Just then I heard a loud wail. I looked over. A woman in purple was holding onto a tiny girl with a huge set of lungs. The woman was holding her in a backwards hug and trying to talk into her ear. The girl was fighting to get away and run after her mother, who was being led away by another woman in purple.

"Some of the young ones can't understand why they're here. It's really hard for the Mom to walk away while her daughter screams. But you watch, by lunch she'll be all over her Dad, and she'll cry when she has to leave, too."

I shook my head in disbelief. "My Mom would have just scooped me up and taken me home."

"That's what they all want to do. Mom will be taken to where she can watch without her daughter seeing her. They're going to take the little girl to get a balloon and get her face painted. When Mom sees that she's settled down, she'll let her stay."

"So what happens when she sees her Dad?"

"When they're that young, they usually are shy and cling to the volunteer for a while. Especially an only child like that. If she had brothers or sisters, they could calm her and get her to interact with Dad right away. Eventually, though, she'll warm up to her Dad." He motioned to another table. "Have you eaten? The sticky buns are made here at RCC. They're really good. And they have juices or water."

I got a bun and some orange juice. My cereal with raspberries had worn off. While we are eating, I looked around. There were kids of all ages, and more kept coming. There was a clown blowing balloon shapes. The little girl who had been crying was watching in fascination as he made her a poodle. Three face painters were decorating the faces of kids sitting in chairs in front of them. I could see through the gate. There were a bunch of gazebos inside a white picket fence. There was some kiddie playground equipment, too. To the right was what was obviously a church. We had seen the steeple from the end of the road.

Hugh must have seen me looking. "We're going to be over by the chapel or inside it all day. The gazebos and playground are for picnic visits with regular visitors." We threw our trash away. "Do you want to get your face painted? They can do some really cool sports logos."

I had seen a girl near my age walk by with half her face painted like a purple and gold tiger. "Sure." We walked over to the empty chair in front of one of the painters. She turned towards me and asked in a bass voice, "What's your pleasure, son."

I did a double take. It was a guy. He was slender and about 5'5" tall. His long brown hair with a sprinkling of gray was pulled back in a ponytail. His right arm sported a tat of a girl with long blond hair leaning out of a tower.

I guess he saw me do the double take. He laughed. "Bet you thought I was a she from the back. I get that all the time. I really should cut my hair, but I'm used to the weight." He pointed to the tattoo. "That's my daughter, Bella. I told her I was keeping her in a tower and away from guys until she's 30." He held out his hand. "Name's Sue." When I gulped, and tentatively held out my hand, he let out a laugh that made people turn and stare. "Actually it's Frank Sue Donelan," he said when he calmed down.

I grinned. "Is your middle name really Sue?"

"Unfortunately. I used to try to hide the fact, but ever since the song 'A Boy Named Sue' came out in 69, I've used it to my advantage."

"You got me," I said. " I was expecting a Suzy based on height, hair and tat. But I don't think I've ever heard that song."

He laughed. "Only if your Mom forces you to listen to the oldies station. So what can I do you for?"

"Can you do a fleur de lis for the Saints?"

He patted the chair. "You bet your sweet bippy. I suppose you don't' get that reference either."

I sat. "Isn't it from one of the Simpsons' shows? Probably one that aired about the time I was born. I watched a bunch of the old shows on Netflix."

He rolled his eyes. "The Simpsons stole it from a show called Laugh In. It was all the rage in the 1960s. Geez you younguns don't know anything."

He had taken out black and gold face paint and started making the fleur de lis while he talked. He handed Hugh a mirror so he could hold it where I could watch. He was really good and fast. In a matter of minutes, I looked like I was on my way to a Saint's game."

"Have a goodun," he said as I got up.

"You too, Mr. Sue," I said.

He laughed. "Get outta here."

It was more like 9:30 before they decided to let us go inside and see our Dads. Some of the kids were late, and there were still a few missing.

"There's usually a no show or two," Mr. Hugh said. "We've only had one camp where all the kids showed, at least in the years I've been participating. Sometimes some come in really late, too, but I figure better late than never."

"I bet the Dads of the no shows are really bummed."

"They are." He shook his head sadly. "They've planned and prayed and taken parenting classes all for this day. When their kids don't show, it's tough."

