His Beautiful Boy

For someone who owned a time machine, Mr. Peabody was shocked by how fast time truly was.

It seemed like mere seconds had gone by, but in reality, he had been a father to Sherman, the boy he had found forgotten in the rain and had fought tooth and nail to adopt, for a year. A whole year. A year of alarming discovery, a year of sleepless nights, a year of irritating press about his amazing court victory—but a year Mr. Peabody didn't regret in the slightest either way.

Sherman had grown quite a bit since Mr. Peabody had found him alone in the alley. It was a wonder how Sherman could support that big head of his, and a miracle that he hadn't completely shattered his glasses yet. Sherman, despite only being a year old, was already showing signs of energetic rambunctiousness—Mr. Peabody would only have to glance away for a moment before the baby was off crawling into more adventures. His hair was growing too: a brilliant shade of red, like a blooming poinsettia.

Mr. Peabody remembered the night he had found Sherman vividly, for it was one of the most important nights of his life. He had been walking home from his after-dinner stroll when a freak car accident had taken out his normal route. He had been forced to make a detour down a road he wasn't one hundred percent familiar with, although he hadn't been worried. A fine Sunday evening like that? New York City had been at too much peace for him to worry over silly little things like long ways home.

At some point during his walk, it had started to rain. Thin, cold droplets had fallen from the positively steely sky, and darkness was closing in over the city. But a simple spring shower wasn't enough to make Mr. Peabody hurry home; in fact, he quite enjoyed a good rainfall. It felt almost like a cleansing ritual. Out with any old inhibitions and in with new feelings of innovation and open-ended possibilities. Also, naturally, he had been clever enough to estimate that it would have rained at some point during his stroll (a simple equation really, combining variables like the last time it had rained, the average recorded rainfall for April, the cloud density for that afternoon, and the likely probability that Rhonda on Channel 6 was wrong about her weather predictions for the day, as per usual), so he had equipped himself with his favorite red umbrella before he had left the penthouse.

When passing an alleyway, he had been caught off guard by the sound of crying. He could hear it plain as day through the rain, and it was close. Glancing into the alley, Mr. Peabody noticed a crumpled, beaten cardboard box hiding in the dim shadows. He had approached it warily, and had found poor little Sherman in it, crying up a storm large enough to match the one raging right above him.

But then the baby had silenced when he saw Mr. Peabody. In fact, he seemed to pull a complete 180 and started to smile and giggle. It was as if the smallest ray of sunshine could make his day.

Mr. Peabody had been his ray of sunshine. And Mr. Peabody couldn't have been more honored. There was something he had seen in Sherman that was much stronger than the simple humanity the dog thrived with; the boy was just precious in every sense of the word, and obviously not in a very good place. Mr. Peabody had looked around, trying to find any clues that Sherman's parents had been here, but like ghosts, they left no trace. All that was here was Sherman, the baby who had been left in the rain.

But also, Mr. Peabody looked into those innocent brown eyes and had taken a glimpse into the past for which hadn't needed the WABAC. For Sherman reminded him of a certain sarcastic little puppy who, too, wore glasses too big for him and, too, wanted a home.

But unlike Mr. Peabody, Sherman was going to get a home. And so he had, months of court dates later. And today marked the one year anniversary that Mr. Peabody and Sherman had been together (Mr. Peabody was also counting today as Sherman's first birthday). One year's worth of memories. So Mr. Peabody decided that today was going to be special.

The morning dawned bright and pearly. Mr. Peabody had waited for Sherman to wake up, and then he brought the boy to the kitchen table, where he strapped him into his high chair and put a birthday hat on him.

"Happy birthday, Sherman!" he said, green eyes twinkling with delight. He put a birthday hat on himself and blew into a noisemaker. Sherman tried to grab at it with his chubby hands, but missed.

Mr. Peabody placed Sherman's favorite breakfast on his high chair tray: a sippy cup of whole milk, scrambled eggs, and slices of ham diced into teeny, teeny pieces. Sticking a lit candle into the eggs, Mr. Peabody sang happy birthday to Sherman, who clapped nonsensically and laughed.

