"All right, class, this weekend is Father's Day, so for our warm-up today I'd like you to write a paragraph describing your father," the English teacher said. Sam's heart dropped to the bottom of his shoes. He didn't mind writing, that was easy, but he did not want to write about his father; especially because everyone would expect him to say good things about his dad. But Sam had nothing good to say. He only felt bitterness towards his father and couldn't think of a single redeeming quality, and worse, he knew that the other kids would use this opportunity to make fun of him at recess. Sam sighed and turned to his paper like the others. For a minute, he stared blankly at the page, then gloomily wrote his paragraph.

As expected, the teacher called on some kids to read aloud their paragraph. Please not me! Sam willed in vain. After calling on Priscilla, a girl who sat in front of Sam, the teacher said, "Sam, why don't you read yours? Nice and loud, so we all can hear!"

Slowly, Sam stood from his desk. Swallowing hard, he began, "My dad works for the Federation. From pictures I've seen of him, he has brown hair cut close to his scalp and he wears a grey uniform with the insignia of the Federation on it. Most of the time, he is away from home. He only comes back every now and then on Christmas or Easter. My dad understands computers and can pilot spacecraft like a pro." Abruptly, Sam sat down. He had tried to make it as positive as he could. But he could feel the stares of the other kids, and heard a few murmur. Unhappy, Sam sank down in his chair, as the teacher turned to another student.

At recess, the anticipated retribution came. As Sam headed towards a bench, he saw Charlie, the bully in his class, along with his cronies approaching him. "Hey, Sammy, great paragraph," Charlie sneered.

"Yeah, sounds like you got a great father, huh? He never comes home, huh? Guess that's why you're so stupid. You don't have no one to teach you about modern life," another one said.

"Leave me alone," Sam said, turning and trying to walk away. Two of the boys, however, stepped in front of him, blocking him, while another five bullies surrounded him.

"Aw, did we hurt your feelings?" Charlie sneered.

"Too bad you live on a stupid farm. Bet you don't even know what a TV is!" another boy, named Bill, leered.

Sam balled his fists. This happened almost every day at school. No matter what he did, no matter how many times he showed that he wasn't a backwater kid who understood nothing about modern technology, these boys found some way to mock where he came from. At least they never hit him physically. Their words were wounding enough, however, and Sam was getting tired of it. And of course, now they had to make fun of his relationship with his father.

"Why didn't your mom ever teach you how to use technology right? Guess she's so stupid she needs her husband to teach her about computers and ipads. Oh, but he's not home, huh?" Charlie mocked.

Before Sam even realized what he was doing, his fist shot out and punched Charlie in the nose. Charlie stumbled backwards in shock and pain; once he realized that his victim had actually lashed out, he began bawling and crying for the other boys to get revenge. With scowls on their faces, the big boys began closing in. At that moment, an authoritative voice spoke sharply from the school building's entrance. "Sam, Charlie, come here this instant."


Sam trudged gloomily towards Pete's shop. He had barely been working here a week, and now he was arriving late for his job. After recess, he had seen the principal briefly, who then ordered him to come to the office again after school when the principal would call his mom. Though Sam had explained that Charlie was making fun of his family, the principal and his mom were still adamant that Sam should not have hit the boy. Sam's mother had been particularly concerned and made him promise never to do it again. Luckily, he was let off with nothing but a warning. And of course he was late to work.

A little hesitantly, Sam walked into the store. Glancing around, he did not see Old Pete at first and headed quietly towards the closet of cleaning supplies. Then he froze as Pete's voice reached him. "Ah, you decided to show up," the old man said, appearing from behind one of the shelves.

Sam stared at the floor. "Yes, sir. I had to stay after school," Sam explained.

The old man just humphed. "Well, get to work. You have less time to get the cleaning done," he said and hobbled away. Sam hastened to the closet.

As he vacuumed and wiped shelves, Sam found himself rehashing again and again what had happened earlier that day. Why had he hit Charlie? He should have just let the boys mock him and his family instead of worrying his mom and worsening his relationship with his boss. But he couldn't just let them make fun of his mom! She was worthy of all the praise in the world, not mockery; so what if their home was not rigged with robots and voice recognition controls, or if they didn't wear the tight fitting clothes that people seemed to find so fashionable. His mom worked hard. His mother and sister were worth more than all the technology or wealth in the world, and he would not let anyone say something degrading about them.

