Goofy enjoyed few activities more than spending a warm afternoon relaxing in his hammock Goofy enjoyed few activities more than spending a warm afternoon relaxing in his hammock. It was still in the backyard, in the same place as it had been for decades, tied in-between the massive oak tree and the pole with the bird house mounted on top. Slivers of sunlight broke through the cracks in the foliage above him, but Goofy did not seem to mind. He dozed on and off with a lazy smile on his face, and with the comic strips from the day's newspaper shielding his closed eyes. An ice cold glass of lemonade was within reach, sitting upon the barstool he brought out from the kitchen. A group of children could be heard from a short distance away, playing a game of stick ball on the cul-de-sac, their yells and their cheers almost like a sweet song to his ears.
But his peaceful reverie was soon interrupted by another sound, of someone struggling with the broken latch to the front gate. Goofy raised his head to see who it was. He wondered why he could not see anything at first, and then chuckled to himself when he remembered to take the black and white pages away from his face. Even then, he still could not see anyone; the person was apparently too short to be seen over the other side of the fence. As Goofy considered getting up to open the gate, it slammed against the fence, swinging back in place and closing on its own. A five-year-old with untied shoelaces and a band-aid on his elbow came running toward the oak tree -- a little boy who looked so much like his son, with a mole on his left cheek.
Goofy sat up and cheerfully greeted his visitor. "A'hyuck! Hey there, Xander!"
The boy had started climbing the wooden steps to the old treehouse, as he had not thought about checking to see if anyone else was in the backyard. He froze when he heard that familiar, jovial voice. Gazing downward, he found Goofy, smiling and genuinely glad to see him.
"Hi, Grandpa," Xander greeted back, sounding so forlorn.
Bemused, Goofy tipped his head and raised an eyebrow. "What's the matter? Why, you look like somebody took all your toys away."
Xander climbed down, hopped off the second step and plopped onto the freshly cut grass. He mumbled his words as he hanged his head down, but Goofy could still understand what he said: "Mama yelled at me. I was being mean to Trixie."
"...Oh."
Goofy knew the sibling rivalry was bound to happen, from what experience he had with brothers and sisters. Most of what he knew came from his two best friends and from the stories his father told him many years ago, about what it was like to live with an older brother and five older sisters. He never dealt with it as a parent nor as a child, and Goofy knew Max and Roxanne also had little experience. They were both only children, and these days, they felt they were somehow magically expected to know how to juggle their time between their son and their infant daughter.
"Mama's all you're her big brother and you should be nicer," Xander carried on. "Or she's all I can't right now and go ask your dad. She pays more attention to Trixie than she does to me."
"Trixie's just a lil' baby," Goofy explained, though he remained sympathetic to his grandson's plight. "She needs your mama and daddy to take care of her. They have to feed her, burp her, change her diapers, bathe her... well, uh, I reckon she just needs your mama for the feedin'."
Xander sighed and kept staring down at the grass, picking at the individual blades. "Yeah... but it's like Mama don't even notice if I'm around." He flicked a piece of grass off the tip of his thumb and hugged his knees to his chest, tucking them under his chin. "I bet she loves Trixie more than she loves me."
The Goof's face drooped as he listened, followed by his shoulders, and he immediately started thinking of some way he could soothe his grandson's worries. Xander had to believe his mom loved him dearly, but doubt could be relentless and cruel to even those with the most confidence; he would not have given words to such a thought if it was not bothering him.
When that proverbial lightbulb appeared over Goofy's head and shone brightly, he chuckled in his usual, infectious manner and pulled its cord. "Say, Xander." He swung his legs over the side of the hammock and proceeded to stand up, but the sudden shift in weight caused it to rock and flip him onto his stomach, as he was flattened onto the ground. Xander was the silent spectator. A small laugh tickled his throat, but he was too glum to follow through with it.
"You OK, Grandpa?" he asked.
Goofy shook off the fall and picked himself up, brushing the dirt off his shirt. "Oh yeah," he assured. "Nothin' can keep your ol' grandpa down. C'mon." He then offered the five-year-old a gloved hand. "Let's go in the kitchen for a bit."
Xander held onto his hand as they walked across the backyard and into the house. He relaxed some, his shoulders no longer hunched and his back no longer stiff, as being around Goofy always made him feel better when the world seemed a little unfair. He loved his grandpa so much. Goofy was always patient with him and he never talked down to him, and he was silly and funny, and he could open a can with his front teeth, but he could come up with some of the oddest of ideas. When they entered the kitchen, Xander started to watch him with a puzzled expression on his face, as Goofy opened the door to the pantry and rummaged through the shelves. He was even more perplexed when his grandpa took out a five-pound bag of sugar and presented it to him.
"Here," said Goofy, "try holdin' this for me."
"What for?" Xander asked.
"You'll see."
With blind trust, the little boy held out his hands. He thought his grandpa would carefully place the bag in his hands, but instead, Goofy released it with a flourish and let it free fall. Xander felt the sudden heaviness weigh him down and let out an "oof!" as he fell on his bottom onto the linoleum floor.
"Grandpa, I can't hold this!"
"You can't?" Goofy questioned. "It don't look to me like you even tried."
"But it's heavy."
"Yeah, it kinda is." Goofy slid one of the chairs away from kitchen table and sat down beside his grandson. "You know, a baby usually weighs more than that there bag of sugar. And a mommy has to carry 'round that weight in her tummy for months. She can't take no breaks." He watched with a faint smile as Xander began to look at the bag more differently, the gears inside his head gradually starting to turn. "Your mama carried you and kept you safe, and she did the same thing for your sister. She wouldn't have done them things if she didn't love you both the same."
