Date: Sun, 05 Feb 2006 00:23:03 -0800
From: fritz@nehalemtel.net
Subject: I Love Corey, Chapter Seventy-five

      So here we go again, another warning and disclaimer.  Somehow it just
seems so pointless to write them when so few people read them, and no one
pays any attention to them anyway.  So why do I continue to write them?
Habit I suppose.  Habit and the hope that the disclaimer will warn some
poor lost soul of what he is about to read and save him the anguish of
discovering it on his own.

      So, if you are below the age of majority, you should not read this
story.  I'm sorry, but that is just the way things are.  I certainly didn't
dream up such stupid laws prohibiting you from reading the story.  Some
do-gooders, who seem to lack common sense, came up with such ridiculous
laws and I am powerless to overturn them.  They seem to feel that keeping
you in ignorance is the way to go, like if they don't allow kids to learn
about sex, they will not have sex.  Oh really?  That is not my experience.
It might take a little more personal experimentation, but you will learn.
On the plus side, that personal experimentation can be loads of fun.  Just
don't take the whole thing too seriously.  In other words, have fun, but do
try to be safe.

      Surprise, surprise, this story might contain descriptions of gay sex.
What, you aren't surprised at that?  Then I must assume that you knew what
you were doing when you found this site.  However, for anyone that did not
realize that Nifty is a site for stories about gay sex and love, you had
better leave before you see something that offends you.  Should you decide
to stay, do not complain to me about your offended sensibilities.  You have
had fair warning and stay only at your own risk.

      Sadly there are certain areas in which bigots are in such power as to
enable them to get laws passed barring the reading of stories such as this
one.  Those of you, who have the misfortune to live in such an area, should
either leave the site, or be extremely careful lest those in power find out
that you are reading stories such as this.  Should you decide to stay, and
should those in power discover that you stayed, they will blow a gasket and
try to make life miserable for you.  A prudent person will leave, or at
least be exceedingly careful.  If you are careful enough, they will not
find out you read this story, and what they don't know won't hurt them.
Good luck.

      Now for the rest of the claptrap.  The characters portrayed in this
story do not, and have never existed except in my somewhat demented mind.
The same can be said for the events portrayed in the story.  That any
reasonable person might believe otherwise only proves that he or she is not
a reasonable person.

      Also, this story is my intellectual property.  I know, using the word
intellectual is a long reach when it comes to this story, but that just
sounds so good to me that I can't resist.  Anyhow, please don't post it on
another site, as if anyone wanted too, and please do me the courtesy of
properly attributing any quotes from the story to me.  Beyond that, you are
free to read and enjoy it, if possible, for your own amusement.  I would
ask that you not use it in a commercial manner unless first contacting me
and making arrangements for such use.

      Of course now is the time to thank Don for his efforts and fine work
in editing.  If you find a place where you think he has made a mistake,
remember I only use his suggestions if I want to use them, and therefore he
should not be blamed for those things beyond his power to correct.  In
other words, I take full blame for the final product.  However I appreciate
his suggestions and find them most helpful.  His efforts make this much
easier to read.

      Feel free to contact me with comments, questions, suggestions or
complaints.  I have learned much from my readers and am indebted to them.
You can contact me at fritz@nehalemtel.net, but be sure to put "I Love
Corey" in the subject line so as to escape the horrid fate of being
deleted.  Sadly the amount of spam received does not allow me to read every
email that comes, and I only read those where I think I know the sender, or
those that have "I Love Corey" in the subject line.  All those fabulous
offers to enlarge certain parts of my anatomy, or give me a mortgage at low
rates, or supply me with porn movies, or medicines get deleted.  I neither
want nor need those products, and certainly don't wish to spend my time
reading about them.  Besides, I would not dream of giving any of those
sites any valid information, much less a credit card number, and neither
should you.  Having said all that, I hope you enjoy the following chapter.
Fritz

			I Love Corey, Chapter Seventy-five

      It was nice to get a good night's sleep.  To wake up at the usual
time, with the smell of Corey's hair in my nose, well I really felt better.
We had managed to get to bed at the usual time, and like normal, I woke up
a couple of minutes before the alarm went off.  By the time it started its
chirping my mind was working well enough to where I just rolled over and
shut it off.  Now maybe things would calm down enough to where I could get
somewhat organized again.  The last week or so had been a real mess and I
needed some routine to get rested up again since I really couldn't expect
to get much rest while we were at Disneyland.

