Professor Utonium gives a talk to fellow single fathers about how to connect with their kids. One seems to want more information, though, and pesters him into a one-on-one talk.
They may have more in common than they think.
“Is this the right place…?”
Professor Utonium stood in front of a multi-floor community center, gaze pointed towards the very top of the building. With a deep breath, he smiled and walked in, double-checking with the receptionist that he’d come to the right place before he boarded the elevator.
He glanced around to see what other occupants shared the space with him. Another worker, and…
Oh, a bird. A big, imposing one at that–a partridge, too. Though the professor wasn’t an avid birdwatcher, he knew a thing or two. He directed polite nods towards the two other occupants: the worker returned it, the bird stranger did not.
The worker got off on a lower floor, though the other individual stuck around until they both reached the level the professor intended to depart on. It was then the professor realized, based on the older characteristics of the bird next to him, he must be…
“Are you here for the conference?” Utonium asked. Finally, the bird turned to acknowledge him, though his neutral, if implacable expression left Utonium with an odd sense of unease.
“For as long as I want to be,” he replied. The bird began to walk past Utonium, though before he got too far, he said: “I’ll be seeing you there, I suppose.”
Utonium thought he’d left an opener for a conversation, but the bird walked down the hallway as if the professor meant as much as air.
He was lucky Utonium was the understanding sort—shrugging off that odd opener, he continued down the hallway, reviewing his speech in his mind over and over. He’d been no stranger to public speaking, but when he accepted this invitation to an Assistance for the Hidden Single Father conference, he felt…conflicted, so to speak.
Despite all his efforts, the professor remained unsure as to whether he deserved to give anyone else advice. Yes, his girls turned out fine, but—
Surely. Surely, he could have done better.
Was someone with these thoughts qualified to give a motivational speech to others?
Before those thoughts consumed him, he shook his head and hurried down the hall. Just one speech—if it helped even one of those men, then it’d be worth it.
“And so—”
Utonium cleared his throat. A small crowd of about several dozen men were packed into the room, half on their phones, while the other half languished in various states of disinterest. It almost sparked a flame of anger in the man, if he wasn’t preoccupied trying to finish his speech.
“We never expect to fall into these responsibilities. I, myself, had little support on behalf of those around me until, we—” he paused, then continued, “until my girls beat up a mutant monkey and became superheroes. But even then…”
He trailed off. For a moment, before, he didn’t have faith in his own children. “…before then, we had our struggles as a family. Struggles are inevitable. But if you can practice patience, understanding, and set your children up to grow happy and healthy, then I believe you’ve accomplished more than most parents ever could.”
There. Those words tasted more honest. After a smattering of applause, he stepped away from the desk, and everyone filed out at different paces. This meeting hardly seemed to change anyone’s world, though…not that he expected that, but Utonium hoped for more of a—
“Professor Utonium, is that right?”
The professor turned. How did he not notice? The same bird he met in the elevator stood at a distance, yet directed a question towards him.
“Yes. May I have your name?”
“…You may call me Doctor Iwamine,” he said, “If we’re keeping the formalities.”
“Oh. Oh, no, we don’t—”
“I needed to direct some follow-up questions to you. This meeting, I presumed, would be more focused on the pedagogy of parenthood to those not yet imbued with the knowledge, but I found the content sorely lacking.”
Iwamine looked over Utonium before he sighed. “You have three children at home. And you created them yourself, yes?”
“Why, er, yes…”
Utonium swallowed, filled with a sense of unease over the odd gleam in the bird’s eyes.
“Good. I…have also been inflicted with the care of artificial beings.” Utonium’s mouth fell open, yet Iwamine continued. “So I thought you’d provide me with some more relevant knowledge on my newfound circumstances. More so than these…fumbling, so-called speakers.”
“…I see.”
A pause formed between the two, a wall of uncertainty that left Utonium baffled about how to proceed. Based on his past experiences, Iwamine could be either an aloof, but well-meaning individual searching for support, or have worse intentions at play. He hadn’t expressed direct interest in the process of his daughters’ creation, more so the individuals involved, so he chose to proceed with good intentions.
“I wouldn’t call it that,” Utonium said, smile bright. “I’d call it a gift. Yes, my girls have so much energy I couldn’t hope to keep up with even one of them. I’m run ragged just keeping up day to day…”
“But every day I get up, see they’re growing up all right—those are the happiest moments of my life.”
“…”
“…”
Silence. Utonium waited for a reply from the ever-unreadable bird.
“So that’s how you describe it,” Iwamine said, “But that’s not what I asked for. If you have any useful information you can provide on your day-to-day routine, then prattle on about that over sentimental statements anyone could hand out.”
“Oh.” Utonium rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. I know a better place to talk, if you don’t mind.”
“And what was your field of research, again?”
“I invent—there’s a long list of patents under my name if you’re ever interested in reading about it.”
“I’m not.”
“Oh. That’s—that’s okay.”
Iwamine landed on the counter near the professor’s rack of sawblades, each one eyed with a curiosity that left Utonium questioning whether it was a good idea to invite Iwamine home in the first place.
“You have a decent collection,” Iwamine uttered, “perfect for cuts of all shapes and sizes.”
Utonium smiled—painted on, insincere, before he reached for his cup of coffee and took a looooong sip. Once he put it down, he turned the conversation towards something more on the relevant side, and less on the dissection side.