Ms. June hollered into a megaphone. "Listen up." Voices died down. "We are going to go through the gate and down the road. We will stop by the side of the picket fence. I will call the name of the Dad whose family is at the front of the line. The Dad will run out to meet his children or child, whatever the case may be. You kids can run to meet him. A photographer will we poised to take pictures of the reunion, so the other kids have to stay back. Any questions?"

The girl with the tiger face said sullenly, "I ain't gonna hug him for no photo op."

I don't know if Ms. June heard her, but she said, "How you greet your father is up to you. Some of you don't know your fathers, and so, you might not feel comfortable with a hug. Just do what comes naturally."

Tiger Girl was behind me in line. I turned to her. "I don't like hugging in public either."

"I ain't seen him since I was in diapers. Why would I want to hug him?"

"Oh. Well, that would make it hard. He's a total stranger then."

"You think?"

The gates started opening. We all focused on them. Three kids and their volunteers were at the front of the line. They led us through the gate and towards the picket fence. As we advanced, a group of men in red shirts came out of the church and stood at the corner, straining as they jockeyed for position so they could see the approaching kids.

We stopped by the fence. I heard the gates clang shut behind us. Ms. June called out a name. A man broke away from the group by the church and ran/walked towards the three kids. The oldest was running towards him. The other two were bringing up the rear more slowly.

"Daddy," the one in front screamed and jumped into his arms. "He gave her a hug and then dropped to his knees as the other two came up. The littlest one had his thumb in his mouth. The other one was holding the little one's hand tightly. He sort of reached out his free arm. The Dad scooped them both into his arms and stood. The four of them walked off as Ms. June called out another name.

By the time I got to the front of the line, the Dads had moved closer. The united families stood along the side of the church, talking and ignoring the reunions that continued.

I saw Dad when I was still about three back in the line. I could hardly wait for my turn.

When June called Paul Braisford, I took off running. I didn't care who watched. I had waited for six years to get a hug from my Dad. As we walked towards the sidelines arm in arm, I glanced back over my shoulder. Tiger Girl was shaking her Dad's hand. She didn't look too thrilled to be here. "Help her, God." I said in my mind.

After all the Dads and kids were paired up, one of the purple shirt guys told us that we were going to play some games to get things rolling.

"Some of these kids don't know their Dads at all," Dad told me. "They are like we were until a few months ago, no letters or nothing and now suddenly here they are spending a day with a man they don't know. Games are a non-threatening way for them to interact. It gives an outlet for the aggression of the ones who aren't too thrilled to be here and lets everyone have fun. I hope you don't mind participating. It'll help get the reluctant ones in the swing of things."

I would have rather stood around and talked to Dad, but I knew he wanted me to play. And it did look like some of the kids needed some time to get used to their Dads.

We started with a game of dodgeball. The Dads were in the middle. The kids were trying to hit them with a ball. We weren't supposed to aim for our own Dads, but most of us did anyway. When Tiger Girl got the ball, she hurled it really hard. Her Dad just stood there and let it hit him. It was like he was sending her a message: "I'll take anything you dish out."

After the Dads all had been hit, we switched places and the kids were in the middle. At first the guys threw the ball like wimps. I think they were afraid they'd hurt the little ones. After the young ones were eliminated, though, the throws got real. We dodged and swerved until it was just me and Tiger Girl. Her Dad had the ball. She was facing him, just daring him to cream her. I was to her left. He lifted the ball as though to throw and tossed a lateral to Dad. Before I could blink the game was over. Tiger Girl was victorious.

I saw her kind of smile at her Dad. "Maybe the game was worth it," I thought.

After a couple more games, we went inside and were directed to tables. There were placards with last names on them. At a table with six chairs, there were three names: Braisford, Calahan, and Morrison. Dad and I sat down. Tiger Girl and her Dad sat by the name Calahan.

The guy slapped Dad on the back. "Looks like we're going to be paired up today, old man." He held his hand out to me. "You must be CW. I'm Mike."

"Good to meet you Mr. Mike," I said.

"Just Mike will do."

The girl sort of snorted. Dad turned to her. "And I bet you're Makayla."

