Cooper stood at the edge of the park, his eyes scanning the bustling crowd. He was twelve, his tousled brown hair catching the sunlight as he squinted to find his father. Despite the joyous atmosphere, Cooper felt a knot of anxiety in his stomach, aware of how days like this could affect Matt, his father.
Matt, a broad-shouldered man with a gentle face lined by years of service, sat in his wheelchair near the stage. His gaze was distant, his thoughts seemingly far from the cheerful scene around him. Cooper approached cautiously, aware of the unspoken struggle his father faced during such events.
"Dad, are you okay?" Cooper asked softly, trying to keep his tone light.
"Just...taking it all in," Matt replied, offering a reassuring smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
As the mayor spoke about the sacrifices made by veterans, Cooper noticed a group of children playing tag nearby, their carefree laughter a stark contrast to the stories of bravery and loss being shared. Cooper glanced at Matt, who seemed lost in thought.
"I remember days like this," Matt murmured, his voice barely audible over the speaker.
"Were they fun?" Cooper asked, his curiosity piqued.
"Sometimes," Matt replied with a wistful smile.
Cooper leaned against his father’s wheelchair, feeling the warmth of the metal frame beneath his fingers. Matt reached out, ruffling Cooper's hair in a rare moment of affection.
"You know, these events are hard for me," Matt admitted, his voice steady.
"I know, Dad. But I'm glad we're here. Together," Cooper responded, his voice filled with sincerity.
Cooper and Matt stayed a little longer, relishing the peace that settled after the day's events. The bond between them felt stronger, forged by their shared understanding and unspoken support.
"Let's head home, kiddo," Matt suggested, his voice lighter than before.
"Yeah, let's," Cooper agreed, pushing his father's wheelchair towards the path that led home, their silhouettes fading into the gentle embrace of the night.