"If you scrub those shelves any harder, they'll turn white 'stead of gray, kid," Rascal's voice broke Sam's train of thought. He sighed. The older boy, chewing a piece of gum, leaned against the opposite shelf, apparently on his break. Sam did not want to talk to anyone right now, especially someone who would probably tease him, as Rascal often did. It seemed his coworker still enjoyed calling him kid and treating him as inferior because he was new to the job.

Rascal whistled. "Whoo, what's got you so upset? Looks like a storm brewin' in yer face," he commented.

"I was late to work because I punched someone at school and had to go to the principal afterward. There, satisfied? Now will you leave me alone?" Sam snapped, moving on to the next shelf.

Rascal raised an eyebrow. "Well, well. You musta had a good reason for punching someone," he said.

"Charlie was making fun of my mom," Sam said. He was not sure why he was telling Rascal what had happened, but to his surprise it actually felt good to get it out. "He always makes fun of me and my family. Just because we live on a farm and don't have a lot of money doesn't mean we're stupid and ignorant!"

"Hey, hey, I get you, Sammy boy," Rascal said, nodding. "It ain't right for people to make fun of your family, and it ain't right fer you to sit there and let 'em," he continued, then stood silent for a few minutes.

"Say, Sammy boy, what's yer reason for working here?" Rascal asked.

Sam paused in his wiping. "Well, to get money of course," he said. What was Rascal getting at? At least he wasn't calling Sam "kid" anymore.

Rascal waved his hand dismissively. "Aw, come on, there's got to be more than that. Why you need the money? What you gonna use it for?" he asked.

Sam frowned and thought for a minute. "Well, I want to help my mom. She works so hard, but even still she has to scrape and save to provide us with food and clothes. I'm the only man around, so I got to help provide…" he said.

Rascal cocked his head. "No pa?"

"He never comes home," Sam said bitterly.

Again, Rascal nodded knowingly. "Yeah, my dad left when I was seven. Never seen him since. Mom died of some illness a few years ago when we couldn't get medicine. I get you, Sammy," he said.

"I-I'm sorry," Sam stammered. He had had no idea that Rascal had faced tragedy.

Rascal shrugged. "'s okay. Life happens, you know? And we'll all die one day." There was another pause, both boys in their own thoughts. "So, what's yer deal?" Rascal finally said.

Sam blinked. "Deal? What do you mean?"

"Come on, ya gotta have something you wanta be or do, right? You itching to be a farmer? A shopkeeper? You wanta make a lot of money in yer life? What's yer life goal?" Rascal said.

"Well…I guess I haven't really thought about it before," Sam stammered. He realized he hadn't ever thought about what he might do when he grew up; he had been too busy focusing on the now, helping his mother and getting through school.

Rascal gaped at the boy. "Wha'! Never thought about it! Crazy, Sammy! Come on, there's gotta be something yer thinking about! What are you passionate about? What kinds of things do ya like to do?" he cried.

"Uh, I'm passionate about helping my mom," Sam offered.

Rascal shook his head. "That's good and all but think deeper. What would you really wanta do? What really grabs yer attention?"

Sam frowned and thought. "I don't know. I like books about knights and heroes. But that's not really a career. I don't mind taking care of the farm," he said.

Rascal rubbed his chin. "Knights and horses, eh? You wanna be a hero?" he said with a grin.

"Yeah, I guess," grunted Sam. "What about you? What's your goal in life?" he asked Rascal, trying to turn the attention away from himself.

"Me? I'm gonna be a politician someday," Rascal said proudly. Sam stared. "What? You don' think I can be a politician 'cause of my accent and my being poor? Well, jus' wait and see, Sammy boy," Rascal said.

Sam frowned. "How do you even get to be a politician? Don't you have to be pretty well known before you can even get a seat in the government?" he asked. Of course, he didn't know much about government; he hadn't paid enough attention in school.

"Sure, sure, you gotta get recognition first. But that can be achieved through promotion. Ya know, pamphlets, TV ads, all that jazz. And besides, I want to shake things up. We've got too many lawmakers who are up there and don't care about the people down here who do everyday life. I want to bring some real change," Rascal said.

"Like what?" Sam said, starting on a new shelf.

"For one thing, farms is suffering, as I am sure you know at least somewhat. I want to make sure farmers are heard. And then I want to shape up the criminal justice system; people being put in prison for life for petty crimes. And our relationship with the other planets around; whoo, boy, am I gonna change that! We're too dominating; if we don't listen to some of our allies, pretty soon they'll be our enemies," Rascal explained.

