Age Appropriate
Author's Note: Wow. It's been a while since I've written a fan fiction based on a movie. I've read some of the best Mr. Peabody and Sherman fics on here, and it inspired me to give it a shot at my own. I hope you enjoy it!
Mr. Peabody smiled as he opened the of the door of the classroom just a crack. The inside of Golden Gate Preschool was always filled with laughter, talking, and singing. It was a good sign, and very age appropriate as most of the students were no older than five.
Sherman Eugene Peabody was three, and in the class labeled 'Preschool One'. Most of the children attended as a form of expensive daycare where they were guaranteed to be labeled Gifted and Talented, regardless if they were advanced or not. Mr. Peabody had enrolled his own son for more social reasons. Sherman was an only child, and the only human child on Earth being raised by a genius dog, so he needed to be around other children, to prepare him for grade school which was only a few years away.
Inside of the neutral-colored classroom littered with children's artwork at eye level, Miss Goode was reading the children a story in her rocking chair, the little ones gathered around her feet sitting 'criss-cross, applesauce' (as Sherman always pointed out to his father during their evening meditation).
" 'And then Snippy Dog growled at the frog,' " Miss Goode read. "Can you help me growl like a dog?"
The children showed their teeth and let out a variety of low, guttural sounds.
Mr. Peabody watched with some fascination as Sherman, grinning wide and licking his lips, looked around at his friends and copied them. Another display of age appropriate behavior, Mr. Peabody mentally noted.
" 'Don't touch my bone!" " Miss Goode continued. " 'I earned that bone, and if you take it away from me, I will bite you!' "
"Dogs bite," little Joey Williams blurted out. "My dog bited my uncle when he came to visit us for Thanksgiving!"
"My dog bit my big sister," Chloe Green chimed in. "And Daddy said he went to a special bad dog farm."
"Okay," Miss Goode put a finger to her lip good-naturedly. "Let's continue the story, Boys and Girls."
She cleared her throat and read, " 'Why, Snippy Dog,' Frog said. 'Our teeth are not for biting our friends. They are for chewing our food'."
The teacher finished the story, and asked the children for their best Snippy Dog howls, which erupted into a ruckus of tiny werewolves.
"Sherman, your daddy!" Abigail Stanton pointed to the door.
"Mr. Peabody!" Sherman stood up, jumping up and down.
"Remember, Sherman," Miss Goode said. "Tomorrow is Bike Day. Don't forget!"
"I won't, Teacher!" Sherman said, running to his cubby where he attempted to put his jacket on by himself.
"Slow down, Sherman," Mr. Peabody instructed, helping him untangle his arm from the wrong sleeve that was bunched up and inside out. "Patience is a virtue."
"I can do it by myself," Sherman grunted. After a few minutes of struggling and making frustrated noises, he began to whine.
"Mr. Peabody!" He whimpered. "Help me!"
Mr. Peabody removed the whole jacket and fixed the sleeves. Carefully, he demonstrated to Sherman how to put on the jacket, and then allowed Sherman to put it on himself, only assisting him in the buttons and zipper.
Many times, he'd seen other parents come in, talking on their cell phones, stuffing their own children into their coats without so much as a 'How was your day'.
"So!" He clapped his hands together after his son was buttoned and zipped. "Bike Day, hm?"
"Yeah!" Sherman said. "We're going to ride them at morning recess!"
"No motorized toys, please," Miss Goode said.
"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it, Miss Good!" Mr. Peabody dismissed the idea away with the wave of his hand. "I recently purchased Sherman a special bike that focuses on balancing."
"It has no training wheels," Sherman chimed in. "Or even pedals."
The ride home on the scooter was always a time for chatter. Sherman talked about his day the entire way home, and Mr. Peabody listened. Sherman told him about how he was picked to be leader for flag salute, and how he painted with special paint that glowed in the dark when the lights were off, and how he and Joey played trucks, and the trucks crashed into each other.
"I noticed you were in Circle Time when I arrived," his father pointed out, just as they parked the scooter next to the special elevator that would take them up to the rooftop penthouse.
"Yeah," Sherman nodded casually. "We read a book, and sang a song about Five Green and Speckled Frogs."
"What was the book about?" Mr. Peabody asked. He'd noticed Sherman didn't have a much of interest in reading, even though he had been read to every night since he was an infant, and was only limited to an hour of television a day.
"Snippy Dog," Sherman said as they entered the house. He went straight to the kitchen and said, "Fix me a snack."
"Magic adverb," Mr. Peabody coaxed.
"Please," Sherman corrected himself.
"Let's see what's on today's afternoon snack agenda," his father replied, moving around the kitchen as Sherman climbed onto the stool next to the bar where he ate his snack every afternoon.
