text: “Whoa! That was close. Try again!” Clayton laughed gleefully as he encouraged his brother. Meanwhile, in the kitchen, their dad was busy making his homemade tomato sauce. It was his favorite part of harvesting bushels of tomatoes from the garden. His wife helped him harvest, chop and prepare, but the patient work of boiling and simmering rested with him. He savored it. His biggest pot was happily bubbling away over a low flame. It was filled with a nose tantalizing combination of tomatoes, garlic, onions, and olive oil. The sauce would slowly reduce and thicken with patience and time. He puttered about the kitchen while he waited, tidying and organizing. Clayton, his middle child of 10 years, came in. “Hey Dad, can I have a taste?” “Sure,” Dad dipped a spoon into the sauce and turned to his son. “Wait,” he paused, scrutinizing his face, “what happened to your forehead?” Clayton smacked his hand to his forehead quickly and gave his dad a hasty, guilty look before slurping the spoon and fleeing the kitchen. “Sauce tastes good!” He yelled over his shoulder as he disappeared. Dad returned to his pot, slowly stirring while he thought. Clayton had a red dot on his forehead, which was definitely not there earlier. There was no obvious reason for a cut or mark like that. Usually Clayton’s shenanigans resulted in scrapes or bruises. He lifted the spoon to his lips to give the sauce a taste. Not ready yet, he thought. Later, Jacob came into the kitchen. At 14, his oldest son was as tall as him. Without a word he opened the refrigerator to get a drink. “Hey Jacob, what happened to your brother's forehead?” Dad asked. Jacob paused briefly. When he turned, he casually replied, “What do you mean?” “He has a red dot on his forehead. It looks like blood, but he ran away before I could look at it. What’s he been up to?” “Did he say he was hurt?” Jacob asked, while taking a sip of his seltzer. “No, he didn’t seem hurt.” Jacob shrugged. He glanced into the sauce pot, gave his dad a thumbs up and left the kitchen. The sauce was reducing nicely. Every time he returned to stir it, the bubbles formed a little slower in the thickening liquid. Just as they always do. Dad knew there was a reason for Clayton’s most recent injury. He was also certain Jacob knew what happened. They were clearly up to something that required concealment. He would get to the bottom of it. He always did. While the sauce continued to do its delicious work on the stove, Dad went about some other chores around the house. As he walked by the patio doors he saw his boys on the deck, leaning towards each other conspiratorially. This was worth watching. Jacob was talking. Clayton looked up at him with rapt attention and clear admiration. Finally, Jacob pressed a single finger into the red dot on Jacob’s forward, playfully pushing his head. He laughed and ruffled his little brother’s hair before turning to walk back inside. He saw his dad standing behind the glass doors and had the briefest pause in his stride. A look of surprise and worry flashed across his face before his step continued. He gave his dad a smile and a wave on the way to the couch. There was definitely more to this story, Dad thought. Later, returning to his sauce, Dad gave it some slow stirs and a few thoughtful tastes. It was thickening. All it needed was some of his secret additions. He gathered the bottles of fish sauce, worcestershire sauce and soy sauce to create the infusion of salt and umami that made his tomato sauce better than anything he could buy at the store. As he estimated his pours with a tilted head and critical eye, his 6-year-old daughter skipped into the kitchen. He smiled at her. She was playing make-believe as she often did, fully capable of entertaining herself with any combination of toys or sticks or silverware or french fries. In her imagination, anything could become a character in her stories. As he let the last dollop of soy sauce fall into the measuring cup, he gave his daughter a second, curious look. “What are you playing with Molly?” he asked. “This is Jillian. And this is Dipper. They are trying to be fliers but they keep fighting about how to fly.” As she spoke she held up her current story characters. “Where did you get those?” Dad frowned. Seeing his expression, Molly’s face mirrored his concern, “Jacob and Clayton were playing with them,” she said seriously, “I only took 2, they have the rest.” Dad put his hand out with a raised eye-brow. Molly put 2 sharp darts into his hand, then skipped out of the kitchen to find her next makeshift playmates. Dad looked down at the darts with a clear realization, a little anger, and a lot of worry. Before addressing this, he needed to finish his sauce. He poured in his special mixture and stirred it slowly. The dark flavors flowed deliciously into the crevices and folds of the now perfectly thickened sauce. He took another spoonful and put it to his lips. It’s ready. With the sauce covered and waiting, Dad picked up the darts and went to find his boys. Having taken a moment to pause, he felt more ready to address his mischievous offspring. This was actually perfect timing, he smiled to himself. Jacob saw his dad walk through the living room with two darts in his hand. He didn’t stop or talk to him. He just walked through. Uneasiness stirred in Jacob’s chest. Clayton looked up from his legos as his dad entered his bedroom. “Come with me,” his dad said. Clayton glanced at the darts in his hand and followed without a word. With Clayton in tow, Dad returned to the living room to find Jacob listening intently to Molly. They both stopped talking when he entered the room. Molly put her hands to her mouth to hide whatever look crossed her face and backed away. “Boys. What happened to Jacob’s forehead?” Dad asked as he put the darts down on the coffee table. Neither child offered an immediate response. “Noone got hurt,” Jacob said defensively. “Hurt doing what?” Dad insisted. Clayton met Jacob’s eyes and they both resigned to the inevitable. “I was the dart board Dad,” Clayton said. “We found your dart board set in the closet and I held the dart board while Jacob tried to hit the bullseye!” Clayton’s naive excitement about their game could not be diminished, even by the look on his dad’s face. Dad considered his boys carefully. So many admonishments, rebukes, reprimands and chides flowed through his head. They were all fueled by the fear of his son losing an eye. His boys waited quietly, unsure what the steady gaze of their father could mean. Clayton finally realized something was wrong. Jacob knew he was in trouble and just wondered how much. When Dad finally spoke, it was directed at Jacob. He picked up the darts and said, “This was a bad idea, and you knew it.” Jacob lowered his eyes and said nothing. Dad continued, “The sauce is ready. You will help me with the canning. You will do it without moaning or avoiding. You will teach your brother and sister how to do it. And I will supervise.” Jacob hated the canning process, but he loved his dad’s tomato sauce, and he loved his dad. He sullenly followed his dad into the kitchen to accept his consequence, without complaining. Molly and Clayton looked at each other, then quickly followed to be a part of it, just as they had when Jacob had dramatically revealed the dart board set from their dad’s closet. Dad sipped his wine while he watched his children work together. He smiled. He also hated the canning process, but he loved his sauce, and he loved his children. His wife walked in and quickly observed an uncommon scene. “How’d you pull this off?” she asked. Dad filled a second glass with wine and handed it to her. He shrugged and clinked her glass in celebratory cheers. Sauce and parenting, successfully managed for another day.