She pointed at her nametag. "Kay will do," she mimicked her Dad, only her tone was snarlier.

I smiled at her. "Your face is awesome. Did some short dude named Sue paint you?"

She actually giggled. "A guy with a ponytail named Frank did it, not a dude named Sue."

"He told me his name was Sue. Turned out it was Frank Sue, but it really is Sue."

Her smile finally reached her eyes. "He was kind of cool. He said he rides a motorcycle."

"You mean Frank Donelan," Dad said. He laughed. "He rides with Bikers for Jesus. He's a character. They ride their bikes down the walk." He pointed to a sidewalk between the chapel and some other buildings behind a fence. "The group comes in once a year and makes hamburgers, lets us look at their rides, and tells us about Jesus. He comes in every week, though. He's a mentor for a group of us guys."

"He rides a bike, and he's a Jesus freak?" the girl said in disbelief.

"He is into Jesus," her Dad said. "Both Paul and I are in his mentoring group."

"What's a mentoring group?" I asked.

"It's a group where we can talk about things we're facing or things we expect to face when we get out. We pray together. The leaders help us find contacts on the outside when we leave here," Dad said.

"But you're not getting out any time soon."

"It's always good to be prepared. You never know. But we can talk about that later."

Just then Ms. June tapped on a mike. "Now that everyone is seated, I'm going to turn things over to Ms. Gloria. She's going to introduce our craft activity.

I leaned over to Dad and whispered, "Aren't we going to wait for the Morrisons?"

Dad shook his head. "The Morrison kid isn't here yet." He pointed to a group of guys standing in a circle over by a door off to the right of the stage. There were three red shirts and about seven purple ones. "They're trying to pray them in," he said.

"What do you mean?" I whispered back.

"No one has called to cancel, so they are praying that God will remove whatever obstacle is keeping them away and that they'll still show up."

"Does it work?" I heard Tiger Girl snort. I wondered if she was listening to our conversation.

"A lot of times. One guy's son didn't get here until 2. They were stuck in traffic. There was a wreck on I10, and they couldn't get off."

Just them Ms. Gloria stopped in her explanation of the craft materials that the volunteers had just delivered to our table. Ms. June was waving wildly at her. She lifted the megaphone she had used outside. "We have some late arrivals. Shawn Morrison, come on down."

One of the men broke away from the prayer group and ran toward the back of the auditorium as a teen-aged boy came through the worship center door. The boy grinned and caught his Dad in a chokehold around the neck. As they moved towards our table, Ms June raised her megaphone back to her mouth.

"Jaques Dubois," she announced.

Another grinning Dad ran towards the back of the room. This time three kids came through the door and were greeted with hugs.

One lone Dad and three volunteers still stood in the corner. As Ms. Gloria started her spiel, they bowed their heads.

We were making tiny little candle lamps to take home. We had to string clear, clunky, beady things on safety pins and follow the instruction sheet delivered to the table. It was fairly easy, so we could talk while we worked. Mr. Hugh and the other volunteers kept up with the bead count for us.

"This is dorky," Tiger Girl said. I had a hard time thinking of her as Kay. "Who gets scared enough to turn on a light and remember that some man in prison is praying. Like that does any good."

"It does some good," Mr. Morrison said. "We just prayed Gabe here in. By the way, my name is Shawn, and this is my son Gabrielle, Gabe for short."

"Yeah." Kay filled the word with sarcasm. "Tell that guy still over there begging God for his kids to get here that prayer is useful."

"Sometimes God says, no," her Dad said. "If they don't show, there is always a reason."

"And God gives us the freedom to choose," Dad added. "Sometimes we choose wrong."

"I wish someone had given me a choice," Kay said. "I wouldn't have wasted today, but Mom said if I didn't come, I couldn't go to the One Direction concert next weekend."

"Maybe you'll see things differently by the time you leave," Gabe said. "I was a real jerk when I came two years ago. I thought my Dad was the biggest loser on the planet, but by the time we talked through everything, I understood that one mistake may change your living situation, but it doesn't mean you have to be a loser. We've been writing, visiting, and talking on the phone for a couple of years now."

"I can't help it if you're a wimp," she said.

After that, we all concentrated on our crafts.