| Son Denied My son; he looks nothing like me, yet he is really mine. How can I love him the way a father is supposed to love his son? My father never loved me. I never loved my father. Lucifer, I see, looks up to me like a proper son does to his father, with admiration and love; wonder and questions fill his eyes. I have no experience with parenting. My mother was a housewife, and abused one, for that matter. Not by me, surely not. I love my mother, she used to bake me cookies when we had enough money for the supplies. My wife cooks. Maybe not as good as me, but she tries her best to please me, just as my mother did for my father. However, unlike my father, I appreciate what she does for me. Every time my son looks at me, it’s with love. If I ever see my father again, I’ll kill him. “Daddy? Wazzat?” Lucifer said with his young boy voice, filled with curiosity. “My book. Why?” “Wha ‘bout?” “It’s about me.” “Daddy?” “Yeah?” “I love you!” The daddy duck looked at his son with compassionate eyes. He offered his son his arms. Lucifer got up and went to his father for a hug. ************************************************************* “MY parents never gave me a chance!!” “Quacky, calm down!” begged the rat. “NO! I WON’T calm down!!!” Reginald whispered to the watery villain next to him, “I’ve never seen happy clown boy so sad!” “Well, there was that one time Negaduck stole our powers!” “I don’t think that was really a conscious effort. I think that he couldn’t be happy cause the boss stole his wackiness.” The Liquidator soaked that in and nodded. They listened and watched the saddest clown duck in the world cry and short out Megavolt. ************************************************************* “I run about $100. Another $100 for every hour.” “Don’t come cheap, do you!?” “Can’t in these days! Gotta keep up with The King, y’ know?” “Sure.” “Cash?” “Yeah.” “Married?” “Yeah,” “Dump her!” “Can’t. Where do you think I’m getting the money?” ************************************************************* “So, who was your mother?” “I don’t know. “You father?” “I don’t know! I was brought up by Ronda Wrabbit! But she had the nerve to name me after her deceased husband!” “Eew!” “Alright, Quacky, better start at the beginning.” “Alright,” he sighed and started. “It all started, probably before I was born. Apparently, my parent’s didn’t want me… My Mom, that is, Ronda, found me a newly hatched in an alley. She brought me home with her and raised me as her own! But she would often cry and hold me tight, talking about her husband and how I reminded her so much of him, even though they’re rabbits and I’m not.” “You miss Ronda?” “Sometimes,” A pause. “But her pain adds to my own! I…I just want to know who my parents are. My real parents!” Bushroot walked up and placed a leafy hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Quacky, we’ll find out, ok?” “Thanks, guys,” In order to avoid the crowd and the staring eyes, they went to the hospital at night. Quackerjack was more than lagging behind, moping and sad. Bushroot sat his depressed companion down in an armchair and walked to the others, by the glowing screen of a computer. They got Quacky’s birthday in mind and all they really needed now would be doctor visits by his mother. “Ok, guys, so we’re looking for anything between February and October of 1954,” “Quacky’s a fall baby?” Megavolt asked. “Apparently,” “What a time to be hatched an orphan…” The Liquidator shook his head. For a good three hours they looked without too much luck. They summerized: negligent mother. Bushroot started for the door. “You guys keep looking, ok? I’ve got another place to check. Quacky? You wanna come?” “Whatever,” He slowly got up and tred behind the plant duck. They walked way down the hall and unlocked another room. “Reggie?” “Yes?” “Even if we don’t find anything, I just want to thank you guys for trying,” “Hey, we need you. I’d, personally, hate to see you like this. Now come on, I haven’t given up yet.” And with that he started rummaging through written records Just because he felt like garbage thrown away, Quackerjack checked one that was positively filled to the brim with paper. There on the top was a manilla folder, rather old looking too. It read on the tab: O’Hara, M. Just for the hell of it, he invaded another person’s personal private folder. There was a picture there of…a familiar beak…and a familiar fluffy orange hair. “Veggie? I…” “What is it?” The plant duck walks over and sees what his comrad has. They both stare at the picture of the woman and then look at each other. “What?” “She looks like me…” “You have hair like that?” Jst to prove it, Quackerjack takes his hat off and reveals that same fluffy orange hair. “O-kay. I guess that proves it. Let’s go tell the others before they kill each other,” |