"Hmm." Mr. Peabody held his chin, unsatisfied. That was it? That was all he had to offer to his only son's first birthday? Unthinkable. There had to be more he could do!

For starters, Mr. Peabody determined, he could give Sherman a birthday song worth loving. So for the next hour, Mr. Peabody played "happy birthday" on every instrument he knew how to play. Halfway through, he allowed his son to actually blow out his candle and eat his breakfast, but he gave Sherman a special concert to fully enunciate to the boy how fantastic today was.

But what to do now? It was nearly 11'clock! Sherman's birthday was almost halfway over, and he had barely begun to celebrate it!

Steam rushed out of Mr. Peabody's ears. Certainly not! The day had just blossomed! They still had so much time!

Next, Mr. Peabody decided to take Sherman to his favorite park. Granted, there was only one park near the penthouse, but it was Sherman's favorite all the same. Mr. Peabody dressed Sherman, brushed his budding teeth, washed his face, combed his hair, and cleaned his glasses. Then he put Sherman in his stroller and they were off.

The day was simply divine. The air was warm, there was a slight breeze, and the sun was beaming. It was like today knew how important it was to be perfect. The weather seemed to be celebrating Sherman's birthday, too.

As it should! In Mr. Peabody's book, today was practically a national holiday.

The plant life in the park was a healthy shade of green and the area was tranquil. To Mr. Peabody's relief, the park was empty of any other children or parents. He liked to make friends as much as the next guy, but he just didn't have time today to explain to the people who were unaware of who he was how he was a talking, walking dog with a human son. Plus some people tended to not be as pleasant about the whole thing as he would prefer, in which case he would make sure Sherman was far away enough to properly explain to those who argued with his happiness in a prim, correct way that he had won the right to adopt Sherman in a human court of law, and that was that.

They went to the swingset and Mr. Peabody plopped Sherman gently into the baby seat. He wet his paw and checked the wind, finding that the breeze wasn't a large enough variable to consider for Sherman's swinging experience (the boy was so tiny—a gust could sweep him right out of his seat!).

"Okay, now, Sherman," Mr. Peabody said. "Are you ready? I'm going to push you. Of course, I'm sure you know this, because you go on the swing all the time, but I just wanted to prepare you."

"Swing!" Sherman giggled.

And so he did. Mr. Peabody pushed Sherman with careful precision, watching the arc Sherman made with calculations running through his mind. With his current pushing speed and strength, Sherman wasn't going to go too high. So he allowed his guard to fall a bit, indulging in the laughter of his son, who stretched his arms up to the sky, as if trying to punch a hole into the clouds.

The park started to get a tad more crowded. A couple families were sitting at a bench near the jungle gym as their children chased each other. It made Mr. Peabody think back to the first time Sherman had walked. It had only been a couple wobbly steps, but Mr. Peabody had praised him like he had invented the hovercraft (which he hadn't, obviously—Mr. Peabody was in the experimental process with his prototype).

But before long, Mr. Peabody had gotten bored with pushing Sherman. Of course, he wasn't bored with his son's joy, nor was he tired, but he couldn't stand doing the same thing for an extended period of time. It certainly explained his abhorrence to fetch (even though there were many more reasons why he didn't play the useless, repetitive human-dog game).

"Sherman? Are you ready to do something else?" Mr. Peabody asked.

The boy clapped and pointed to the bright blue slide. Mr. Peabody lifted Sherman out of his swing, and the second his tiny feet touched the ground, Sherman was off scurrying to the slide. But he tripped over his toes and fell flat on his face.

"Sherman!" Mr. Peabody was at his side in an instant, crouching down to inspect his son's body for scratches. "Are you okay, my boy?" he worried. No broken bones, he's still standing, no blood, he doesn't seem dizzy—

Sherman was on his way again.

Mr. Peabody shook his head. His boy sure was persistent.