      Nobody said much as we just reverted to our usual tasks, Corey
squeezing oranges for the orange juice, and me cooking some breakfast.
Boys came straggling out about like normal and consumed what I cooked.  I
don't think most of them were alert enough to notice what they were eating,
and I could have probably fed them horse manure without them noticing just
what it was they were eating.  Finally it was time for me to leave and so I
did, leaving them there, reading the paper.  Well actually they were
fighting over the comics, but I figured they would either solve their
problems or kill each other.  In the meantime I would just wait and see if
they all made it to class.  They would just have to snipe and whine at each
other with no assistance from me.  They did take time out from the morning
sniping to give me my usual hug, and I was pleased to note that Kyle now
felt like the rest of the boys, in that he leaned into me.  Well, maybe I
should say he felt more like the other boys used to feel.  Their hugs were
now a little more perfunctory, where Kyle was just getting used to it and
was much more warm and sincere.

      Of course I thanked everyone for attending the funeral.  I knew that
Corey and I would be busy with thank-you cards for the next few evenings,
but for those that didn't send flowers, or give to one of the drug rehab
programs, this was about as good an opportunity as I would have to offer
our thanks.  I thought about telling them what I had learned from Officer
Harmon when they asked if I had heard anything more, but decided that
wouldn't be necessary right now, especially since I hadn't even told Corey
yet.  I knew I was going to have to do that, but things had been bad
enough, and confused to where I had kept putting it off.  I knew that
eventually the word would get out in the press, but so far the police were
still saying they were investigating and would not have a statement until
they knew more.  Since there were rumors that drugs played a part, the
story hadn't been one that the press was really covering.  I guess their
attitude was let the druggies kill each other and we'll just ignore it.

      In one sense I was thankful for the time that bought me, but in
another I was really pissed.  No matter what a person did, they still
didn't deserve to be murdered, and even the so-called "druggies" had
families who mourned the death of a loved one.  Why does the press think
one murder is worse than another?  Had Mrs. Babcock been just an ordinary
housewife, there would have been more coverage.  Had she been a famous
person, there would have been wall-to-wall coverage.  The rumors of drugs
had relegated her to little coverage, and that little coverage was pretty
well buried.  Yet every death is the same to the family of the one who
died.  Still, being one of those cases that the press wasn't very
interested in had at least kept the reporters from asking their ridiculous
questions to Corey, like how did he feel about his mother's death.  Some
reporters have to be the most insensitive ghouls the world has ever known.
I doubted that even the Marquee De Sade would ask some of the questions
that they did under similar circumstances.  When I saw one of those ghouls
asking a mother, or child, or parent of someone that had been killed how
they felt about the death, I just wanted to strangle them.  How would they
feel if one of their loved ones had been killed?  As far as that goes, how
would they feel if some other reporter stuck a microphone in their face and
asked them the same type of questions?  My thoughts were that they would
feel a lot differently if the proverbial shoe was on the other foot.  I
could only wonder if such questions were the result of total idiocy, utter
stupidity, a total lack of compassion, or the orders of their supervisors.
If they were the latter, then I could only wish that those supervisors
could have had the good fortune to meet the Marquee De Sade in person, and
not during a social gathering.

	Finally the morning meeting broke up and we all headed for our
classrooms.  There hadn't been much covered except our discussions about
Corey and the funeral.  Fortunately there didn't seem to be any problems
that needed discussion, and there wasn't even much in the line of
announcements.

	The day actually went pretty well.  I called Judy's office during
my first free period, but she wasn't in the office.  I left word to have
her call back when she had time and pushed it to the back of my mind after
that since I had classes to concentrate on.  Those classes really went
pretty well.  The kids seemed to be a little quieter, perhaps because they
were trying to help by not creating any problems.  For whatever reason, it
was nice and we managed to cover the lessons and even have a few minutes
left over.  The kids always seemed to like that because they could ask all
kinds of questions on my class or other classes.  I even answered a couple
of questions that belonged in their English classes.

	I was just getting ready to head for the gym and get ready for
baseball practice when Jerry called me into the office and told me Terry
Blackman had just passed away.  All I could do was feel relief for Terry,
and sorrow for Diane, Jimmy, and Cindy.  Even though they were expecting
it, and knew there was no other outcome, still they would be shocked.  I
felt horrible that I had not managed to find time last week to visit him,
but Corey and the boys had come first.  No matter how much I hurried, I
never seemed to have enough time anymore.  Then it suddenly dawned on me.
Diane and her kids had been at Mrs. Babcock's funeral, and that meant that
we should all go to Terry's.  Now I would have attended anyway, but I
wasn't sure Corey would be up to it, what with it being so close to the
death and funeral of his mother.  In fact I couldn't see how I could even
ask him.  Kyle and Mark hadn't been living with me when Diane and the kids
had stayed for a while, but JJ and LT had and they should probably go.
Just when I thought things were calming down, there always seemed to be
something happening.