“So, why don’t you tell me about your kids?”
“Hmph.” Iwamine ruffled his wings and sat down before he continued. “The specimens,” at that, Utonium’s eye twitched, though he dared not interrupt, “Miru and Kaku somehow landed into my care through some circumstances that I won’t go over. All you need to know is that they’re destructive and impede my work far past the holiday season, and I expect you to provide relevant advice on how to put a stop to it.”
Professor Utonium took another sip of coffee. As coarse as Iwamine’s words were, the professor saw a sincere attempt to reach his kids underneath it all. Or at least, he hoped he did. “How old are your children?”
“Around the developmental years between six to ten years old.”
“Do you—I’m sorry, do you not know their ages?”
“And that’s relevant to my question how? Unless you’re interested in finding out yourself.” Iwamine narrowed his eyes. “You have a healthy sense of curiosity, but those two are…off limits.”
“Um.”
Utonium went to take another sip of coffee, though his supply had long run dry. He sputtered on air before he dropped it on the table, the poor ceramic cup rolling off into the distance.
“Sorry, I—I wasn’t implying that.”
“I’m aware.”
Utonium laughed, weak and forced. “Anyways…our kids are around the same age. Ah, just to check, yours can’t…say, shoot lasers from their eyes, right? No super strength?”
“Nothing like that—unless that’s to be expected soon, hohoho.”
“Unless your kids stumbled into a batch of Chemical X, I think you’ll be all right.” A normal joke! The professor almost breathed a sigh of relief, but turned it into a cough just in time. “So. If you don’t mind, a few questions about their daily routine—what do your children do? Hobbies? Any after-school activities? What about bedtime?”
Iwamine’s breath hitched. “…Ah, school. Right.”
“Right!”
“…”
“…Doctor Iwamine, do you send your children to school?”
Said doctor stood up, turned around, and huffed. “Please don’t interrupt me. Your noisy voice distracts me.”
Utonium rubbed his eyes, sat up, and said, “There’s problem one. If traditional school isn’t an option, there are always private options or even homeschool groups. If it’s an issue of too much energy, sports is a good idea for something you can do in or out of school.”
A fondness filled the professor, and he stuck a finger in the air. “Crimefighting usually tires my girls out enough, but Buttercup signed up for the little leagues last year, and it’s been doing wonders for her sleep schedule.”
Iwamine sighed. With great reluctance, he turned back around. His beak flapped open, closed, then opened again. He struggled with this…something he felt, at the professor’s advice.
Was it…
Appreciation?
Respect, maybe.
Something he found so rarely, it took the doctor aback to feel it once more.
“Sports, school, and…” Iwamine prompted. Utonium grinned at the gesture and prattled on at the slightest nudge.
“And routine. That’s about the most important thing to a growing child’s life.” The professor glowed with the pride of a parent that totally had it all together, yep, never doubt him ever. "I’d add diet onto that list, but I’m sure you know better than I do.”
“Of course I do,” he said. “I guess I’ll take the time to look into those things, if it’s so important. Is that…”
Iwamine paused. Hesitancy rarely plagued him, but after the pleasant turn this conversation took, he found himself curious. Curious about the individual he stumbled upon, and about the life the professor lived.
“Is that all? Nothing else to share? I expected someone like you to have more thorough advice.”
“Oh–well, I do have more I could tell you,” Utonium said, more relaxed than he’d been at the beginning, “along with some stories. We can’t always dwell on our mistakes, can we? Thinking about the good memories you share with the ones you love, even when difficult things happen–that’s what makes those times worth everything.”
“How…optimistic of you,” Iwamine muttered, though the professor chuckled at his words.
“It’s good to keep those you love in your heart,” Utonium said. “I’ll do anything for my girls–even if I can’t always be there to protect them, I’ll find a way.”
It was then Iwamine put a name on those feelings. Respect, yes, but something else entwined with it.
Remembrance, was it?
Iwamine’s beak flapped open and shut once more. “To each their own,” he said, though for some odd reason, he wanted to see Utonium hold onto those beliefs.
“Tell me about one of those happy memories, then,” Iwamine asked, and with a beaming smile, the professor slipped into a rambling mess, half-remembered recounts of big life events like school picture day, times making breakfast, and that one day he gave his daughters a giant robot suit to protect themselves while crime-fighting in which ended up ravaging a nearby city (to Iwamine’s displeasure, Utonium refused to show him the blueprints to that interesting creation).
The doctor shared a few scant stories of his own: his kids’ fascination with Christmas, and the time they drove a tank to steal a Christmas tree (‘Oh, kids,’ Utonium chuckled with a look equal in understanding and horror).
As time passed, with the girls set to return soon, Utonium offered for Iwamine to come back at a later date.
“I hope it’s not too forward of me,” the professor said, twiddling his fingers against the surface of the nearest counter. “But we were having a nice conversation, so–I’d hate for it to end there.”
“Hmph.” Iwamine looked over the room, Utonium’s messy lab. Though Iwamine would have never let his workspace become as chaotic and unfocused as the mess before him…
At least, before he took in Miru and Kaku…
He found a charm in it. It was very much like Utonium, after all.
“I’ll consider it. This talk–if we continued it, it wouldn’t be a complete waste of time.”
“Hah, I’ll take that as a compliment.”