Son, I am disappoint.
Soarin leaned back into his chair with a weary sigh. The warm weather and a long week of training make him sorely tempted to take a nap despite the early hour. He spun around on his chair a few times, a sense of nostalgia coming over him as he did so. He gave the old office chair a pat as if to tell the chair how good a job it was doing and reached across his desk for the daily newspaper. He flicked the paper at random, slowly spinning to face away from the door. Finding an article on some pointless policy being implemented somewhere; Soarin lapped the words up, the solid writing and dry humour of the author amusing him.
The rapid pattering of hooves down the hallway broke his concentration but he didn’t look up from his newspaper, dismissing the sound as something that wouldn’t bother him.
“Dad, Dad! Help me, my ball got stuck up the roof and I can’t get it down.”
“Why not?” Soarin asked, intent on reading the paper despite his son’s interruption.
“There’s a nasty bird and it won’t let me up there.” His son said with a hint of concern.
Soarin turned his head to face his son, a look of barely contained disapproval on his tired features. He held the gaze for a few seconds before finally relenting.
“Okay, fine. Just this once though, Daddy needs some quiet time.” He said softly, making his way outside, his son following in his wake.
***
Battered and bruised, Soarin returned to his newspaper. His son had conveniently forgotten to mention the bird guarding his ball was a big bird. A falcon, which for reasons Soarin couldn’t comprehend, had taken a strong liking to his son’s beach ball. Luckily Soarin had some experience with cranky birds and had only been bitten twenty seven times before retrieving the ball for his delighted son. He settled back into the beaten office chair and spun around again, eager to finish reading the amusing article he had been digesting before.
He had barely gotten through the second paragraph when the thumping of hooves on the floor skidded past and then stopped at his door. He gritted his teeth, ready for whatever his son was about to throw at him.
“Dad, Dad!! Come quick, there’s a bunch of strange boys in the yard!”
Soarin stared blankly at the newspaper, his place lost. He sat silent for a few moments trying to find his spot before giving up.
“How many?” he asked in weary resignation.
“All of them!” he gibbered not quite realising how close to the truth he was.
Soarin turned to face him, his brow furrowed deeply and eyes wide. His head slowly drew back in surprise as the meaning of his son’s words finally sunk in.
“My milkshakes!” he yelled, throwing the newspaper down and galloping out of the room, his son hot on his heels.
***
Bruised, battered, exhausted and now covered in flecks of milk and chocolate, Soarin collapsed into his chair. The impromptu milkshake making and musical number had taken more out of him than usual. He fondly remembered the days when he could make milkshakes for all the boys without breaking a sweat, a better time long ago when peace and prosperity covered Equestria. A time when parents could read a newspaper in comparative peace.
But everything changed when his son came into the world.
It had barely been ten minutes before his son came to trouble him again. Soarin looked with barely concealed frustration as his son slammed into the office's closed door. He opened it in a rush and fell to the floor.
"Dad, dad! Help me! I think I got a girl pregnant!" he sobbed.
Soarin stared at his newspaper in shock. He glanced up at the clock on the wall and then back at the newspaper.
"You've barely been gone ten minutes, how in Equestria did you even manage that?!" he sputtered, turning his head to look at his son.
"Well we were talking and she kissed me and then she felt all funny... And she said she hoped she wouldn't have a foal."
"You're not even old enough for your..." Soarin said, not understanding why he was having this conversation. "Trust me, you didn't get this girl pregnant." He continued, looking back at his newspaper with a hint of annoyance. His son picked himself off the floor and trudged out the door, looking a little better.
"Dad, if I got a girl pregnant would you still love me?"
"Go outside and count the stars. That's how much I'd love you."
"But it's morning." his son said back with confusion. "There are no stars."
"Exactly."
***
Shaking his head, Soarin picked up the newspaper again and flicked through the pages in a attempt to rediscover the article he had now tried reading twice.
“This time for real, this time I’ve got it.” he mumbled to himself, spinning in his chair to face away from the door. The rapid-fire sound of little hooves on the floor came towards his office and Soarin held his breath as they drew closer. He let out a long, heartfelt sigh of relief as they went past the door without stopping and he heard a few soft words in the next room before the sound of running hooves returned. Soarin resisted the urge to swear as they came to a stop just outside his door.
“Dad, Dad! I got a really important question to ask mum but she won’t wake up.”
Soarin pursed his lips shut and for the third time that day cursed his wife’s habit of sleeping in. He continued reading the article, desperate to finish it before his son could drag him away again.
“Maybe she’s really tired after jumping up and down with you on the bed last night.” His son continued innocently, trying to justify why his mother seemed so tired.
Despite his annoyance, Soarin couldn’t help but grin, and be thankful, for his son’s naivety. His smile quickly vanished though when his son didn’t go away. Deciding that he should make the most of his silence, Soarin continued reading.
“What’s abortion?” his son blurted out uncertainly.
“How about you go ask your sister?” Soarin snapped without thinking. His scowl deepening as his son shuffled noisily in the doorway.
“I don’t have a sister.” His son said after a moment of deliberation.
Soarin turned his head to face him, his lips pursed into a thin line. “That’s right.” he said, glaring at his son with a look that would have forced dragons into submission. His son meekly backed away, not quite understanding the answer his father had given him.
***
Soarin turned back to his paper, his scowl easing as he continued reading the article he had been so desperately trying to read all morning. He eased back into his chair and sighed with relief as he heard his son run into his room. ‘That should keep him busy for awhile.’ He thought sourly, his frayed temper easing slightly.
It snapped taut as he heard the panicked hoof steps of his son galloping down the hall.
“D-dad! There’s a wasp’s nest in my room.” He said with tears in the corner of his eyes.
“So?” Soarin said, indifferent to his son’s plight.
“I’m scared.”
Soarin turned to face his son, a look of disapproval on his tired face. The normally deep rings around his tired eyes grew deeper and his brow furrowed so deeply the Grand Canyon looked a little sheepish. He felt his temper boiling over as his son shifted uncomfortably in the door.
“Woe is me! When did I raise this child to be the snivelling coward he is today?” Soarin yelled, angrier at himself than at his son. The newspaper fell apart in tattered ribbons as he tore it apart in frustration. He stood up, his head hanging low to the floor.
“Surely this really can’t be my fault.” He growled as he past his shell-shocked son. Without missing a beat he marched into his son’s room, removed the offending wasp’s nest and carried it back to the colt, ignoring the wasps viciously attacking him.
”Look at me boy.” He growled, shoving the nest into his mouth and chewing fearlessly. “Look!” Soarin repeated as his son averted his eyes in horror. He swallowed the rough chunks of the nest and sat back down in his chair to read what was left of his newspaper.
“Hmmph. Maybe I do have a daughter…” He muttered as his son ran out of the room.
***
Soarin sat and read the tattered remains of his paper in comparative peace for a few minutes before his wife stuck her head around the corner of the door frame and looked at him in confusion. “Soarin, what’s up wi- Sweet Celestia what happened to you?!” She asked aghast.
Soarin looked himself over quickly. Bruised, battered, tired, covered in milk and now with a few dozen sting marks covering his face he probably looked like he had just walked out of a war zone.
“Trust me, you don’t want to know.”