	Anyhow, Jerry and I headed out to get Jimmy and Cindy and pull them
from class, and I suppose tell them.  Jerry said that Diane was on her way
and would be here in a few minutes, but I rather suspected that the kids
would have a pretty good idea of what was going on.  That's why I figured
we would end up being the ones to break the news.  Why couldn't I have been
sick today?  Still, Jimmy and Cindy knew me pretty well and maybe I could
help calm them a little, at least I hoped so.

	As it turned out we didn't have to break the news.  We got Cindy
and headed for Jimmy's class.  When he walked out the door with Jerry, he
took one look at me and said, "Dad died, didn't he?"  I didn't even have to
answer, but only had to hug two youngsters that had suddenly found their
way into my arms.  I held them for a few minutes while they sobbed softly,
and then we headed for the office to await Diane.

	Jerry was just telling them that their father had died in his sleep
when Diane walked in.  Her eyes had that bloodshot look that told me she
had been crying.  We talked a few minutes and both Jerry and I offered to
help in any way we could, and then they left.  I mean there wasn't really
much we could say or do.  They just needed a little time to be alone and
come to grips with what had happened.  Once they started thinking again,
then maybe I could help, at least I hoped so.

	It was raining today, so I hurried to the gym to try to get things
ready for an indoor practice.  Some of the things we had started working on
after our first game could just as well be worked on indoors.  It wouldn't
be as good as working outdoors, but was better than nothing.  We would be
about stuck with pitching and hitting because there wasn't any way to
practice fielding that would be realistic.  However the kids could practice
throwing to the bases.  The rain was supposed to continue through tomorrow,
but so far Thursday looked good for the game.  With a little luck we would
be able to have a good outdoor practice on Wednesday, and that would have
to do.  The weather was still pretty dicey this time of year in Northern
California, but in a few more weeks it should improve.  In fact last year
we had only had one track meet that had been rained on.  While track could
go ahead in the rain, gripping and controlling a wet baseball is
impossibility, so baseball games were postponed or cancelled if it rained.
Rained out league games would be rescheduled, if possible, but exhibition
games were just cancelled.  Thursday would be our second and last
exhibition game so I really hoped we could get it in as we really needed
it.  We still had a long way to go to be considered much of a team.

	The poor track team had to practice outdoors.  That gave us the use
of the gym, along with the girl's softball team.  A bigger gym would have
made things a lot easier.  It seemed like we were always getting in each
other's way, and several of the boys spent more time watching the girls
than they did concentrating on practice.  Several of the girls seemed to
have the same problem, and I think both Carrie Hanson, the girl's coach,
and myself we4re ready to tear our hair out by the time practice was over.
Also there was way too much giggling amongst both teams.  Just before time
to quit I decided to cool any budding ardor off with a few laps outside.
There happened to be a pretty good shower just when the team started
running, and soon they looked like a bunch of drowned rats.  At least they
were no longer giggling.  If that didn't cool them off, nothing would.  I
know it cooled me off.

	A short while later everyone had showered, dressed, and had left.
The soggy practice uniforms and the towels were washed and in the dryers
so, we made a dash for the Gator, trying to dodge the raindrops, without
much success.  Since I hadn't shopped over the weekend that meant we had to
stop and buy groceries.  I swear that shower, which had been so eager to
get us on our way to the Gator, had followed us and was waiting to make up
for not soaking us.  Of course there was no parking spot open close to the
door at Downie's, and so it did.

	LT suggested spaghetti, much to the delight of the other boys, so I
gathered up some hamburger, ground veal, some bulk hot Italian sausage, and
I was off to the races.  A couple loaves of French bread for the garlic
bread, and some other things and we were once again headed home.  The
shower must have gotten tired of waiting around while we were in the store,
because there was only a light drizzle falling when we loaded the groceries
in the Gator.  I had everything from lettuce to radicchio for the salad.
We even managed to get away without Mrs. Downie waylaying us.  Ellen is a
real nice woman, but sometimes I just wanted to get home, and most of the
time the boys seemed to feel the same way.

