Baby Peter sat in his little cradle. He knew whenever he tried to speak, they wouldn't understand him. They never understood him. Why couldn't they understand him? Peter stared through the skinny wooden bars, staring into the pale darkness of his bedroom. The world around him seemed dead silent, but he knew it wouldn't last forever. So, there he sat Waiting.
Finally, the first stomps sounded from the room next to his, followed by a door slamming. Peter glanced up, blinking with his paci sticking out from his mouth. He pushed himself onto his wobbling feet, catching onto the bars to keep him steady as he listened.
"Tony, what the hell is your problem?" the toddler heard his poppa shout angrily. "You could have died!"
"Oh, lay off! I did what I had to do!" came his dad's retort. Peter's poppa sounded really upset after that sentence.
"And what about Peter?" he snapped. "Do you want him to grow up without you?"
Peter didn't like this. He didn't like how their voices sounded.