𝒯his was starting to bother him.

— “How is it possible that my son still can't stand up? Look at his cousin, he’s months younger and he’s already walkin’.” — he told you one night.

He was getting more frustrated than necessary, competing, even when it came to his son and nephew, even when it wasn’t a damn competition! Yes, little Oliver was behind for his age; he was sixteen months old and still wasn’t walking. John had tried to teach his son since he turned nine months old, but when he put him on his two legs, he would start whining without even trying. You scolded him when you saw him forcibly teaching the baby how to stand, saying that the baby would walk when he felt ready. He said that was nonsense.

John was on his couch one Thursday afternoon after work, leaning back in his chair supervising the child who was playing on the rug. “Supervising”, because his eyes were glued to the newspaper.

— “Not now, Oliver, daddy can’t play.” — He said without taking his eyes off the newspaper as he felt his little hands tugging at his trousers while he babbled, — “Oliver, no. Stop—”

And when he looked up, the little boy was standing on his two legs! His round cheeks were flushed, and he wore a proud smile, as if he were mocking him for having spent so much time teaching him, when it just simply… happened! For a second, John didn't want to move a muscle, until a huge smile spread across his face. He slowly straightened up, as if one wrong move would make him lose his balance. The newspaper was forgotten, and his attention was fixed on his little son, who stood there innocently.

— “Hon!” — he exclaimed, without taking his eyes off him. — “Come quick! Very quick!”