Moments
Author's Note: Man, I love writing for this movie. The relationship between Mr. Peabody and Sherman is just super fantastic. I do not own the characters, and take no claim to the Dreamworks film or original series. Prepare for heartwarming sadness.
Sherman had just started middle school when he started to notice. Usually it was something small-misplaced keys, a self-written reminder written on the dry erase board that hung on the refrigerator. To most children, it wouldn't seem like a big deal, their parents becoming absent-minded, but Sherman's father never forgot anything. He remembered everything from how many tiles were on the kitchen floor to the incorrect answer Sherman got on his pop quiz in English.
It was no surprise to anyone that Mr. Peabody's lifespan was different than that of an average dog. His physician, Dr. Dane, had given the word the day after Sherman's eleventh birthday that his canine father was as fit as an adolescent pup. This did not mean he would live forever, or even have the lifespan of a human, but it was good news all the same.
In the sixth grade, Sherman asked Mr. Peabody if they could visit the Viking era since he was studying it in school. Mr. Peabody set the coordinates in the WABAC with gusto, but when they arrived in a different time period of Norway, he flushed with embarrassment and said, "I could have sworn I typed in the correct year."
Sherman only shrugged, but like his father, he too had a creeping suspicion that his memory was failing him.
Over the course of three years, the father-son duo had many adventures time traveling, as well as building their own history in the present. By the time Sherman was preparing for his eighth grade graduation, he'd become a great soccer player, president of the Robotics club, and taken two class trips to China, where he planned to study abroad one day.
"Mr. Peabody," he said, fumbling with his collar. "I'm nervous."
It was the night of eighth grade graduation, and though it wasn't high school graduation, it was still a big night for the fourteen year old.
"Here," Mr. Peabody said. "Let me help you with that."
Sherman sat down on his bed so his father could be at a proper level to assist him. He sighed dreamily as he worked at the boy's collar and tie, and took a moment to take it all in.
"I'm very proud of you, Sherman."
Sherman smiled and said, "Thank you."
Secretly, they both wished they could stay like this a little longer, but traffic was going to be terrible, and the graduating students were encouraged to be early.
Mr. Peabody sat In the audience of the auditorium as each fumbling eighth grader took their mock-diploma and smiled for a barrage of photo flashes. Sherman smoothed out his robe before making his way to the principal, and Mr. Peabody clapped and even whistled, though it was uncharacteristic of him. It was a night to indulge, however, and Sherman grinned right at him, stumbling a little as he made his way down the steps and back to his place in the audience.
His freshman year of high school, the trips in the WABAC became less frequent. Now they only time-traveled is Sherman had a particular time he wished to visit, or if it were a rainy Saturday and neither one of them had anything to do.
Mr. Peabody spent a lot less time in the public eye with his discoveries and inventions, and more time reading and writing educational journals. Sherman watched him carefully, noting how it took him a little longer to measure ingredients while cooking or to remember how to spell a particular word as he wrote.
"Mr. Peabody," he said one night, after they'd both eaten a quick dinner of tuna fish salad with pepper rings and shredded carrots. It seemed more and more that meals were thrown together, and Sherman often wondered if he should start cooking.
"Yes, Sherman?" His father replied.
"I, um…" Sherman didn't know how to approach the subject. How does one even ask about memory loss and old age? What if it offended his father?
"Is everything alright?" Mr. Peabody asked, sounding concerned.
"I'm tired," his son said. "I'm going to take care of the dishes, and then go to bed."
Mr. Peabody's worried expression softened.
"That's very kind of you, Sherman," he told him. "Thank you."
Sherman only smiled in return, and didn't bother to remind his father that he did the dishes every night, and had since he was about ten.
When Sherman was sixteen, Mr. Peabody asked him who he was. He came home from school, softly singing a song he'd heard on the radio, and his father had just stared at him from the piano, where he was playing with sheet music.
"Who are you?" He asked, not really alarmed, just perplexed.
Sherman at first thought he had misheard him, or It was a joke, but when he looked into the dog's green eyes, he could see that Mr. Peabody honestly had no clue who he was. It was the most heart-breaking moment of his life, and he wasn't sure how to handle it.
"Mr. Peabody, it's me," he said carefully.
The dog started to play again, and Sherman stared at him. After several minutes that seemed to drag by, he asked again, "Mr. Peabody?"
"Yes, Sherman?"
It began to happen so frequently, that it didn't worry Sherman anymore. It hurt, of course, but halfway through high school, Sherman's life became very busy and it helped. Not only was he in soccer, Robotics club, advanced classes, and college prep classes, but he was also in his third year of Mandarin Chinese, and ran a history club.
Dr. Dane diagnosed Mr. Peabody with Alzheimer's , though she explained that she could not officially diagnose it on a dog, no matter brilliant, and encouraged Sherman to hire someone to take care of him.
"He may get to the point where he can't function on his own," she said.
"That's absurd," Mr. Peabody said, bristling. "I may be a little absent-minded, but I'm not that far gone. Tell her, Sherman."
"We take care of each other," Sherman told her instead. "We'll be fine."
He tried to have a talk with Mr. Peabody that evening, but his father would have none of it.
"Sherman, I'm just getting old," he said. "And in my golden years I'm just becoming a bit forgetful."
"Okay, Mr. Peabody," Sherman said, sighing. "Hey, why don't we visit Leonardo Da Vinci?"
