A man sat, unsure of what to do. His hair was messy, a mop of blonde, his eyes tired, but he kept up his smile, as his little boy waved from the swing set, hollering of how high he could swing. So carefree. The reckless child had no clue of his father's crisis. Alone without a wife, the last possibility gone, as were the others, but this one left him with a responsibility he was far from prepared for. He was overjoyed when she told him... he gave his all to convince her not to murder the boy before the he even had a chance. And then she left, three years later. The boy was far from troublesome, a pure angel compared to most little boys, though he had his faults. Always climbing on things, using the most absurd of objects as bowling pins. He was a little boy, what could one expect? Certainly not a loving mother to walk out on him as if he was some demon child. Alas, this man wasn't supposed to be able to father a child, and this miracle was his last hope...

     Another boy ran up to his own son. He was energetic, and as most children do, they get along just fine after the first few introductions and 'trying to be manly' size-ups. Of course, this ended in the both of them giggling, and they went off to play in the sand box of the park.  A creative world shut out from the dirty, cold and clawed hands of reality. The father failed to notice another man sit beside him, alone in his escapade to amuse the child he called his.

     This new presence was young, as was the first male, his little boy about the same age as the other. He sighed, hair swept neatly, but still not quite kept up. His chuckled startled the first, but the blonde couldn't bring himself to face this new presence. Something in him said that he was far from worthy to look upon someone obviously doing much better then him in the parenting category. At least, he thought it obvious.

         "If only all humans acted as children," the man sighed, "life would be easier. Blessed, even."

Now unsure of his current predicament, and this man's strange words, the blonde decided to ask a question, knowing he couldn't be rude, that would be a bad example for his son.

         "Your wife at home?"

         "I'm afraid the only cooking I walk in to is mutiny," he chuckled, leaning back on the bench, arms folded in front of him, "I have many children, not all agree with my standing as their Father."

Another single dad. Perhaps he can help?

         "Your son has potential for great things," the man of many sons informed, his current companion still looking on, only seeing the back of the other boy's head, while his own son waved a 'hello', pointing at his new found friend, "He was made wonderfully, each hair on his head a gift. What is your plan for his raising?"

Such strange words. Though this man was a stranger in general, and everyone has their odd ways.

         "Well... He's already learning his Alphabet." the single father admitted, "While I'm... on break I'm teaching him his numbers."

The man seated next to him shook his head as he once again, chuckled.

         "No need to hide your situation from a man who knows your current state," the other told him kindly, "I recognize the look well. You're searching for work, a common dilemma, but you don't trust the school system, being bullied in Elementary."

The blonde finally looked up at this stranger, surprise and fear written all over his face as this man relayed his story, so vaguely yet on par with every experience and distrust so far. Yet he still couldn't bring himself to look him in the face. Instead his eyes focused on other things; what was behind the man, the bench, his shoes, a loosely fitted tie, looking as if his son had tied it for him.

         "Your son will be fine, Peter," the man told him, his tone now firm, making the bewildered blonde loose his breath, as if he was hit in the chest by a mighty punch, "You know the right way, for there is only one. Teach him this, and he will grow to be an honorable man such as you."

     Standing up, the stranger, called for the little boy, earning both their attention as his dragged Peter's along, both laughing as the stumbled, but neither tripped on their way to their fathers. 

         "Are we leaving now Father?" The stranger's boy asked, and Peter was able to see his face, scarred and beaten. A fresh cut seemed to appear out of nowhere, making the single dad blink, but as soon as it appeared, it was healed.

         "We are," he nodded, then pat the other boy's head, who giggled, "Come my Prince, we must go home, your throne is feeling lonely without you."

The poke of fun made this joyful child laugh as he held his Father's hand, another bruise appearing on his arm, and Peter wanted to cry as he held his child closer, who only hugged him in response. Who was doing this to such a polite boy?

         "The world, Peter," the stranger answered his thought, and yet... not a stranger, "The world killed him, but he has risen, to take away your blights against me, and until his return, the world shall further abuse him."

     Peter would have asked what he meant, but one blink, and the duo was gone.

          "Why are you crying daddy?" the boy in his arms wiped away a tear that had fallen on his face, making Peter realize that he was almost soaked with his tears.

         "Who was your friend's name?" he asked him, ignoring the tears on his own face as he took out a tissue to wipe away the salty secretions from his son's.

         "He said you could tell me," the red head boy answered, "Do you know him?"

Peter looked to where the man had sat, only seeing what he had put there before. He had forgotten that he brought it along, not even thinking to take it out of the way for the man to sit. A strange book, yet not a strange book. He picked it up with a shaky hand, turning it's cover to a long forgotten bookmark, placed there for his first Bible study with his wife... ex-wife.

         "Not as well as I should," he admitted, "but... would you like to learn of him with me?"

With a great vigor, the boy nodded, and Peter began to read.