glancing over to insure his dad didn't move. Just as he released the ball, from the other side of the track, Stu drawled, "Gordon won a purple cat."

By this time, Wyatt and the girls were just standing by, enjoying the show. When the ball didn't clear the hump, all three groaned, and called encouragement. Scott glared at his father and his friends. "All right, all three of you just go stand over there."

Scott watched as the three friends dutifully retired to the far side of the booth. With his friends calling encouragement, Scott concentrated fiercely, eerily reminding Jeff of John. Scott made a move to release the ball, and no one said a thing. With one last hard look, Scott tried again, and just as he released the ball, Tom called out, "Alan won the orange whatever."

Scott had overcome the problem of distraction, and his roll was a good one, the ball cresting the hump with little momentum. Jeff was sure his son had won, but the ball had just enough energy to make it back over the bump.

Scott groaned with dramatic body English, and his friends all joined him in their disbelief. Wyatt came over and made a show of massaging Scott's shoulders. "You've got it now, bro. They've shot their wad, you got no more brothers. Go, nail 'em to the wall. Make 'em bleed."

Jeff crossed his arms and smirked. "Yes, the purple kitty awaits."

Scott had his game face on, even as Wyatt and the girls snickered. He came up to the ball, and with deadly determination, prepared to roll. As he released the ball, Stu and Tom called out in unison. "Your grandma aced it."

Scott's hand slipped, and the ball didn't clear the hump. He dropped his head, and Jeff thought for a moment that they had pushed the boy too far. But then Scott's head came up, and Jeff saw that he was fighting not to laugh.

He grinned at his son, and Wyatt patted him on his back. "Sorry man. I never thought they'd stoop that low. Struck down by the Grandma Gambit."

Scott blurted out a laugh, and then just kept going, Wyatt, Allison and Faith joining in. After a moment, Jeff and his friends started laughing too, the young people's guffawing being contagious.

After a few minutes, Scott controlled himself to point a finger at his father. "You'll get yours, just you wait and see!"

Stu shook his head, "Actually, if your dad wants anything, he'll just have to wait until Virgil wins it for him."

The sly comment set off fresh gales of laughter. Finally shaking his head, Scott looked at Wyatt. "Your turn. At least you don't have any brothers or sisters. They can't get you."

Jeff shook his head, "Oh, but son, you have one more try left." He gestured enticingly to the ball.

Scott just shook his head. "I don't think I want to know who else has 'aced' this game."

"Well, if you won't, I will." Allison stepped up shouldering Scott aside. With an 'I-don't-care' attitude, she pushed the ball. Apparently the girl misjudged the weight of the ball, because her push was weak, and at first it seemed as if the ball would not clear the hump, but it did so, just barely, and came to rest in the valley.

There was stunned silence all around. Jeff caught a glimpse of a stricken look as the girl realized she had outdone her boyfriend, Scott was as stunned as anybody, but then beamed with pride. "Way to go!"

"One purple cat coming up!" Tom declared as he reached for the pole that would help him snag the prize from the rafters.

"Mr. Garman, please!" Allison called out quickly. "Um, can I pick it up later? I'd, uh, rather just carry this one for now."

Tom glanced at the teddy bear, and nodded, reaching for the clipboard. "Okay, honey, just sign here."

The teens watched as Allison signed her name, then Scott turned again to Wyatt. "Your turn."

Wyatt froze with a comical deer-in-headlights look Then he stood back and grandly gestured for Faith to take his place. "Win me an orange one, Fay."

To the general laughter of the group, Faith stepped up, and took her turn, but there was no repeat of Allison's success, and with a disappointed groan, she watched as her last chance rolled back to the beginning. "Aw, darn. I guess we'll just have to do without an orange pig."

Hugging her from behind, Wyatt said consolingly, "It's just as well. I never cared for banana flavored pork anyway."

Jeff snorted a laugh, feeling quiet pride in the wit and humor his son and friends displayed. Scott grinned at his dad, "Okay, we're going to head over to the Fun House. I'll see you tonight, Dad."

As the kids turned to go, Stu called out, "Don't forget to tell Virgil I want to see him. Before four o'clock."

Scott nodded and waved as he led his friends away. Jeff came up to stand next to Stu. "Why before four?"

Stu's grin was sly. "That's when Cal starts his shift in the dunk tank."

Jeff and Tom both started to smile.

Later that evening, Jeff walked up the steps of his front porch, and found his mother on the porch swing. He leaned against the porch railing. "Mom, how was your day?"

"It was a wonderful day, baby. Here, have some ice tea. Sit a spell."

Jeff took the proffered glass, and eased himself onto the swing. He cocked his head for a moment, listening. "It seems mighty quiet. Are the boys in bed already?"

"No. Virgil brought the boys some toy telescopes, so John and Alan are out in the hayloft, stargazing. Scott came by about half an hour ago to take Virgil back to the Festival."

"And Gordon?" Jeff prompted.

"Oh, that boy. He's up in his bedroom staring at his fish."

Jeff chuckled softly. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I should never have bought that kid "Finding Nemo."

Ruth smiled and patted her son's leg. "Well, he's happy, and that's what's important. He had a great day today. They all did."

"So did I, Mom. So did I."

Jeff sat back, listening to the crickets, comfortable with his beloved mother beside him, and smiled.