"Peanut butter and banana roll ups with pineapple juice," he said, reading the meal calendar magnetically attached to the refrigerator.
As he prepared it, he continued to quiz Sherman about the book.
"Who is Snippy Dog?" He asked, slicing bananas the way a Sushi chef might prepare a salmon in front of a crowd.
"A dog who likes a bone and wants to eat a frog," Sherman said, sounding bored. "Mr. Peabody, after my snack, can we go get my bike?"
"That sounds reasonable," his father replied, setting his snack before him and garnishing it with cinnamon.
"Sherman," he spoke carefully. "Do you like to read?"
"Yeah, " Sherman said. "I just don't like that Snippy Dog book."
"Why not?" Mr. Peabody asked, brushing peanut butter away from Sherman's chin with his paw.
"Because I don't know what a dog is," Sherman said, dropping a banana slice into his lap.
"You don't…" Mr. Peabody was beyond bewildered. "Sherman, of course you know what a dog is! Don't be silly."
Sherman picked the banana slice up and popped it into his mouth. "No, I don't."
"Sherman, I'm a dog." His father placed his paw to his chest for emphasis. "You've seen plenty of dogs in your time, and other times."
"But they don't act like you," Sherman said, frowning. "They act like…"
Precision of language, he knew, was very important, and his father waited patiently for him to choose the word he felt was right.
"Like aminals," he finally said.
"Like animals," his father corrected him, careful not to demean him by literally correcting him.
"You act like me," Sherman said. "Only you're smarter and stronger, and you're not afraid to check the closet for monsters."
Mr. Peabody had always wondered when this conversation was going to come up. Since their time together began at infancy for Sherman, they boy didn't know any better. He didn't know that Mr. Peabody was different from him, if only in physical makeup.
"Sherman, you know how your friend, Joey, does not look like you, correct?" He started carefully.
"Yeah," Sherman said, taking a big bite of banana, peanut butter, and pita bread. "Joey's skin is brown, and mine is peach."
"And you know how Mr. Jones down the block has five fingers like you, and…" was he really faltering? Mr. Peabody, who never skipped a beat in his explanations?
"Mr. Jones, the crazy man?" Sherman guessed.
"Not crazy," Mr. Peabody said sternly. "Mentally unstable, but yes. Mr. Jones is a human, like you, but his mind does not function like yours."
"Oh." Sherman hardly seemed amused. "Okay."
"And I am the same, Sherman," his father said. "I am a dog, but unlike most dogs, my brain functions differently."
"Can we go get my bike now?" The three-year old slid off of the stool. "Please?"
"Of course we can," Mr. Peabody said. "Wash your hands."
Sherman did as he was told, and soon they were off in the WABAC, with the little balance bicycle, to visit Mannheim, Germany, 1817.
"I can't wait to show Mr. Drais how I can ride now!" Sherman said, seating himself on the little bicycle inside of the time machine.
"He will be very pleased," Mr. Peabody agreed. "But, Sherman, remember-"
"It keeps falling over!" Sherman wailed.
"That's exactly what I'm saying," his father said. "Frustration is a normal part of learning a new skill, but whining and tantrums are not going to speed the process along."
"But I can't do it!" Sherman said, trying to straddle the seat again, walking the bike on his toes. He fell again, and started to slap his hands against the floor of the time machine.
"Sherman, faucet," Mr. Peabody instructed.
Sherman mimicked his father as they stood feet together, arms out, fingers intertwined, and tightened all of their muscles.
"Now turn on the faucet," his father said, and together they relaxed and lowered their hands, wriggling their fingers as if they were flowing water.
"Very good," Mr. Peabody said. "Now, when we get to Germany, we'll have more room to ride."
Sherman pouted, sitting on the floor, and began to play with the front wheel of his pedal-less bicycle. It was age-appropriate, Mr. Peabody knew, the pouting and frustration.
It was also age-appropriate, the laughter that followed as the Baron Von Draise and Mr. Peabody assisted Sherman in his riding. The wailing when his bike tipped over, the stomping, the kicking. The light snoring and bobbing of the head, as Mr. Peabody carried him out of the WABAC, careful not to wake him. He enjoyed carrying him, knowing that in a year or so, Sherman would be too big to be carried.
It was age-appropriate for him to whine about being woken up to change into his pajamas and wash his face and brush his teeth, as well as fall back asleep the instant he was in bed, his head on his pillow.
Mr. Peabody lay in his own bed, thinking of what Sherman had said about dogs. Unfortunately, it was only age-appropriate. Mr. Peabody knew, as Sherman would grow and become more aware of things, he would understand that dogs and people were not the same, even the ones that could coexist in a home together as a little family. He only hoped the bond they shared would be appropriate throughout all of their ages.