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3rd POV
Morning enveloped the town of Medford, Texas. For some, it was a bright and promising day—roosters crowing, the first rays of sunlight breaking through, signaling a fresh start.
Yes, for some people.
But not for those who had stayed up all night, waiting for high-quality beef, seasoned with a newly invented recipe by a…. Boy.
George stared at his offset smoker, his foot bouncing up and down impatiently, hoping the brisket would finally be done.
"Hey," Georgie's voice cut through the air, catching George's attention. He turned to see his son, drenched in sweat. This was Georgie's daily routine—just like Sheldon, he had his own schedule. But instead of mapping out bathroom breaks or indulging in peculiar habits, Georgie dedicated himself to something else entirely.
"You need a shower and some sleep. I'll keep an eye on the brisket," Georgie said before stepping inside the house.
George let out a sigh and followed him inside. "Tell me something… what's your real dream?"
Maybe it was the exhaustion from staying up all night, maybe it was the fatigue clouding his thoughts, but George couldn't shake off the curiosity sparked by Georgie's answer.
If George believed in many things, Georgie's dream of simply 'being rich' was not one of them.
"Being rich," Georgie replied nonchalantly, taking a sip of water. "Why don't you believe me?"
"I don't believe it. What do you actually want to be when you grow up?" George pressed, his tired eyes barely staying open, but he waited for Georgie's response.
"Me? I want to be rich," Georgie repeated, then elaborated, "Being rich is what I want, Dad. If Missy wants to go to an expensive, prestigious university, she can talk to me. If Sheldon needs funding for his research, he can come to me."
George studied him. "That's not what you truly want," he muttered. "You said you love music. Wasn't becoming a singer your real dream all along?" His words slurred slightly from exhaustion.
"Of course," Georgie admitted. "You could say I want to be a famous singer, someone people listen to. But being rich is my priority."
"Alright," George said, finally giving up the debate. He turned and left to shower and get some rest.
Georgie watched his father's retreating figure. He didn't understand why this topic had to be brought up again—they had already talked about it.
With a sigh, he stepped back onto the porch, checking on the brisket still smoking in the pit.
"Hey, Georgie!"
A familiar voice called out. Georgie looked around until he spotted a pair of eyes peeking through the fence separating his yard from the Sparks' residence.
"Billy! What are you doing there?" Georgie asked, amused.
"I just fed my chickens. What about you?" Billy responded.
"Perfect timing! Bring one of your chickens over—I'll show you how to hypnotize a chicken," Georgie said, grinning.
Billy's eyes lit up with excitement. "Okay!"
"What a nice kid," Georgie chuckled, glancing toward the Sparks' house.
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3rd POV
After finishing his shower, George made his way to his bedroom. Mary was still fast asleep, of course. It was Sunday, and she was clearly using the day to rest until she's going to church.
But as George sat down on the bed, the movement stirred Mary awake.
"…George…" she mumbled sleepily from behind him.
He turned to look at her. "Sorry if I woke you up," he said softly.
"What time is it?" she asked, rubbing her eyes. "Six." he answered briefly, kicking off his shoes.
Mary immediately noticed something off in his tone. "What's wrong?" she asked, opening her eyes wider this time. "It's still early. Did something happen?"
"No, no," George tried to dismiss her concern, but the exhaustion in his eyes gave him away. He was still caught up in Georgie's words, unable to let them go.
Mary simply watched him, patiently waiting for him to speak.
Eventually, George sighed and relayed the conversation he had with their son.
Mary listened quietly, then smiled reassuringly, her gaze warm with understanding. "Give it time," she said. "Being a rock star is what he wants too—I can feel it. When he said he wanted to be a famous singer and talked about helping Missy, I think he was just looking for support. And Missy gives him that."
George was silent for a moment before lying down beside her. "…Am I really a bad father?" he murmured, running a hand through his hair.
Mary was taken aback. "What?! Of course not!" she exclaimed before leaning in to kiss him. "That kid is an oddball, just like Sheldon. When he started changing, we both made mistakes—we acted like he was possessed or something. But we embraced Georgie's change. Even Sheldon embraced it. My mom, too. His changes have only brought good things to this family."
George exhaled deeply. "You're right." Then, turning to her, he asked, "So what am I supposed to do?"
Gone was the tough father figure. In front of his wife, he was just a man trying his best. A man trying to be strong for his family. But in the end, he was just another human being.
Mary smiled and rested her head on his chest. "Be a support system for him. For all of them."
George said nothing, simply listening as she continued.
"Support what he does. Scold him when he makes mistakes. Be their light. Sheldon and Missy already lean on Georgie, but you are their father."
Mary then sat up and sighed. "I don't even know what I'm saying. It's still too early for this, George." She stood up, stretching slightly. "But that's what I thought when I accepted Georgie's changes. I'm still their mother, too."
George looked at her, their eyes locking in mutual understanding.
Yes, they were still Georgie, Sheldon, and Missy's parents. Until their last breath, until their bodies turned to dust, they would always be their parents.
George closed his eyes, his breathing heavier than before. No man was ever truly prepared for fatherhood. Every parent was just learning—trying to figure out what being 'ideal' even meant, knowing it was different for everyone.
Mary left the room and walked to the kitchen.
Through the window, she spotted Georgie and Billy standing in the yard, holding a chicken.
"…Look at him," she murmured with a soft smile. "Still just a kid, playing with another kid."
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Georgie's POV
After Billy brought one of his chickens over, I showed him how to hypnotize it. It was a simple trick, really. I gently held the chicken and drew a straight line in front of it.
