Widower

Arthur was a great dad. Well, he tried to be. It was hard to play both mom and dad with a rambunctious six year old. Especially when he had only been doing it for two years.

And so, here Arthur stood, cooking a special breakfast for his precious baby's first day of first grade, alone, with tears pooling in his bright green eyes. He hadn't known it would be so hard to do this. Last year, when his baby started kindergarten, he was a mess. So why was first grade equally as hard? Was it because Alfred now had a full day instead of a half day of school? Or he wouldn't hear the stomping feet of his baby as he played superheroes? Or was it that he didn't have to cook macaroni and cheese everyday?

"Dad! I can't find my other shoe!" came a shout from up the stairs.

Arthur sniffed and rolled his eyes before he quickly dried them. "Did you check under your bed, Al?"

After a moment's silence Arthur got his answer. "I found it!"

Arthur chuckled and slid his son's Mickey Mouse pancake on a plate. Another few moments and stamping feet came into the kitchen.

"Did you brush your hair, alfred?" Arthur asked knowing full well that he did not. He still had cowlicks on the back of his head, never mind the one that bounced on top of his head.

"I did!" Alfred said. His blue eyes twinkled with excitement of his first day of real school, he liked to call it.

"Uh huh." Arthur gave Alfred his plate before going to his own bathroom to retrieve a comb.

Upon coming back, Alfred had not even put syrup on his pancake. "Is something wrong, Alfred?"

The young boy looked up from his plate. The excitement still there, but now damped with something on his young mind.

"Mom made Mickey Mouse better. This one has lopsided ears." he said softly.

Arthur felt his breath catch. Then he relaxed and smiled. "Sorry, Al. I'll get it tomorrow."

He didn't cook very often, and when he did, Arthur tried to make it the way Alfred would request. Arthur just wasn't as good in the kitchen as Alfred's mom.

"Mom used a spoon." Alfred said. He finally dumped the syrup bottle over his pancake. "Maybe that will help."

"Yeah. Maybe." Arthur stood behind Alfred and began to comb through the snarls in his wheat hair.

Arthur would get it. Eventually. This whole parenting by himself thing. His wife, Audra, was better at this than him. Then the ovarian cancer took her away from him, and their son. Alfred had come into their lives when he was just three months old. Audra, unable to conceive got the great plan of adoption. With her being a teacher and Arthur being a lawyer, the adoption went through just fine. However now that Arthur had to be both mom and dad, he was a stay at home father and managed things online for his company. He didn't get paid as much as he used to, but it was enough to get them by.

As Alfred finished his pancakes, he picked up his plate and pushed it in the sink. Then he turned to his dad. "Is my backpack ready?"

"Yeah. It's right over here." Arthur walked to the door with Alfred hot on his heels. "Do you want me to walk you to the bus stop?"

Alfred slipped his backpack on with his father's help. Then he looked up at Arthur and smiled. "Duh."

Arthur ruffled his boy's hair. "Alright. Let's go."

The young boy jogged to the door and swung it open. "Hurry, Dad!"

"I'm coming." Arthur slid his apron off and left it in a bunch on the entryway table. "Don't run-" he turned to find the boy halfway across the yard. "ahead."

Arthur rolled his eyes and left the house. "Alfie!" he called, jogging to catch his son. "come back here!"

Alfred groaned but stopped a few yards ahead of Arthur. "We'll miss the bus!"

"We are right on time, Alfie, we won't be late."

Arthur finally got to Alfred and took his hand. "Remember your manners."

"I know." Alfred said. He swung his free am in wide arcs.

"And be nice to others."

"I know, Dad." Alfred hopped over a crack.

"Eat all of your lunch. I don't want you going hungry."

"Okay, Dad." Alfred picked up a leaf and twirled it between his fingers.

"And keep things that belong outside, outside."

Alfred dropped the leaf and looked up at his father. "I know, Dad. Geez."

When they arrived at the bus stop on the corner, Arthur felt a sharp sting in the back of his eyes. Alfred jumped from foot to foot beside him. Eager to go to school.

When Arthur saw the bus coming down the street, he kneeled down and hugged Alfred tightly to his chest. "I love you, baby."

Alfred squeezed Arthur's neck and shoulders, his voice small and meek. "Love you, Daddy."

Then the bus was there, and Alfred was gone. His chubby little angelic face pressed against the window with a grin and a wave.

Arthur found himself staring at the bus even after it turned the corner. His cheeks soaked with tears, and his wedding ring pressed against his chest.

Francis didn't know what to do. His beautiful angelic child was being a demon. Now most children would act this way correct? But not Matthew. He was a good boy who caused little trouble. Now he was making Francis want to rip his hair out.

"Matthew, dear, unlock the bathroom." Francis said, again, in his strained voice.

"No!" came the child's stubborn reply.

"You don't even know if school is going to be as bad as you think!" Francis pushed against the door while jiggling the doorknob.

"You don't know that it won't be!"

"I've been to school and survived, many kids go to school just fine. Why would you be any different?"

Silence answered Francis. He groaned and rubbed his hand down his face before dropping to his side. Then his son spoke.

"I'm different because I don't have both dads." the voice was sad, broken, shaky and dripping with tears.

Francis leaned heavily against the door. He sometimes felt that Matthew was having a worse time than him. It had already been a year, shouldn't things be getting better?

"Matthew, please let me in." Francis said softly.

The door began to give under Francis and he stepped back before he fell in. His little Matthew stood there before him, his chubby cheeks and nose red, his blue eyes swimming with tears and his mouth opened with sobs revealing his first lost tooth.

Francis knelt down and grabbed his son's hands. "Shh, shh. Don't cry. Not on your very first day of school!"