	The boys must have been quite hungry, because there were no
complaints when I assigned them various jobs to help with the preparation
of dinner.  Some were washing and drying salad greens, while others were
chopping onions and doing things like peeling garlic.  As for me, well I
grabbed part of the various meats and started making meatballs.  Some of
the hamburger, and some of the veal, accompanied by a little of the hot
sausage went in a bowl.  I added some minced basil, some bread crumbs, some
grated parmesan cheese, part of an onion I'd run through the food
processor, and a couple of eggs, along with the requisite salt and pepper.
As I was digging through the spice cabinet, looking for a little thyme, I
discovered the reason the boys were so hungry.  The cafeteria had served
mystery meat today for the main course.  Now mystery meat is one of those
things that I almost defy anyone to figure out what it is.  The school
cafeteria, for the most part, does a pretty good job, but occasionally they
just can't seem to help themselves and serve it.  In fact mystery meat is
the reason I pack my own lunch to school.  Oh sure, they call it some kind
of cutlet, but it doesn't make much difference what they call it, it is
still mystery meat.  After all, calling a skunk cabbage a rose doesn't make
it a rose.  Even Kyle and Mark no longer thought much of it, and it had
taken them a while to get used to my cooking.  Now they were getting just
as picky as the rest of the boys.  I finally found the thyme and added a
little to the meatball mixture and listened to the boys make comments about
the mystery meat that included such references as well aged road kill, and
buzzard droppings.  Well, they didn't exactly use the word droppings, but
instead used a much shorter one that started with the letter "S."  Now I
probably didn't help the situation when I commented that the government had
standards for the amount of fecal matter and insect parts that could be
present in prepared foods.  Mark looked a little blank over the term fecal
matter, but Kyle was more than happy to explain.  Once again that short
word starting with "S" was used.

	I swear poor Mark's eyes about bugged clear out of his head when I
assured him that indeed, the government does have standards for the amount
of both fecal matter and insect parts that could be present in food
products.  I'm not sure it helped when I explained that those standards are
in parts per million.  He looked at me like I was an idiot when I mentioned
that in some areas of the world, some insects are considered a delicacy.

	While this was going on I finally finished mixing up the meatball
mixture.  I put the boys to work forming meatballs and got on with the
sauce.  I crumbled up the remaining meats and started them browning in a
little olive oil.  When they were browned about right, I removed them and
looked in the bottom of the roaster.  There seemed to be a little too much
fat there so I removed some of it.  Then in went some coarsely chopped
onion, celery, and roma tomatoes, along with some finely minced garlic and
some quartered mushrooms.  The roma tomatoes had been extra good lately and
the boys had coarsely chopped a bunch of them for the sauce.  As the
vegetables were starting to sweat, the boys continued along with their
conversation.  Each one seemed to be trying to gross the others out.  I'd
had enough of that, so I chased them off to do their homework.  Everything
was washed and chopped so I could handle things easily.

	When the vegetables had sweated a little, I added some canned
tomatoes, some tomato paste, tomato sauce, minced basil and minced parsley,
a little oregano, thyme, red pepper flakes, cinnamon, sugar, salt, pepper,
and about a third of a bottle of Zinfandel that was in the refrigerator.
That killed that bottle, so the empty went in the garbage.  I also crumbled
up a couple of bay leaves and threw them in.  A quick stir told me that it
was a little thick, so I added some water.  I would have liked to use
stock, but I was again out of beef stock.  I put making stock on the mental
list of things I needed to do.  I'm sure I had put it there before, but I
still had not gotten any made.

	Things were going well, the sauce was simmering, the meatballs
cooking, the water to cook the spaghetti was heating, the salad made, and
the boys had even made the garlic butter mixture for the garlic bread, so I
went and set the table and dug out some Chianti to go with the dinner.  I
wasn't sure just how well homework was going, because I could still hear
boys giggling, but I would find out when I checked it.

	The meatballs were now done so I took the pan from the oven and set
it aside.  It looked like the water for the pasta was about ready to boil,
and a quick check told me the sauce needed a little more pepper, and
perhaps a few more red pepper flakes.  I added about a teaspoon of red
pepper flakes and ground a bunch more black pepper into the sauce and had
just finished stirring it in when the pasta water started boiling, so in
went the spaghetti.  Then I grabbed the garlic bread, now wrapped in foil
thanks to the effort of hungry boys, and popped it in the oven.  It
wouldn't be long until dinner was ready, which was a good thing because the
smell of the sauce was really getting to me.  I kept having to swallow it
smelled so good.

	We had just finished Grace, and were starting to fill our plates
when the phone rang.  It was Judy, wanting to know why I'd called.  I'd
totally forgotten that I'd tried to reach her.  She sounded tired, and had
an almost resigned tone in her voice.  I kept it quick and explained what I
wanted to know.  There was perhaps thirty seconds of silence when I
finished.

	"Sam, things were really hectic today, and tomorrow doesn't look
any better.  Can you possibly wait a few days until I have time to check on
a few things?"

	"Sure Judy, no problem.  I just thought now would be a good time to
start the ball rolling, what with Corey's mother dead.  I also need to talk
with Russ and see what he says, but I thought it might be better to start
with you," I replied.