By the end of Sherman's senior year, close to graduation, he was more a man than any of his classmates. As he fixed the collar of his gown, standing in front of his closet-door mirror, Penny stood behind him, holding Mr. Peabody.
"You look so handsome," she said.
"Yes, you do," Mr. Peabody said. "Do change your shoes though. It's a graduation, not a hip-hop dance party."
"Nobody's going to be looking at my feet, Mr. Peabody," Sherman said, giving a lop-sided grin.
"I'm too old to argue with you," the dog sighed. "You know what they say, if the shoe fits, wear it."
Sherman took the dog from Penny and gave him a hug. "I don't get it."
After he received his diploma and made his way back to his seat among the other seniors, Sherman thought about the future. Mr. Peabody could no longer stand on two legs for long periods of time. He couldn't remember how to operate the stove, microwave, computer, or any of his inventions. Sherman was now in complete control of the house, and the WABAC, which he now took trips in by himself, or with Penny.
After the entire ceremony, Sherman found his way to his father who hugged him and said quietly, "I'm so proud of you…"
He faltered, forgetting the boy's name, but Sherman only shook his head and squeezed him even tighter.
"I love you, Mr. Peabody."
Sherman remained at home during college. Luckily NYU was close by, and during his school hours, Sherman hired a nurse to look after his father and the nights when he was busy, but the evenings and weekends were their time.
"Hello, Mavis," Sherman greeted the registered nurse as he entered the Penthouse through the elevator.
"Hello," Sherman." Mavis, a large black woman who was much more nurturing than the first nurse Sherman had hired. Linda had been her name, and unlike Mavis, who always spoke to Mr. Peabody in a caring, intelligent way, treated him like an animal.
Sherman fixed himself a peanut butter sandwich.
"How's Dad?" He asked.
"We played Chess," Mavis said, chuckling. "He still beats me every time!"
"You can't win Chess when you play with Mr. Peabody," Sherman agreed, grinning.
Mavis tidied up the living area and looked at her cell phone.
"I would stay and chat some more," she said. "But my husband has an awards dinner tonight and I want to get dolled-up."
"Oh, sure!" Sherman waved his hand. "And have a good time!"
After she was out the door, Sherman finished his sandwich and then started on his homework. After that was done, he turned on the television, but before he sat down on the sofa, he moved about the house whistling softly. When he was a child, Mr. Peabody had whistled to beckon him. Their roles were reversed now in almost every way, and Sherman found himself using a lot of the techniques his father had used on, on his father.
"Mr. Peabody?" He asked. "Mr. Peabody?"
After a few moments, his father came out of Sherman's bedroom, on all fours, wagging his tail slowly. It had been almost a year since he'd stopped talking, but his son never stopped talking to him.
"Hi, Dad." He picked him up. "I can't wait to tell you what Professor Sain said when he gave me back my paper on Leonardo Da Vinci."
He moved them both to the sofa and said, "It was pretty fantastic."
Mr. Peabody rested in his lap, his chin resting against his son's torso. Sherman talked and talked, and though he wasn't exactly sure if his father could understand him anymore, he liked to think he did. The television hummed in the background, but it was Sherman's voice that brought Mr. Peabody's eyes to a close, and his breathing became soft snores.
Sherman closed his eyes too, and yawned, "I love you, Mr. Peabody."
He thought he heard his father say, "I love you too, Sherman" but it might have been in his dreams.
Mr. Peabody passed away a year before Sherman graduated college. It was lonely not to have him there at graduation, but New York University surprised him with a speech given by one of the board members, who had attended Harvard with the genius dog.
"Nobody will ever understand what a brilliant individual he was like his son did," he said, giving Sherman's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "But I promise you, this young man, was brought up in a way that many of us could only dream of. He's going to do great things."
That night, Sherman sat in the WABAC, wondering where he should go. He preferred Greece, but he visited there so often that he was kind of growing bored of it.
He flipped through his phone at various pictures of him and his father traveling through time. After several minutes, he put his phone away and punched in the coordinates. The year was 2007.
It was raining, Sherman could tell, and cursed himself for not bringing an umbrella. He saw the box, heard the faint wailing, and moved to sit across the street on some concrete steps, waiting.
It seemed like a long time, and Sherman wondered if he should go and tend to the baby in the box across the street, sitting in the dark. Hours passed, and occasionally the crying would stop, but with every gust of wind or clash of thunder, the baby would howl again.
Sherman's heart started to pound in his chest when Mr. Peabody approached, and he could see the dog coming from all the way down the street, carrying a bright red umbrella. When he got to the box, he looked around, called 'hello?" and finally scooped the baby out of the soggy cardboard, smiling warmly at him.
The baby's sobbing ceased almost immediately, and Sherman closed his eyes, visualizing the smile Mr. Peabody had often described him having when he picked him up.
"I fell in love with you the moment that grin spread across your face," he had said, and Sherman could tell.
Mr. Peabody balanced the baby with one arm, and the umbrella with the other. He noticed Sherman across the street, and the young man jumped a little, standing up and slipping a little on the wet steps.
The dog looked like he might want to come over and question him, perhaps about the baby, but Sherman took off running around the block, back to the WABAC.
He didn't leave, however, but instead waited until he was sure Mr. Peabody was back home, and walked the few blocks to the Penthouse to stare up at it on the roof of the tall, narrow building. He would not try and go up and see how his baby self was doing. He knew everything that would happen. He only hoped he could handle what was to come in his father's old age. He decided, at that moment, that every moment of his life together with his father, even the ones that hurt, were worth everything they'd created with them.
End