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// Chapter 22 - Fatherly Perspective 
// Story: Roads of Life 
// by PonyWrites 
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	All things considered, Reg had really wanted a son. Instead, God saw fit to give him Scootaloo. She was a wonderful daughter once you got to know her. She worked hard, played harder and slept more than that. Typical teenager. Ironically that knowing came too late, and he had a son instead. He couldn’t quite understand it, but most of the time he just reminded himself to accept what is instead of asking why. They took weekly fishing trips on Sunday. Both Reg and Scooter would admit the bridge still wasn’t fully repaired. They cried a lot. Letting out the pressure built up from dealing with his mother, Reg’s Wife over the years. So, really, that was good. Father-son crying was healthy even. 
        However, they usually kept to themselves during the week. So it was a little unexpected when there was a knock at his door. It was either Jehovah’s Witnesses, or something important. He opened the door and there was Scootaloo...Scooter. It was still difficult for him, after nearly eighteen years, he’d still be his little girl. But he still made an effort. The boy looked like he’d just been ran over by a train. He was crying and couldn’t look at anything that wasn’t a thousand yards off. On instinct, Reg grabbed his son in a hug and checked his arms. No new wounds. Good. He led Scooter inside and sat him down on the couch.
        “It happened.”
        Reg had to force down his sarcasm at that one. The world explode? Fish started talking? “What happened?”
        “Sweetie hates me, the harem is gone, and I might be pregnant. Life is fucking ending!” 
        “I know you don’t believe this… but it’s not.”
        “You… aren’t mad at me?” Scooter managed to blink his tears away.
        “Why would I be?”
        “Because I might be pregnant because I wasn’t in a monogamous relationship and had sex with a boy. On top of the other two girls. I mean, you studied Theology. Aren’t you furious?”
        “Nope. Listen. Teen mom’s aren’t uncommon. Everyone is just a person with their own problems. I know it feels like hell… when did all this happen anyway?”
        “Um… let’s see. Five hours ago.”
        “At the same time?” Scooter nodded. “Wow.”
        “Well, look,” Reg continued. “This sort of thing happens. I had a girlfriend in High School… because my parents were so strict, I didn’t want a condom wrapper to be found within fifty miles of me or her… well. You can guess how it ended.”
        “Me?”
        “No, actually. Somewhere out there you have a half-sibling… I don’t even know… that was put up for adoption. I can’t say I’m proud of it, but these things happen. It’s your choice what to do.”
        “Boys… don’t get pregnant.” Reg took a moment to let the implications sink in. 
        “I understand. And it’s your decision, I’ll support you.”
        “What am I gonna do?” Scooter grumbled.
        “Hey, look, you don’t even know if you really are yet. There’s always a chance you aren’t. Just… worry about it when the time comes. OK?”
        “I… I’ll try. But what about everything else?” 
        “Well, really, you’ll just have to talk to them. Don’t tell me, I don’t really want to know, but I can guess why Sweetie’s mad. Do you want to go back to the way things were with everyone else?”
        “Not if it means losing her.”
        “Does she know that?”
        “Yes. She still hates me.”
        “I don’t think it will last. She can’t be mad forever.”
        “You don’t know her like I do.” Scooters phone vibrated just at that instance, signalling a text. He checked it. 
        A single message from Sweetie. I love you. But good lord are you an idiot. I’m an idiot. Maybe we all are. I’m mad you talked me into it. I’m mad I went along with it and I’m mad that I’m mad at you. I want to slap you then kiss you. I hate feeling this way. But I’ll forgive you. Because despite being an idiot you’re not stupid. I know how you feel about me. And I’d have to start dating again. There’s not exactly a surplus of lesbians. ttyl,k?
        Scooter replied immediately. Glad to know I’ve got a captive audience. No, that was rude. He erased it. Eventually you’ll get tired of me breaking your heart. Send.
        Sweetie replied with philosophical foppery. Maybe love is just the repeated breaking and fixing of hearts. 
        2deep4me. Scooter replied. He got a smiley face in return.