Matthew fell against Francis's chest. Tiny fists dug into the man's back, but he didn't mind. He ran his fingers through wavy blond hair and rocked gently back and forth.

"He wouldn't want you crying now would, he?" Francis asked, referring to Matthew's other father, who had died in a car crash a year before.

Matthew shook his little head.

"Then let's fix that." Francis leaned back and cupped his angel's face. "Is your backpack ready?"

Matthew sniffed and ran his arm under his nose. "Yeah."

"Alright, let's get you to school." Francis stood and (after washing Matthew's hands) carried his son to the car outside.

Alfred gazed in wonder around the classroom. Kindergarten had been fun, but that had only been half a day. He was going to spend all day in the colorful classroom. He couldn't wait.

As his eyes wandered, he caught sight of a father with long blond hair talking to the teacher, a kid stood next to the tall man, his arm wrapped around what Alfred guessed was his father's leg. Alfred kinda thought the kid looked like him. It would be cool if they could freak the teachers out. He wanted to be friends with that kid.

After a few nods between the adults, the man knelt down and spoke to his son. Alfred watched with interest, wondering what the dad and the teacher had talked about. The man left and the boy broke into tears. The teacher placed the boy near the back of the room, a few seats away from Alfred.

Alfred glanced at the teacher and saw that she was talking to another parent. He stood from his seat and moved to the crying boy.

"Are you okay?" Alfred asked.

"Go away." the boy snuffed through tears.

"But you're crying. My dad says that if someone is crying, you should-"

"Go away!" the boy snapped. He raised his head and threw out his arm, not realizing Alfred was so close.

The other boy stumbled back from the hit. His chin began to hurt and his eyes filled with tears. "You meanie! I was just trying to help!" Alfred yelled.

"I don't want your help!" the boy snapped back.

Now, Alfred's Daddy always told him not to hit or kick anybody. Even if you were super mad. Alfred always remembered that rule. Except for now. He arched his leg and kicked the boy right on his knee.

And that's when they were both rolling on the ground. Shouts and little fists flying.

"Boys! Boys!" the teacher managed to separate the two. "What is going on here?"

"He hit me!" Alfred said, pointing a finger at the other kid. He felt something trickle down his chin and he wiped it off. Glancing down, he realized it was blood.

"He kicked me!" the other boy accused. His lip was bleeding and his nice clothes were rumpled.

The teacher let out a huff. She grabbed each boy's' hand and looked about the room. "Parents and students, I am terribly sorry. I have to take these boys to the office. I'll be right back."

Alfred stumbled behind the teacher, a hand pressed against his nose. In the office, he was given a tissue. He told the desk-lady his name and tilted his head against the wall. His daddy had shown him how to take care of bloody noses.

As he waited for the bleeding to stop, he discovered that the other kid's name was Matthew. Looking out of the corner of his eye, Alfred saw that Matthew had an ice-pack to his cheek.

A few minutes later, Arthur burst through the door. "Alfred?"

"I'm here, Dad." Alfred called, his voice muffled.

"Baby!" arthur rushed over and peeled off the bloodied tissue. "What happened? Are you okay? Do we need to go to the hospital? How long have you been bleeding?"

Alfred sat still as Arthur looked over him. Ever since Mom had died, Dad had been crazy over even the tiniest of blood. Alfred guessed he understood, but it was still annoying.

"I'm fine, Dad. It was just a-"

"Fight, Mr. Kirkland. Alfred got into a fight." the teacher said, who Alfred had discovered was named Miss Percy.

Arthur straightened from Alfred's side. "My Alfred would never do such a thing-"

"That boy behind you was who Alfred fought with." Miss Percy said

"My goodness! Is he okay?" Arthur turned, changing from defensive to protective in an instant and leaned over Matthew, checking for any serious injuries.

"Step away from my son!" another dad burst through the door, his face red.

"Papa!" Matthew cried. New tears began to pour from his eyes.

"I am terribly sorry, sir. I was just checking-"

"Maybe you should keep your own child in check!" the man snapped. He turned to Matthew and began cooing in a strange language Alfred didn't understand.

"Well! Excuse me for trying to help!" Arthur barked back. Then he turned to Miss Percy. "If that is all, I will be taking Alfred home now."

"Actually, I would like to discuss what happened here." The young teacher folded her hands.

"What is there to discuss? My baby has a bloody nose! What if it's broken? What if he needs to go to the hospital?" Alfred cringed as arthur's voice rose.

"My Matthew is not nearly strong enough to break a nose!"

"Alfred is very fragile! He-"

"Dad!" Alfred yanked on Arthur's shirt. "Can we just go? I don't care." he was tired and his face hurt and he just wanted to sleep.

Arthur examined his son. His eyes were starting to bruise. Arthur sighed and glared at the father across from him. "Let's get this over with."

"Alright. Matthew, why don't you tell Papa what happened?" the man knelt down and held the boy's hand.

Matthew shifted the ice pack on his cheek. "I was sad you left, and Alfred wouldn't go away so…" the boy looked away from his father. "I hit him."

The other dad gasped. "Matthew! What have I told you about hitting?" he continued to rant in that other strange language.

Arthur sighed and helped Alfred to his feet. "We'll be going now."

"Not quite." Miss Percy handed each father a piece of paper. "This states that you allow both boys to stay inside from recess for a month for fighting. School policy."

"What!" Alfred shrieked. "He started it!"

"That doesn't matter, baby." Arthur signed the paper. "You still hurt Matthew."

Alfred folded his arms and pouted as Arthur herded him out of the room. It just wasn't fair.

Still sulking in the car and all the way home, Alfred repeated what his dad told him in the parking lot over, and over.

"Make the best of a bad situation."