The chicken froze, completely still. Billy's eyes widened in shock. "Wow!" he gasped before tapping his chicken, making it snap out of its trance and return to its usual behavior.
"You see, the straight line makes them freeze because they perceive it as a safe illusion, making them feel like they don't need to move," I explained.
I could've gone into detail about visual focus, the nervous system, or the chicken's defense mechanisms, but I knew I wasn't talking to Sheldon.
"You're really a magician!" Billy said, staring at me in awe.
The chicken, which had been watching me from the start, remained close by. Maybe it was reacting to the divine gift that had been bestowed upon me.
"Haha, it's a simple trick. If you want to impress your friends, just do what I did. But don't do it too often, or your chicken will get stressed and might even die," I warned, stroking the chicken that was still beside me, pecking at the ground.
The chicken didn't flinch when I touched it, letting me pet it without hesitation.
"Wait… chickens can get stressed?" Billy asked, looking at his chicken.
"Of course," I said, walking back to our smoker. Billy and his chicken followed me, as if I were their mother hen.
"All living creatures can get stressed—your chickens, birds, ducks, even fish. If you take good care of them, they'll be happy and lay plenty of eggs for you. But if you stress them out, they won't lay eggs… and they could even die."
I opened the smoker to check the brisket, now darkened and beautifully smoked. Sticking a thermometer into the meat, I checked the temperature.
"…Good enough…" I muttered, watching the gauge hit 200°F.
"Can I taste it?" Billy asked, practically drooling at the sight of the meat.
"This meat needs to rest for a bit. We just have to wait and let it settle," I explained, adding more firewood to maintain the temperature.
"Alright," Billy said, reaching for his chicken, but the Chicken dodged him, running circles around me.
"Does your chicken escape its coop often, Billy?" I asked, watching him chase it.
"Yes!" he grumbled, trying again to grab it, but the chicken kept avoiding him.
I chuckled and stretched out my hand. The chicken immediately ran to me, snuggling into my palm.
"See that? Give them love, and they'll love you back," I said, handing the chicken back to him.
"Okay!" Billy grinned and ran off to put his chicken back, but not before sneaking another glance at my smoker.
"I'll make sure your family gets a taste, Billy!" I called after him, laughing.
Billy blushed slightly and hurried home.
"What a nice kid," I murmured with a smile.
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3rd POV
After some time and the meat finally rest for a couple hours, George, who already full of energy after a few hours rest, carried the neatly wrapped brisket.
As soon as he lifted the lid, the rich, smoky aroma filled the air.
His eyes locked onto the brisket—staring at it as if the most beautiful woman in America had just walked into the room, bathed in golden light.
The deep black bark glistened with a perfect layer of fat, shining like a diamond reflecting the midday sun. Every inch of it spoke to him, like a poem written by hickory smoke and time itself.
Leaning in closer, he examined the brisket carefully. The smoke ring at the edges was perfect—vibrant pink, thick, and distinct, like the flushed cheeks of a girl at her first prom. Beneath the bark, he knew the meat would be tender, juicy, and ready to steal the hearts of anyone lucky enough to taste it.
"This isn't just brisket," George whispered in near-reverence. "This is a masterpiece."
Standing beside him with his arms crossed, Georgie smirked.
"Well, Dad, if that brisket were a woman, I think Mom would be jealous."
George chuckled, still mesmerized. "If this were a woman, I'd marry her right now."
"WELL, SORRY FOR NOT BEING PRETTY ENOUGH!" Mary's voice suddenly rang out, her footsteps stomping toward them.
George swallowed hard, immediately standing up straight as if a superior officer had just walked in.
He glanced at Georgie, silently pleading for help, but his son refused to look at him, ignoring his distress signal completely.
Mary scoffed but turned her gaze toward the brisket.
She took one look at it and instinctively swallowed. Even she had to admit—it was stunning. But of course, she wasn't thrilled that her beauty was being compared to a hunk of perfectly smoked, juicy meat that practically melted in your mouth.
"Dad, let's try it," Georgie said, handing him a knife for the ceremonial first cut—a tribute to his hard work in tending the fire and perfecting the smoke.
George nodded, taking the knife with reverence. He sliced three small pieces—one for himself, one for Georgie, who had helped make this dream a reality, and one for his wife, who was still pouting at his earlier comment.
He handed the first piece to Mary.
"For my beautiful wife," he said, feeding her the bite.
Mary huffed but opened her mouth anyway, taking in the meat.
Georgie didn't wait—he immediately grabbed his own piece and popped it into his mouth.
"Mmm!" he hummed in satisfaction.
"Ohhh," Mary sighed softly, closing her eyes. The meat was unbelievably tender, bursting with smoky, sweet, and spicy flavors that melted in her mouth.
George watched her reaction carefully. Georgie, too, gave an approving nod, as if confirming that it had met the highest standard.
Finally, George took a bite himself.
He didn't speak. He just chewed. And chewed. And chewed. Without even realizing it, he followed Sheldon's ritual—32 chews before swallowing.
Then he widened his eyes, staring at the brisket. He looked at it for a few seconds, then turned to Georgie.
"This…"
"Art," Georgie said with a grin.
"Yes. Art." George nodded in agreement.
Mary simply shook her head at them. "Boys."
A long silence followed before George hesitantly spoke again. "…Should we give some to the Sparks?"
Mary froze, her expression turning sour.
He had promised to share it with the Sparks family. And the look Mary shot him made it clear—he had better not go back on that promise.
Understanding his mistake, George shut his mouth.
Georgie just laughed and walked away while Mary swiftly took control, making sure George didn't sneak any more bites before the brisket was safely stored away.