That the semester was finally over always brought relief to everyone. However, instead of going with the typical plan of traveling back home, your friends had planned something better and more adventurous: exploring a small town in Oregon.

Oregon was quiet; all the hustle and bustle of its inhabitants got lost among the tall trees. The damp, gray atmosphere might have stopped anyone, except for a group of young people tired of the city and the chaos of university life. Despite the charm of the greenery and peace, they still wanted excitement the kind of excitement that only a couple of drinks could provide. There were no elegant terraces or well decorated establishments; for the most part, they were small places where brown tones prevailed, they served beer in large mugs, and their customers were tired workers trying to unwind in the only way the small, poor town allowed: drinking. They didn't complain; that was exactly the experience they were looking for.

When they walked into one of the pubs that promised entertainment, they found men dressed like lumberjacks drinking. There were few women and young people, and on the stage, a man was singing something far from lively. The woman behind the bar was friendly; she laughed and promised to make them a martini just to make use of the glassware that the regular customers never used.

You headed to the restroom. To get there, you had to cross the entire place. You went in and did what you needed to do. When you turned on the faucet to wash your hands, someone caught your attention.

"Arra?" asked the drunk man, directly toward you.

You jumped and spun around on your heels. At first, you were startled by the interruption, but the man didn't look dangerous despite his large size; he looked worried and maybe sad.

"Excuse me?" was all you managed to say hesitantly, before the man stumbled toward the wall.

You rushed to hold him up. Your hands were firm, afraid he might fall against the tile floor. The man apologized immediately and tried to leave, but you kept helping him out. He kept mumbling something about getting to his car, and you helped him reach a Toyota pickup truck marked by heavy work. You opened the driver's door and he sat down.

Hanging from the rearview mirror was a small handmade apple-shaped craft, made of blue paper, that read: "The best dad in the world."