Sherman reached up for the ladder prongs with impatient huffs. Mr. Peabody had been through this process countless times: he was much too short to just easily place Sherman at the top of the slide, and he was much too worried to let the boy slide on his own, so he balanced Sherman on his shoulders and climbed to the top of the slide with ease. Then, with Sherman in his lap, he chuckled, "Ready, Sherman?"

Obviously, the boy was. And down they went, Sherman screaming in delight, like this rickety old slide was a roller coaster. They repeated this five more times until Sherman yawned.

"I thought it was about time for your afternoon nap," Mr. Peabody told him as he put him back in the stroller.

Sherman fell asleep at some point on their way back to the penthouse. Mr. Peabody settled his son into his crib and then retreated to the kitchen to fix himself some lunch. But as he grilled chicken for a salad, his mind was racing with displeasure.

So far, he and Sherman had merely done normal, everyday activities. Hardly the kinds of things people did on their birthdays. But Sherman was one! How else do you spend a birthday with someone so young?

Despite it, Mr. Peabody wanted today to be special, not exceedingly ordinary. But what to do? He was Mr. Hector Peabody, for Pete's sake! He was the most extraordinary dog in the world! He had accomplished more than most humans did and also knew more than most humans would ever know. But where else could they go to celebrate his anniversary with his beautiful little boy?

The answer hit Mr. Peabody like a kick to the gut. A knowing, excited smirk lit up his face.

"Not where," he murmured as he flipped the chicken. "But when."

OoO

"We're heeeeeere!"

Mr. Peabody rose from his chair and unbuckled Sherman from his car seat. He carried the boy out of the WABAC, and frowned at the rain that was falling on New York City, circa 1980. It wasn't a huge deal, since Mr. Peabody had correctly guessed that the weather might have been a downer through glancing over some old weather reports he had excavated on the Internet, so he had his trusty umbrella, but still. This wasn't proper birthday weather!
"It appears, Sherman," Mr. Peabody mused at he parked the WABAC, making it turn invisible, "that wherever we go, rain follows."

Sherman seemed transfixed by the rain, though. Mr. Peabody had noticed that the boy like a friendly little rainfall, but he was showing signs of having storm anxiety. But perhaps Mr. Peabody was overreacting. The boy was still a baby, after all. (On the other hand, it was never too early to start soothing Sherman of any phobias he may have.)

Mr. Peabody walked down 72nd Street in the Upper West Side of Manhattan. He gazed up at the Dakota, the apartment building that housed the man Mr. Peabody was in search for. He felt a little bad, just showing up out of the blue without previous mention, but it was kind of difficult to let someone know you were stopping by when you lived forty years into the future. Surely his friend wouldn't mind a little company on this rainy evening?

Mr. Peabody approached the south entrance and rang for service. A woman's voice buzzed from the voice box: "How may I help you?"

"Yes, hello, I'm here to visit a Mr. John Lennon?" Mr. Peabody said, cordial.

"One moment, please." There was a pause as she called John and asked if he had been expecting anyone. "Mr. Lennon isn't expecting any guests at this time, may I ask for your name?"

"Tell him it's Peabody. Mr. Peabody and his son, Sherman."

Another pause. "Come on in, sir."

A minute later, Mr. Peabody was knocking on the apartment door. He smiled as the door swung open, adjusting his hold on Sherman.

"Peabody!" John Lennon said. "What a surprise! Come in, come in."

"Greetings to you as well, John," Mr. Peabody said, entering the apartment. Yoko Ono sat in the living room, sketching something out in a notebook.

"Hello, Mr. Peabody!" Yoko said, waving.

"Hello, Yoko," Mr. Peabody said warmly. "You're looking as lovely as ever! Still an artist at heart, I see?"

"Oh yes," Yoko replied, raising her eyebrows down at her sketch. "Avant-garde is fascinating, I'm enamored."

"As you should, you're remarkable," Mr. Peabody said.

"And this must be little Sherman!" John said, eyes twinkling behind his circular glasses. "He's just like how you described him at the concert, Peabody."