	We quickly finished the call and signed off, after which I walked
back into the dining area.  The boys had figured out I was talking with
Judy and wanted to know how it had gone.  They looked a little disappointed
when I told them Judy wanted a few days to check things out, but soon were
stuffing their faces again.  The spaghetti tasted darn good and so I joined
them in their effort to clean the table.  We lost and the table won.
However I have to give us all an "A" for effort.  I mean it wasn't like we
didn't try to eat everything in sight; we just couldn't quite do it.
However we did much better than I would have believed possible.  While I'd
known there would be lots of sauce left, I had thought there would be more
spaghetti left.  I'd planned on taking the leftover spaghetti, putting it
in a casserole, and putting some sauce on it with a little grated cheese on
top, and baking it for a few minutes.  That would have made an excellent
lunch after a few minutes in the school microwave, accompanied by some
salad.  Looking at what was left, that wasn't going to happen unless I
cooked some more spaghetti to put some sauce on.  We'd managed to eat the
whole package of spaghetti, along with most of the garlic bread, all this
while wreaking havoc on the salad.  I was going to have to complain to the
cafeteria crew because it didn't look like I would be able to afford to
feed the boys on the days they served that mystery meat.

	When I suggested it was time to get up and pick up the table, all I
got were groans.  I was forced to conclude they had overdone the eating
thing.  Even their shirts looked somewhat stretched around the middle.
Come to think of it, mine felt a little tight.

	I took the rest of the sauce, along with the rest of the meatballs,
and put them in separate containers and put them in the freezer.
Surprisingly enough the boys had only eaten one meatball apiece.  Granted
they were good-sized meatballs, but normally they ate more meatballs and
less spaghetti.  I had plenty of both for another meal.

	I was somewhat surprised to find the boys had actually done their
homework, amongst all their giggling, and not only that, there were few
errors in it.  Sometimes they really blew me away that way.  The amount of
giggling had led me to believe they were not even thinking about their
homework.  Of course some of the time that would have been the case, well
most of the time.  In fact, I sometimes felt the need for a baseball bat
when trying to get them to do their homework.  The only thing that worried
me about those thoughts was the fact that the bat would probably just break
on their hard little heads.  That seemed like a waste of a perfectly good
bat, so I just cajoled them until they finally did it to shut me up.  Most
of the time much nagging, followed with a threatened loss of allowances
seemed to work.  I was still trying to figure out what other threats to use
if those should fail.  If I could get them to the stage where they had
driver's licenses, I remembered that taking away driving privileges worked
well; at least it had for my folks.  In fact, as I recall, that threat had
worked really well.  I snickered to myself when I thought about how well it
had worked.  However, at the time it had not been a snickering matter, at
least not for me.

	After I'd checked over their homework, I brought up the subject of
Terry's funeral, and explained I would have to attend.  I even hinted that
they should attend, and was pleased that they seemed to agree with me.
Even Corey seemed to think he should attend, although the thoughts of it
seemed to dampen his spirits.  We didn't know just when it would be, but
all agreed that this was something we probably needed to do.  Even Mark and
Kyle understood that we needed to do this because the Blackmans were my
friends, and the other boys had gotten to know them as well.  So at least
that was settled, and while the thoughts of it saddened Corey, he didn't
break down and cry or anything.

	I left the boys channel surfing while I went into my office and
finished my grading for the day.  Having my last free period interrupted
had put me behind on that.  Then I checked over my lesson plans to see
where I was with them, and if I had missed anything.  Things seemed under
control and I was even a week ahead of my overall schedule for the year.

	When I returned to the family room, there was a soccer match on,
and no one was paying any attention to it.  They were all just bullshitting
about school.  I wasn't surprised at that because none of them liked to
watch soccer, only play it.  Apparently they hadn't been able to find
anything they liked better.  Anyhow, I just settled back in my recliner and
relaxed, letting their chatter wash over me.  Suddenly I heard something
that made me take notice of what they were saying.  JJ was saying something
about Danny Graves being a liar.  Now Daniel Graves had entered our school
in the latter half of last year, and was about as meek and mild as a kid
could be.  He rarely said anything to anyone, and didn't appear to have
many friends.  He was a sort of mousy looking kid, and usually somewhat
shabbily dressed, slightly undersized for his age, and a slightly above
average student, like C pluses and B minuses.  I'd spent some time trying
to get acquainted with him, and welcome him to our school last year, and
had managed to get him to shyly smile when he saw me, but that was about
all.  Somehow I just had a hard time thinking of him saying enough to be
called a liar.

	"Whoa JJ, how do you know Daniel's a liar?" I broke in and asked.

	"Frank Rogers said so," he promptly answered.

