There's no chaos at The Home as usual when I walk in the door. I pass more than six book bags that are lying haphazardly at the entrance. I can hear Top 40 music coming from one room and the beginning of an argument coming from another as I walk down the hallway toward the center of the house.
I hear the pop of a baseball glove coming through the open windows in the back of the house, and I know that Kyle and Ricky are in the middle of their normal pitching spree. Any minute now, one of them will be complaining that the other has a horrible target. They will discuss and then move on to the next activity, playing with their Bakugan or competing in baseball on the
Wii.
I walk into the large room to hear Scooter laughing as he sits next to my fellow counselor, Jackson, on the couch, discus