Mr. Peabody thought back fondly to the Beatles concert he had attended a couple months ago (in present time). A huge Beatles fan, seeing the Beatles perform live was one of the first things Mr. Peabody had wanted to do with the WABAC. After the performance, he had gone up for a simple autograph and ended up spending all night with the four superstars, restaurant-hopping and thrilling the Beatles with his puns and his adventures. He had gone on for at least an hour once they had gotten onto the topic of Sherman, and John Lennon had been particularly familiar with Mr. Peabody's eagerness to be a father and his willingness to fight every court in New York to get the freedom to adopt Sherman.

"He's actually why I'm here, John," Mr. Peabody said as Sherman started reaching for his bowtie. "It's his first birthday, and I was wondering…would you sing Beautiful Boy to him?" He wiped a smudge off of Sherman's face with his thumb. "I've been trying all day to give him the best first birthday a father can give. But there's only so much I can give, you see? You know how much of a fan I am. It'd be an honor to us both."

John grinned and picked up the closest guitar. "An honor is right, but it's all mine, Peabody. Take a seat."

Mr. Peabody sat on the couch and held Sherman tenderly in his lap. John set next to them, folded his legs across each other, tuned the guitar, and started to play. He hummed all the extra percussion parts, and Yoko added in harmony when necessary.

Close your eyes

Have no fear

The monster's gone,

He's on the run, and your daddy's here

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,

Beautiful boy

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,

Beautiful boy

John's voice, to experience in person, so close and personally, was a dream come true. Mr. Peabody relaxed into the couch and wrapped his arms around Sherman's tummy, holding his boy close.

Before you go to sleep

Say a little prayer

Every day in every way,

It's getting better and better

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,

Beautiful boy

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,

Beautiful boy

Mr. Peabody reminisced on today. How positive, playful, and wonderful Sherman was, despite only being one. The intelligence he wielded, his silliness, his ability to just keep going. All the times he had giggled, or smiled, or expressed curiosity, or clapped, or just accepted Mr. Peabody for himself. He loved Mr. Peabody.

Out on the ocean sailing away,

I can hardly wait

To see you come of age

But I guess we'll both

Just have to be patient

Yes it's a long way to go,

But in the meantime

Mr. Peabody thought of the future. He had a future with this little boy. He was going to have many years with him, and was going to get to watch him grow up. It was a terrifying thought: the tiny baby he held now was going to be a young boy, then a teenager, and then an adult. But Mr. Peabody was going to be there for all of it. He was going to cheer Sherman on, and he was going to pick Sherman up when he fell. Sherman was his home, his family, and his future. Sherman was his son. His boy. His beautiful, wonderful, adorable, clumsy, red-haired, big-glasses-wearing, loyal, sweet son. His beautiful little boy.

Before you cross the street,

Take my hand,

Life is just what happens to you,

While you're busy making other plans,

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,

Beautiful boy,

Darling, darling, darling,

Darling Sherman

Mr. Peabody beamed up at John for his inclusion of Sherman's name. "Happy birthday, Sherman," John whispered.

It was then when Mr. Peabody realized Sherman had fallen asleep. He cradled Sherman in both hands, scratching his head.

"Thank you so much, John, Yoko," Mr. Peabody whispered.

He left a couple minutes later, umbrella in one hand and Sherman in the other. He noticed how Sherman's hair color was similar to the color of his umbrella, for some unexplainable reason, more happiness swelled in his chest.

"You know, Sherman," he told his sleeping baby, "John wrote that song for his and Yoko's only son, Sean. But John also has another son, Julian Lennon, with a different woman. I'm sure when Yoko found that out, she probably said, Ono!"

Of course, Sherman was asleep, so he didn't get a response. Mr. Peabody could only hope that as Sherman got older, he would be able to get his father's magnificent puns.

But either way, Mr. Peabody mused as he stepped inside the WABAC, as long as he was with Sherman, there wasn't a lot to complain about.