	Now that presented a problem.  Frank Rogers was a kid with an
attitude problem.  He was not known for being particularly truthful
himself, and tried to be overbearing when he could get away with it.  He
wasn't quite a bully, but was the next closest thing to one.  Add in that
he was a lousy student with a big mouth and you pretty well get the
picture, all mouth and not many brains.  Thankfully I didn't have him in
any of my classes because truthfully I didn't like him.  Sadly there are
always a few students you don't like very well, but as a teacher you can
never allow that dislike to show.  You have to try to treat all students
the same, and in the case of those you either like or dislike, you have to
make sure you are scrupulously fair in your grading.  It is so easy to be
extra critical with those you don't care for, and overly lenient with those
you like.  I suppose if the truth were known, those I wasn't fond of
probably got a few brakes the rest of my students didn't.  Still I really
worked at trying to be fair.

	"Did Frank say why he thinks Danny is a liar?" I asked.

	"Um, no, he just said he's a liar," JJ responded, with some
hesitation.

	"And do you believe everything Frank says?" I asked.

	"Um, no."

	"Has Danny ever lied to you?" I asked, deciding to press JJ a
little.

	I didn't even get an answer to that one, just a weak shake of his
head.  Now I was left wondering just how I should proceed.  While I wanted
to try to teach JJ, and as far as that goes, all the boys a lesson, still I
don't want to make him feel too bad.  I could see he was already upset that
I'd called him over his remarks about Daniel.  Meanwhile there was utter
silence in the room, except to the announcer for the soccer match droning
on.

	"Well Jason," I said, trying to keep my voice as soft and
non-threatening as possible, "We had a little talk about just this very
thing a while back.  Now Danny may very well be a liar, and Frank may be
right, but don't you think it would be better to find out and make sure
before you start repeating things?"  I got a very weak nod to that question
and so I continued, "We talked about being fair, even to people we don't
know or don't like.  How well do you know Danny?  Is it well enough to know
if he is a liar, or is it just that someone else says he is?  I know you're
in a several of his classes, have you ever gotten to know him?"  I got a
shake of his head and a very miserable look on his face for my questions.
JJ still had such a fragile ego that I could tell I needed to change the
mood, otherwise a lot of the work I'd invested in him was going to suffer a
major setback.

	"Vell now," I said, adopting my best fake German professor accent,
"Vat shall vee do?  Vait, I know.  Herr Professor, dat's me, assigns Herr
Student, dat's you, to learn all about Herr Danny.  Disss assignment isss
verrrry im-poor-taunt."  I was hamming it up as much as I could, and it
must have been working a little, because all except JJ were trying to
suppress grins.  "Firrrst Herr Student, you must in-tarrre-o-gate Herr
Frank.  You must learn vot he con-see-doors to be der lies, but you must
not leeeef any marks on hiss body.  Marrrks vould be verrrry badddd.  Vot
next?  Vell, den you must talk mit Herr Danny, and you must learn vot it
isss dat he likes to do.  You must get to know him and un-deer- stood him."
By now the rest of the boys were starting to giggle.

	"Vot!  You tink dis is faunny?  Yust for dat you must help Herr
Yason.  I vant to know vot books Herr Danny likes, vot games he plays,
ebertink about him.  Maybe you should eefawn learn how long hisss dink
isss.  Den, vee can decide if he isss der liar."

	By now everyone, including JJ, was laughing.  JJ had joined the
other boys in that laughter about the time I told them they had to find out
how long Danny's "dink" was.  Even Dog jumped up and woofed a couple of
times before coming over to me in search of a belly rub.  At least I'd
managed to change the mood.  I scooped Dog up and started rubbing his belly
before I continued.

	"Seriously guys, you wouldn't like it if someone said bad things
about you, especially if they weren't true.  Now Frank may very well be
right, but I think you ought to check before you go repeating what he
said."

	The boys were still laughing and Mark did nothing to stop that
laughter when he asked, "What's the size of his dink got to do with him
being a liar?"

	"Vot!" I shouted, startling Dog.  "You haf never heard der story of
Pendinkio, der little boy dat's dink grew ven he told der lie?"

	For the first time since we'd heard about his mother, Corey cracked
me up with one of his typical wiseass comments.  "Boy, you sure must not
tell many lies Coach."  Then he turned beet red when he realized what he
had said.  However, I thought the rest of the boys would wet their pants
they were now laughing so hard.  He was normally pretty good with those
types of comments, but had been pretty quiet for the last week and a half.
To hear him start to revert to his old self left me in the spot of not
knowing if I should be embarrassed, or just go hug him.  It was so good to
hear him make jokes again.

  	I think they finally got too tired to laugh.  However, they were
not happy when they learned I was serious about them getting to know
Daniel.  I got lots of eye rolls and resigned expressions over that.  I
even had to make them promise not to refer to Daniel as "Dinky Danny."  I
explained that I didn't necessarily expect them to become friends with
Danny, but that I wanted them to get to know him well enough to where they
would know if comments like Frank's might be true.  They talked it over a
little and actually came up with sort of a plan on who would ask what.  By
the time they had talked that over, I went and locked up.  It was time for
bed.  The goodnight hugs went pretty well, except I had to lay down the law
and refuse to tell them the story of "Pendinkio."  Mark was still giggling
when he went into his and Kyle's bedroom and I lost sight of him.

