unbeaten season. Their simple formula was for Michael to get the ball to Manny and watch his teammate score.
From the stands, the Toccos and Smiths cheered on their sons.
All seemed well.
But unbeknownst to anyone, seeds had been planted that would ripen in ways no one could have anticipated.
Sacred Heart Seminary, was, unlike all Gaul, divided into only two entities: Day Dogs and House Rats. It depended on whether the student was a boarder or one who lived at home and commuted.
Both Bob Koesler and Pat McNiff lived close enough to commute to school. Based solely on their chance encounter on registration day, each became the first friend the other made. There would be many other circles of friendship.
Most of the boys came from parochial schools. Nothing odd about that. The priesthood enjoyed a preferential place in Catholic schools. Almost everyone who became a seminarian had been encouraged in his choice by nuns, who were always on the lookout for candidates for the religious life.
Bob Koesler alone had come directly from parochial grades staffed by the Brothers of Mary. Even so, it was a bit of a cultural shock now to be taught by priests.
Perhaps Bob’s biggest surprise was his fellow seminarians. These were young men pursuing the most sublime calling in all of Catholicism; he had half expected to find them wearing subtle halos.
Surprise: They were typical boys, pulling practical jokes, breaking nonessential seminary rules, competing fiercely in everything from physical games to academic achievement.
In no time, he fell into the rhythm of the place. In no time, he and his classmates might just as well have been together for years instead of mere weeks.
Bob did not need to be reminded that his goal was twelve long years off. But it seemed they were going to be good years.
He had no way of knowing that he might have profited from an academic minor in the police procedures of murder investigations.
The upcoming drastic change in the staffing of Redeemer’s schools outraged the Smiths, who felt betrayed. Their feelings were mirrored by those of the McManns.
Henry Smith “chaired” a meeting of the four parents. The young people were not invited.
All agreed that they could do nothing to challenge the move. Legal action was out of the question; the school obviously was within its rights in making this policy change.
So, what to do?
“Let’s begin,” Smith said, “with Michael.”
“You can’t do that without considering Mike’s buddy Manny,” his wife suggested. “They’re practically inseparable.”
“I’ve already talked to Mike about that. The Toccos have decided to let Manny continue at Redeemer for the eighth grade. Then, when his class gets to high school, he’ll be going to the seminary.”
“The alternative,” Lucy Smith said, “is to send Michael to an all-boys Catholic school for the eighth grade. Then he and Manny would join up again for high school in the seminary.”
“Of course,” Nat McMann interjected, “there’s the question of a significant raise in tuition … and transportation.”
Nat and June McMann might as well have been disinterested bystanders when it came to the boys, neither of whom belonged to them. But there existed the possibility that their daughter Alice might be swept up in the Smiths’ plans for Rose.
“That’s true,” Smith agreed. “What we’ve got to decide is whether that kind of move is necessary.”
Lucy Smith toyed with her wedding ring, sliding it up and down her finger. “I think,” she said, “that we’re making a mountain out of a molehill. After all, it’s only one year of integrated classes. And it
is
our parochial school. Remember, Henry, one of the main reasons we chose to live here was the high reputation of Redeemer’s schools—”
“With gender segregation,” Henry interrupted.
“Gender segregation or integration,” Lucy said, “it’s not as if our school has turned into Martin Luther Reformation
From the stands, the Toccos and Smiths cheered on their sons.
All seemed well.
But unbeknownst to anyone, seeds had been planted that would ripen in ways no one could have anticipated.
Sacred Heart Seminary, was, unlike all Gaul, divided into only two entities: Day Dogs and House Rats. It depended on whether the student was a boarder or one who lived at home and commuted.
Both Bob Koesler and Pat McNiff lived close enough to commute to school. Based solely on their chance encounter on registration day, each became the first friend the other made. There would be many other circles of friendship.
Most of the boys came from parochial schools. Nothing odd about that. The priesthood enjoyed a preferential place in Catholic schools. Almost everyone who became a seminarian had been encouraged in his choice by nuns, who were always on the lookout for candidates for the religious life.
Bob Koesler alone had come directly from parochial grades staffed by the Brothers of Mary. Even so, it was a bit of a cultural shock now to be taught by priests.
Perhaps Bob’s biggest surprise was his fellow seminarians. These were young men pursuing the most sublime calling in all of Catholicism; he had half expected to find them wearing subtle halos.
Surprise: They were typical boys, pulling practical jokes, breaking nonessential seminary rules, competing fiercely in everything from physical games to academic achievement.
In no time, he fell into the rhythm of the place. In no time, he and his classmates might just as well have been together for years instead of mere weeks.
Bob did not need to be reminded that his goal was twelve long years off. But it seemed they were going to be good years.
He had no way of knowing that he might have profited from an academic minor in the police procedures of murder investigations.
The upcoming drastic change in the staffing of Redeemer’s schools outraged the Smiths, who felt betrayed. Their feelings were mirrored by those of the McManns.
Henry Smith “chaired” a meeting of the four parents. The young people were not invited.
All agreed that they could do nothing to challenge the move. Legal action was out of the question; the school obviously was within its rights in making this policy change.
So, what to do?
“Let’s begin,” Smith said, “with Michael.”
“You can’t do that without considering Mike’s buddy Manny,” his wife suggested. “They’re practically inseparable.”
“I’ve already talked to Mike about that. The Toccos have decided to let Manny continue at Redeemer for the eighth grade. Then, when his class gets to high school, he’ll be going to the seminary.”
“The alternative,” Lucy Smith said, “is to send Michael to an all-boys Catholic school for the eighth grade. Then he and Manny would join up again for high school in the seminary.”
“Of course,” Nat McMann interjected, “there’s the question of a significant raise in tuition … and transportation.”
Nat and June McMann might as well have been disinterested bystanders when it came to the boys, neither of whom belonged to them. But there existed the possibility that their daughter Alice might be swept up in the Smiths’ plans for Rose.
“That’s true,” Smith agreed. “What we’ve got to decide is whether that kind of move is necessary.”
Lucy Smith toyed with her wedding ring, sliding it up and down her finger. “I think,” she said, “that we’re making a mountain out of a molehill. After all, it’s only one year of integrated classes. And it
is
our parochial school. Remember, Henry, one of the main reasons we chose to live here was the high reputation of Redeemer’s schools—”
“With gender segregation,” Henry interrupted.
“Gender segregation or integration,” Lucy said, “it’s not as if our school has turned into Martin Luther Reformation
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