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"Dad, why did they call you 'Suds' in high school?"

The question was innocent enough. I felt gratified that, at fourteen, Bobby still took an interest in his old man. He held a tight grip on a box marked "Passages." My old high school yearbooks. I thought he'd been gone a little too long. The sun was overpowering, and Bobby's shirt was coated with a grimy film of sweat and attic dust. I looked down at my own khaki shorts and the T-shirt I got for running in last year's Wellsville Jubilee 10K race. They mirrored Bobby's filth.

"Throw that in the moving van and I'll get us some of mom's lemonade and tell you the story."

Bobby's face lit with the beaming smile that only manifests itself in the young. I don't know if he was just happy to get a break, or if he was genuinely excited to hear my little tale. I needed a minute to think while I grabbed the refreshments. I'd always told my son to be honest with me no matter what, and I'd always tried to reciprocate that trust. But I was still hanging on to the tenuous thread of being my son's hero, even though each day it seemed I was becoming less almighty and more human in his eyes. If I told him the whole truth, that thread might unravel completely. So I compromised. We sat on the porch and I spun a yarn about how we'd filled up someone's swimming pool with bubbles and how we'd been caught and punished. It was true but far from complete. All the while I talked my mind couldn't help but to fixate on the full story .

We had just moved to Wellsville in June, after school let out in Pittsburgh. I had always been shy, and I felt like even more of an oddball now, surrounded by Southerners with their strange sayings and funny accents. My one saving grace was my ability to play sports, and it quickly became apparent that the good people of Wellsville worshipped two things - God and football, and not always in that order. I lifted weights in our basement and ran every day in that sticky summer air, determined that I would amount to something in my Junior year at this new school. I made the team, starting at linebacker and tight end. It was after our final practice before school was to commence when our quarterback, Dave Riley, approached me.

"Hey, a bunch of us are going to Jenny Borden's tonight to swim. Her parents are out of town and her brother's in charge, but he's cool. You ought to come over."

"Sure. That'd be great." I knew they didn't get many new kids in this little town, and it

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