	As Corey and I prepared ourselves for bed, I finally came to a
decision.  Bad as I hated to, I was going to have to tell him about the
call from Officer Harmon.  Sure as hell if I didn't, something would
finally make the papers and someone would comment on it to him.  While that
might not happen, the risk was just too great.  He didn't need to be
blindsided by such a discovery.

	When he was snuggled up in his place, I told him.  There wasn't
really any way to make it less hurtful, but I sure wished there was.  I
even tried to explain why I hadn't told him sooner, and I hope he
understood, however he said nothing about that, or the information about
his mother either.  He just laid there and I could feel the occasional drip
of a tear on my chest.  I'm not sure who felt the worst, Corey from the
news, or me because there was no way to remove his pain on hearing that
news.  What a poor way to end the day.  As he laid there crying, I racked
my brain, trying to think of a time when it would have been better to tell
him, but could not come up with anything better.  Sometimes there is no
good answer and you just have to do what you think is right and hope for
the best.  All I could do is hold him and join him in his sorrow.

			To be continued...

	Spaghetti, well what can I say.  I've hesitated to give a recipe
for several reasons, one of which is I don't have anything close to an
exact recipe.  I use what I happen to have in the house, and make it to
suit my mood.  Batches are rarely the same, although there is an overall
theme.  Measurements are by guess and by taste.  About the best I can do is
give a general guide as to how I go about making it.  Of course when I
refer to spaghetti, I'm referring to the sauce, and not the actual pasta
involved.  This attempt at a guide will also include the meatballs that I
frequently serve with it.  It certainly isn't authentic, as mother wasn't
Italian.  Where she got her version, I have no idea, and failed to ask when
she was still alive.  It isn't quite the same as the way she made it as I
like somewhat spicier food, but while somewhat different, it is still quite
similar.  Anyhow, here goes.  This recipe should easily fill seven or eight
hearty eaters.

	For meats you will need 1 ½ pound ground beef, preferably fairly
low fat like 12%, ½ pound of ground veal, and around a pound of hot Italian
bulk sausage.  I'll start with the meatballs first because they need to
cook a little longer.
	Take half of the ground beef, two thirds of the ground veal, and
half, or a little better of the hot Italian sausage and put in a bowl.  To
that I add a half of medium yellow onion run through the food processor
until it is pretty soupy, three-fourths to a cup of breadcrumbs, about
three tablespoons of finally minced fresh basil, a couple tablespoons of
finally minced fresh parsley, ( I use the Italian flat leaf parsley when I
can get it but either type will work) a teaspoon of dried oregano, some red
pepper flakes (here it gets tricky, all hot sausages are not the same and
what I normally buy is what could be called medium hot), perhaps a half
teaspoon of the flakes, a couple of tablespoons of tomato paste, (I just
open a six ounce can and take two tablespoons out and use the rest in the
sauce), and two eggs lightly beaten with a little water, (like a couple of
tablespoons) a good slosh of red wine, about a third cup of grated parmesan
cheese (if you grate your own and it is somewhat coarse, a couple of pulses
in the food processor will make it nice and fine for the meatballs) and
whatever salt and pepper you like.  I happen to like black pepper so I
grind in quite a bit, like probably a teaspoon of medium-coarse ground
fresh black peppercorns.  If you grind it finer, cut back a little because
it will be hotter.  I have an Atlas pepper mill and I grind until the top
of the ingredients are starting to look somewhat dark.  Mix well with your
hands and form into meatballs about 1 ½ inches in diameter and put in a
lightly oiled pan, leaving a little room between each meatball, and bake
for about thirty-five to forty minutes in a 350 oven.  That is the basic
recipe.  Now then, depending upon my mood, I sometimes put a few squirts of
Worcestershire sauce in, and sometime add a couple of bay leaves well
crumbled, or some rosemary, perhaps a little thyme, any one of a number of
things like that depending on what you like.  In my case I normally throw a
half of teaspoon of thyme in, and a teaspoon of rosemary, but it depends on
my mood.

