How I Met Your Father

"Daddy, tell me a story!"

"Which one should I tell you, Jasper?"

I settled myself on the blue sheets that were my son's. Thomas the Tank Engine themed, just like his side of the room. There were trains scattered everywhere, across the floor, painted on the walls, on all his books. I was about to reach for one when he stopped me.

"No! I want one from you!"

With this, he managed to wake up my daughter. She stirred from her light sleep, brushing her dark blonde hair away from her face, rubbing her eyes.

"Daddy?" she whispered. I left my son's bed to sit on her pink bed. I wasn't going to let her have it pink, but, of course, my better half had insisted. Jasper cried out, begging for me to join him again. I did so, cuddling up with him, but leaving my little girl on her own. I instantly felt guilty.

"Tell the story, daddy!" Jasper prompted me out of my thoughts. I watched as Alex walked past, walking backwards when he saw where I was.

"Is daddy not telling you his stories yet?"

"No," Jasper huffed.

"Well, then, daddy had better get going!"

Alex walked in, cuddling up with Monique.

"Are we ready now?"

"Dadda?" Monique mumbled. Alex held her closer, kissing the top of her head.

"What, baby?" he concerned.

"I want daddy to tell us how you met."

Alex raised his eyebrows at me, nodding.

"I hope you have a while."

September 5th 2004

Well, kids, the story of your parents meeting isn't your average one. It might start like every other generic romantic movie, and it might end like one, but the stuff in the middle is about as far from perfect life as you could find.

It all started on September 5th in 2004, when Alex moved from a private estate out, into the mean streets of Baltimore. His mother had lost her job, meaning they were depending on his father to make all the money until she could find more work. This also meant, in order to save money, that they had to downscale their house, and since they now had an extra spare bedroom, all the space was deemed unnecessary. They moved to a small road- quiet, but so much smaller than they were used to. They'd also had to pull Alex from his private school. He was somewhat grateful; the uniform was stupid and their rules were too strict.

The thought of public school, however, scared him. All the big kids who would take the mick out of him for going to a private school, the way he talked, the way he acted, everything. They'd ridicule him for every little thing, and that shook him to the core. He'd already been through enough, he didn't need any more.

He was headed down the road, towards the park. He dreaded going there, he'd see people from his new school, and they'd laugh. They'd assumed everything about him, and half was right, but he'd never told anyone. Not even his parents. But today was the day, and he was going to the park to clear his head before he told them.

Before Alex knew it, he was smashing into someone, crashing to the floor.

"Hey, watch it, fag!" the other person yelled, picking himself up. Alex looked up, reinforcing his beliefs in himself.

The guy was tall with dark brown hair, almost black. His eyes were dark, almost as dark as Alex's. He was lanky. He looked… anaemic or something. He wore a stud in his ear that glinted in the sunlight.

"What are you looking at?"

"N-nothing," Alex stuttered.

"Then quit staring, fag!"

"S-sorry."

Alex dusted himself off, rushing back home. He didn't want to go outside. He didn't want to see anyone ever again. That was the last straw. He rushed inside, closing the door.

"What's wrong, honey?" his mother concerned.

"I have something to tell you and dad," Alex admitted.

His mother sighed, leading him into the living room, where his father was sat on the sofa.

"Hello, Alex. You're back early," he smiled.

"Yeah, I… I need to tell you something."

"What is it?"

"I tried to get out of this, I tried to even see if I could stop it or at least make it go away, but I can't."

"What are you on about Alex? Are you ill? Do you need to go to the doctors? Are you sure you're okay-"

"I'm gay."

He waited for the screaming, the beating, anything, but nothing followed apart from his mother's reassuring arms around him.

"You're not mad?" he asked.

"A mother always knows."