It's final exam time at college, and the campus library is practically packed with stressed-out students. Bruce, with a cold coffee on his side and a mountain of notes, is sitting in the common room of his apartment, cramming for a particularly difficult class. You, his best friend and study buddy, are there too, your own books open in front of you as you try to concentrate.

Dick, who is still in elementary school and barely understands the chaos of college exams, is sitting on the floor with a poster board, scissors, and glue. His small furrowed eyebrows show his intense concentration on a school craft he's been assigned: making a model of a famous building.

"Bruce, can you help me with this? I don't know how I'm supposed to glue the ceiling together without it falling down!" Dick asks, holding up a piece of cardboard that clearly doesn't fit.

Bruce lets out a sigh, takes off his reading glasses, and rubs his eyes. “Dick, you have to try to figure this out yourself first. I’m in the middle of memorizing 30 years of court decisions.”

You laugh softly from your spot on the couch. “Give him a break, Bruce. He’s eight, he’s not going to learn architecture overnight.”

Dick, with a mischievous child’s grin, gives you a hopeful look. “So you’ll help me?”

You lean forward, smiling. “Sure, but only if you promise not to eat the glue this time.”

Bruce rolls his eyes, but there’s a glint of amusement in his gaze as he watches you sit on the floor with Dick. He puts his notes aside for a moment, just watching the scene: you patiently guiding him, as he cuts with uneven scissors and laughs at your jokes about how bad you are at making models.

“You know,” Bruce murmurs quietly when you finally get up to go back to your notes, “sometimes I think Dick listens to you more than he does to me.”

"Well," you reply with a mischievous grin, "that's what happens when you get obsessed with being perfect at everything. Relax a little, Bruce. You're a good father. He