	So now that your meatballs are cooking, it is time for the sauce.
Mix the remaining meats up and crumble them into a little olive oil and
brown lightly over medium high heat.  Try to crumble them pretty finely.
When lightly browned, remove the meat and set aside.  Check how much oil is
in the bottom of the pan and adjust.  You need some because you are going
to sweat the onions, mushrooms, and fresh tomatoes, if you use them.  If
the fresh tomatoes aren't very good, and you decide to use all canned, cut
back on the oil in the pan just a little.  My guess is around four to five
tablespoons, but I never measured it.  Anyhow, back to the sauce.  If your
medium yellow onions are pretty big, take the half onion left from the
meatballs and add to it one more onion.  If they are medium sized, peel a
couple more and add to the half. Dice coarsely.  I cut them in two and then
cut the onion in two or three places lengthways, and then slice across in
about quarter inch slices.  I want the sauce to have some texture.  You'll
also want about a pound to a pound and a quarter of roma tomatoes, sometime
called Italian Plum Tomatoes.  Dice the tomatoes into about half inch dice.
Six or so ounces of fresh mushrooms are about right.  If small, I cut in
half, if a little bigger, in quarters.  Throw all in the pan, along with
about a cup, or perhaps a little more, of diced celery and start cooking.
Finely mince about five or six cloves of garlic and add, along with about a
third cup of slightly compressed chopped fresh basil, and about the same
amount of fresh parsley, chopped the same.  The basil and parsley don't
have to be real finely minced, but should be chopped up pretty well.
You'll also need about a scant tablespoon of dried oregano, about three
tablespoons of sugar, (if the tomatoes are real sweet, a little less) a
couple tablespoons of vinegar, a scant tablespoon of cinnamon, a few more
red pepper flakes if you like it a little spicy, a third of a cup of red
wine, and salt and pepper to taste.  When the onions are getting
translucent, and the fresh tomatoes have softened, add the rest of the
tomato paste, a 28 oz can of diced Italian Plum Tomatoes complete with the
liquid in the can, and an fifteen once can of tomato sauce, about three
quarters of a cup of beef stock or water, plus the meat you browned
earlier.  Let cook for a few minutes and check seasonings and correct them.
If the sauce is a little soupy, let cook a few minutes to thicken, if a
little thick, add a little water or beef stock if you have it.  Just before
serving, stir in about four ounces of grated parmesan cheese.  This cheese
doesn't have to be real finely grated.  I normally use Parmigiano Romano
cheese in all of this, but it is a little more expensive, and a little
stronger flavored.  I really like its flavor and think it is well worth it.
If you use all canned tomatoes, just use two cans instead of one.  I like
some fresh tomatoes in the sauce because they give the sauce a fresher
flavor, and also help give it a little more texture.  The finished sauce
should be about the consistency of chili, not the thick kind and not the
thin kind, sort of the medium thickness chili, or perhaps a bean soup.  Put
a gob of spaghetti, or some other pasta you prefer, on your plate, place a
meatball on top, and cover generously with the sauce.  Sprinkle some more
cheese on and have at it.  A good green salad, some garlic bread, and a
good red wine go well with it.  For a dessert, I would suggest something
light, like some fresh fruit or a sorbet.

	Now then, if you don't have any hot Italian sausage, use regular
country sausage and use more red pepper flakes and a little anise.  The
veal does nothing for the sauce that I can tell, but makes the meatballs
better.  Mother always put some in the sauce, so I do as well if I have it.
She also used the mild Italian sausage, but I like the hot.  Neither the
meatballs, nor the sauce should be real hot, but you should just be able to
feel the heat in your mouth.  This isn't like a hot chili, but I do like to
be able to just feel the heat.  Two other things that I frequently add are
some chopped bell pepper, like maybe a half of a normal sized one when I
start cooking the onions, and some sliced black olives when I stir the
cheese in at the last.  You can also use sliced green olives, but make sure
and use good olives, not the cheap ones.  If you can't find or afford good
olives, don't bother to use them.  I like the Greek ones.  I also use that
same sauce to make a deep-dish type pizza.  Just put lots of cheese and
toppings on it and it works fine.  You can leave the meat out of the sauce
and cook chicken in it, or lots of things.  It is really just my all
purpose tomato sauce, but when used for spaghetti, I like meat in it.
Since I frequently use it that way, that is normally the way I make it.  In
fact, I probably only make it a few times a year without meat.

	If you have some pasta left, put it in an oven proof dish, add some
sauce and kind of mix it in, and grate either some more parmesan or some
cheddar cheese on top and bake until it starts to bubble.  That way you use
up all the pasta.

	Now then, before you write me letters full of righteous
indignation, claiming that that is not the way to make a spaghetti sauce,
remember you don't have to make it that way if you don't like it that way.
I'm not going to come to your house and force you to make it my way.
Neither should you expect to force me to make it your way.  I'm certainly
open to recipes and comments on how you make yours, but please forget the
righteous indignation part, or make sure that even I can understand that it
is intended as humorous. I'm a little dense sometimes in that regard.  I
like other people's spaghetti sauce, but this is the way I fix it.  Most
people seem to like mine also.  If everyone fixed everything the same, it
would be very boring.