"You're pretty serious!" Sam said in surprise. He felt very out of sync with what was happening in the world. Though his father worked for the Federation, he had never known Earth's relationship with the surrounding alien species, and he wasn't even aware of any problems with the justice system. Perhaps he was a little too secluded at the farm, he admitted to himself.

Rascal straightened and said, "Well, I better get back to work. Ol' Pete's coming around. We'll talk later, Sammy." With that, he lounged away towards the cashier desk, leaving Sam deep in thought.


Sam's mother met him at the door when he came home. "Sam, I want you to show Samus how to milk the cow," she said.

"What?" Sam asked in surprise as he set down his backpack. Milking the cow was his job, and he didn't like the thought of giving that task to anyone else.

"Show Samus how to milk Maya. That way, if you get home late, she can take care of it," River said firmly. Sam opened his mouth to protest, but stopped when he saw the warning look on his mom's face. She hadn't openly rebuked him yet for his incident at school, but he could see the pain and disappointment in her face. He mumbled his agreement.

With Samus behind him, he headed for the barn, carrying three pails, one with warm water in it. "First thing you want to do is clean the udder," he explained, grabbing a cloth that he had stuck in the warm water and wiping Maya's udder. Samus watched intently. Next, Sam demonstrated to her how to grasp the teats and squeeze them without pulling too hard or yanking on them. She watched as he did the first teat, then he let her try. Awkwardly, she held the teat and gave it a squeeze. Ping! The milk shot out into the bucket with that pleasing sound Sam liked so well. He sighed and leaned against the barn wall as he watched Samus, who seemed to be gaining confidence as she continued milking the cow. "We'll strain the milk after to make sure it's clean," Sam commented. Samus nodded. She had seen River pouring the milk into jars that had cloths covering the tops of them, and River had explained that the cloths made sure no dirt stayed in the milk.

After a few minutes of silence except for the milk spraying into the pail, Samus asked, "What department does your father work for?"

Sam looked at her in surprise. Why did she want to know? "I don't really know," he mumbled, "he works for the Federation but I don't really care what part he works for."

Samus frowned and grunted. "Why do you want to know?" Sam asked.

"I don't recognize his uniform." Samus answered. Sam was nonplussed. Why should she care about the job of a man she hardly knew? Though he had been the one to rescue her from that planet. Maybe that was why.

After a pause, Samus said, "You don't like your father, do you?"

"No," muttered Sam. Samus had never initiated conversation with him before, and he felt confused why the first topic she discussed with him would be his father. Besides that, he was not in the mood to talk about him.

But Samus continued. "Why?" she asked.

"Because he abandoned my mom, leaving her to take care of the farm and me and Angela. He never comes home. My mom says he does it to make enough money and because he loves us, but I don't see how he could love us if he just left. And my mom still struggles to make ends meet!" Sam answered angrily. He could feel his face burning, and he clenched his hands into balls that shook with anger. He hated his father!

Glancing at the deflated teat in Samus' hand, Sam told her, with some relief, to stop since Maya seemed to have given all her milk. Picking up the buckets they returned to the house for dinner.

After supper, River made Sam stay at the table. It was the dreaded conversation about his fight at school. "Sam, I am disappointed in you. Why did you hit Charlie?" River asked.

"But Mom, he was making fun of you," Sam protested. The anger and shame from the afternoon ran through him all over again, and even though he hadn't planned to confess everything to his mom, he found himself saying, "I couldn't just let him say bad things about you! And he keeps saying that we're backward and stupid, and I'm tired of it, Mom!"

River sighed. "Sam, I \appreciate that you wanted to protect me, and I understand that you're tired of Charlie's bullying, but hitting him is not the way. Fighting will only make things worse. If you really want others to see that we're not 'backward,' as you say they claim, then you have to show them through kindness. You can show them you're not misled into hitting back; you'll actually be smarter by not retaliating. And you never know what the bully is going through. He may be in need of a friend, you know, or may have parents who aren't kind to him," she said.

Sam scowled. "I don't think being nice to Charlie is going to help. He'll just take the opportunity to hit me," he grumbled.

With a stern look, River said, "At least promise me you won't fight at school again."

Sam looked at the floor. "Yes, ma'am," he mumbled.

"Now, you better get started on homework. Do you want me to ask Samus to help you with math?" River said, standing up.

"No, I—I think I can do it myself tonight," Sam replied. He didn't want to be around people right now, and his homework was very similar to what Samus had helped him with last night. With a sigh, he pulled out his tablet and scratch paper, and set to work.