        “I think we just made up.” Scooter smiled at his father. “Well, thanks for salvaging my mental breakdown.”
        “Anytime. Can I get you something?”
“Nah, I’m gonna get a drink and go back home. Too much homework.” Reg was a little heartbroken that Scooter didn’t consider this apartment home, but truth be told, he didn’t either.  
“You’re a sophomore right? I’d say you’re well within your right to take a day off of homework.”
“But what about my grades?”
Reg couldn’t contain the smile. Last year his daughter didn’t give two shits about her grades, but now his son did. Amazing what a positive influence a happy household can have. “Your third aunt, whom you loved dearly, just passed away. It was a family emergency. Heck, take the next day off too.”
“You’d do that?”
“I’d say the last thing you need to worry about right now are assignments. Right now you need to relax and get your stuff together.”
“I mean a nap does sound pretty good.”
“The couch is always open.” Reg was a little ashamed he didn’t have another bed, but he was living the bachelor life again. 
“So, what about the other two?”
“I mean, I think we’ll always be friends. Just not lovers anymore. And they understand that.”
“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you were wrong to have a ‘harem,’ Your heart’s big enough for them. Well, apparently not, but I don’t see anything particularly wrong with loving more than one person. I mean, technically, if we were going with fundamental Christianity, I’d be well within my right to have my own. And I mean, this is the age of equality after all.”
Scooter chuckled. “I thought I could have it all.”
“Love, like everything else, is a balancing act.”
“Yeah, and I didn’t balance it correctly.” Scootaloo downed a glass of water. “Thanks, Dad.” He said, before plonking down on the couch and passing out. Some things never changed. Reg pulled a blanket over his son and shut the lights off. He retired to his bedroom-office and worked. 

Scootaloo woke up nearly four hours later at midnight. He was roasting, which was ironic because his father locked the thermostat at 69 degrees. He moved to stand but found he could barely keep his balance. Once the ground stopped swimming beneath him he decided to go to the kitchen and get a snack. He poured a bowl of cereal but nearly gagged when he opened the spoiled milk. He sealed the container shut and threw it in the garbage. He briefly thought he was making this up. He missed his period and suddenly he was showing every sign in the book he had a bun in the oven. Although, this could have started earlier... Well, whatever, he was hungry. He used heavy cream instead, sparingly, since his father used it for coffee. With his blood sugar restored, he poured a glass of water from the tap. He double checked the thermostat to make sure he wasn't crazy. Unfortunately, the dial still read 69.
He gently went outside, making careful effort to avoid making the door creak.  It was at least ten degrees cooler out here and it bought her--him some relief. Fuck all this. The best part is, the symptoms got worse from here. How did women do this for so long? 
Scootaloo gently held her stomach. He was definitely a girl at the moment and it was driving him nuts. To think there was now a mass of cells in there that in another nine months would look like something between Rumble and himself. Most expecting mothers would think of what it would be like with a "little bundle of joy" rolling around the house. Rumble might like it himself. But Scootaloo was disgusted. Nine months of pure, unending hormonal torture reminding him every second that he was a girl. A lifetime commitment to boot. A child that, while it would grow up in a better home, would still be a trouble. Both Scooter and Rumble were natural born troublemakers. They both had similar tales of jumping off of things and scraping knees. On top of that, the thing would hate them. Because children always end up hating their parents for a time. And that's not even mentioning the economic aspects of taking care of this little shit. 
He couldn't do it. He made two-hundred a week, Rumble didn't work, and Scooter barely qualified himself as mentally and emotionally stable. Scootaloo gripped the canopy railing so tight his knuckles reflected the moon. He cried, because what else is he supposed to do in this situation? 
Over the years, he became frighteningly good at lying to himself. So it was easy for him to convince himself he had just made all that up. He wasn't dizzy, didn't have a fever. He was fine. He went back inside, and it wasn't hot. He went back to sleep on the couch to hide from his problems another few hours. 
The symptoms didn't bother him again, except the occasional bought of dizziness. That was nothing, he just needed a snack. He was always a little hypoglycemic anyway. Oh, and he kept wanting to drink pickle juice.