"... yes, sir."
Goofy softly chuckled and hoisted his grandson into his lap, the bag of sugar left behind on the floor. "I know it's gotta be tough bein' a big brother. But if it were easy, then everybody would be one. So that makes you an extra special boy, and I'm bettin' if you're real nice to Trixie and you look out for her, then one day, she's gonna feel like a real lucky girl. Because she'll know she has the best big brother in the world."
Xander gazed up at him with his large brown eyes. "You think so?"
"I know so. Now!" Goofy patted Xander's knee and waited for the boy to slide off his lap, before he stood up and returned the chair to its place at the table. "How 'bout I walk you home?"
"Yeah..." A piece of the truth slipped out as Xander looked down at his feet, his hands behind his back. "I kinda didn't tell anybody where I was going."
"I figured that."
"You think they'll be mad at me?"
"Oh, I think all you need to do is apologize."
- - - - - -
At the other Goof residence, Roxanne paced the hallway with a cordless phone in her hand. She redialed her father-in-law's home number for the third time in the past twenty minutes, and the only voice that greeted her was spoken by the automated message on the answering machine. She hung up before the beep ended, because she had already left Goofy a message, and clomped back into the living room, tossing the phone onto the couch and sitting down. This was all her fault. As she ran her fingers through her shorter, brazen red hair, Roxanne wished she could take back those few seconds before Xander raced out the font door. She knew she was stressed and tired, and she knew her son had not been on his best behavior that morning, but she had never yelled at him. Not like that, and simply thinking about it made her feel like a ferocious beast.
"I'm a terrible mother."
"Stop that," Max spoke up. "You had a bad day, that's all." He stood by the bay window, looking out. At any moment, he expected to see his dad walking down the sidewalk with Xander right beside him. A baby girl with his wife's button nose and gorgeous eyes slept contently with her head against his chest, and the reason for the tiny, reddish bump on her forehead was now a forgotten memory.
Roxanne exhaled a deep breath as she tried to calm down, though she tried and failed. She could not understand how her husband could be so composed, when it was usually she who had to bring him down the earth. "Shouldn't at least one of us go searching for him?" she asked.
"He'll come home."
"But we're not even sure if he's at your dad's! And he's not answering his phone."
"It's Saturday and Dad didn't have to work. He's probably in his hammock." Max glanced at the sidewalk one last time and walked over to the couch. He sat beside Roxanne and draped his free arm around her shoulders. "And Xander probably headed straight for my old treehouse, so I'm sure Dad's found him by now. They'll have a nice little talk and then Dad'll bring him back home."
Roxanne eventually nodded and leaned against her husband. "Okay, but they've got ten minutes. After that, I'm going over there."
A knock at the front door caused both of them to turn their heads.
"And I bet that's them," Max said. He remained seated with Trixie still secure in his embrace, while Roxanne jumped to his feet and bolted to the door. Silently, he shook his head, with a faint and rather disquieting smile upon his muzzle. Giving everything from her attention to her time was one of his wife's virtues and flaws; she still struggled with taking when she needed some kind, any kind of help. Maybe if Max had insisted a little harder, to take the kids off her hands for a while, to give her a few moments of peace, she would not be worrying so much over one mistake.
Roxanne opened the door and was greeted by Goofy. "Hey, Roxanne! A'hyuck, I think I found somebody that belongs to y'all."
Xander sheepishly peeked his head from behind the protection of his grandfather's legs. "Hi, Mama," he practically whispered, afraid he was still in trouble.
But Roxanne exclaimed his name with relief instead of anger. She scooped Xander into her arms and hugged him fiercely, just as her tears were beginning to prick the corners of her eyes. Xander did not see them - not at first - as he rested his head against her shoulder. He was truly astonished, to be embraced instead of lectured, but it did not take him long to wrap his arms around his mom's neck and hug her back.
"I'm sorry, Mama," he apologized.
"Oh, sweetie, I know..." Roxanne soon crouched down and set Xander back on his feet. She wiped away several falling tears, to regain some of her composure, and cupped his cheek in the palm of her hand. "But don't you ever run off like that again."
"I won't. I promise."
"And I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that."
"S'ok..." Xander lowered his head and kicked an imaginary pebble. "I shouldn't have dropped my truck on Trixie's head."
"No, you shouldn't have, but she's alright." Roxanne lifted his chin and brushed the hair away from his eyes, smiling gently. "Are you hungry?"
Xander nodded, though all he could think about was the abandoned bag of sugar on his grandpa's floor. "Are you sad, Mama?"
"No, sweetie, why?"
"'Cause you were crying."
Max finally joined his family by the doorway, standing one step behind his wife. "People can cry when they're sad and when they're happy," he explained. "Your mom's very glad that you're home."
"That's right," Roxanne concurred. She stood up, squeezed her son's hand gently as his fingers curled upon hers, and accompanied him to the kitchen. "Come on, I think we have some spaghetti left over from last night..."
Goofy and Max watched silently as the mother and her little boy disappeared into the next room. It seemed the world was back to normal, now that everyone could smile once again.
"So." Max slid a glance toward his dad and inquired, "What did you two talk about?"
"Oh, you know," Goofy spoke so nonchalantly. He slouched and slipped his hands into his shorts pockets, and it seemed the twinkle in his eye said more than the smirk he now wore. "Secret Grandpa Stuff."
Max laughed. "Right. You want to stay for leftovers?"
"I already ate... but I sure don't mind stayin'."
Because to Goofy, family came before that hammock in the backyard. Family, simply put, was the sugar that sweetened his life.
