It was the end of the school day, and like the other kids around him, nine-year old Dick Grayson was stuffing books and papers into his backpack to take home. He was the youngest in the class because he skipped a grade, and he was still a little bored with his subjects. Most of it he already knew, and the teacher didn't seem to want to dwell long on the topics that he was unfamiliar with.
The teacher, Mrs. Simmons, was a grandmotherly sort; nice, but she kind of smelled funny. And Dick suspected it was time to change her glasses prescription. She didn't seem to notice when the other kids picked on him, or maybe she was just too tired to do anything about it. He had noticed she would sometimes nap when everyone was supposed to be reading or doing assignments.
Mrs. Simmons was walking around the room passing out some papers to each of the kids. As the paper landed in front of him on his desk, Dick read it. A Father/Son dinner was to be held next Friday evening at seven p.m. Dick picked up the paper, and reread it, wondering. Did Bruce have any plans next Friday? Would he even be interested in going? Bruce Wayne had tons of obligations, and then there were patrols as Batman and Robin. There wasn't much time left for after-school activities like this.
The paper was snatched out of his hand.
"Hey!" Dick looked up at Tommy Snyder, bully extraordinaire. His father owned a large dry-cleaning business franchise.
"What's the matter, charity case? This isn't for you anyway! It's for fathers and sons . . . Not rich men and their boy toys," Tommy sneered.
"Give it back, Tommy," Dick ignored the older boy's remarks. He didn't know what a boy toy was anyway, and had a feeling that Tommy didn't either.
"Seriously, circus freak," he said. "Guardians aren't fathers . . . That's why they're called 'guardians'. They don't love you or nothing like that. They just have to make sure you get fed, a bed, and well-read." He laughed at his own wit.
Heat rose in Dick's face, but he stubbornly held out his hand. "Doesn't matter," he said. "The teacher gave it to me; it's mine. Give it back!"
Tommy stared at him for a moment more, and then smirked. "Are you going to cry because you don't have a father? Maybe you can ask your 'guardian' to buy you one. He's rich enough."
He laughed and tossed the sheet back at Dick. It fluttered in the air before settling down near his feet on the floor. The bell rang and the boy that sat behind Dick stepped on it before Dick could pick it up.
Dick picked up the paper, staring at the words again as everyone filed out of the room to go home. It wasn't any big deal. He hadn't actually thought seriously about going to it because he and Bruce were really busy with everything else . . . But now? Why had that stupid Tommy Snyder have to say something about it?
He felt the sting of tears in the backs of his eyes and blinked rapidly to dispel them before they could begin. Stop it, he told himself. It's just a stupid dinner! We wouldn't have been able to go to it even if we had wanted to. And he didn't . . . Want to, that is. Not really.
A vision of him and Bruce being turned away at the door flashed in front of his eyes. His cheeks reddened in embarrassment. He thought about what Bruce's reaction to the invitation would be, and imagined he would toss it in the wastepaper basket beside his desk, reminding Dick that 'I'm not your father. I'll never be your father.' His parents were dead, and the pain of it suddenly struck him in the chest again; just as sharp as it had been in the moments after it had happened.
He crumpled the announcement into a tight ball, but couldn't bring himself to toss it away. Instead he shoved the reminder of his orphan status deep into the pocket of his jacket, swung his backpack over his shoulder, and trudged to the parent pick-up area with his head down.
