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America is a party guy.
Noone would doubt that. He was very sociable, maybe too much. Often became really loud during celebrations anytime he or his people came up on top, including those that shouldn’t be celebrated. Throwing lavish parties left and right every chance he got. Especially to mock his peers.
But that wasn’t always the case.
Surprisingly, America also liked some peace and quiet. Being the world leader at such a young age was pretty hectic. Barely time for himself and expected to solve everyone's problem tended to make a man pretty much exhausted. Mostly during public holidays was where America quieted down and relaxed with his close ones.
This Thanksgiving, he invited Canada, England, and France to his 1700s red brick house, America’s first home, in the outskirts of Boston, New Jersey. Although, it might not be as peaceful as the adults wanted because, as per England’s request, America and Canada brought their kids with them. Hoping that a meeting with others his age would help Stomaria socialise better. Their rowdy children finished their meals and returned to play in the room America prepared for them upstairs. Now with their children gone, the adults could enjoy their holiday time peacefully.
“I’d say these meals are not that bad. Maybe the flavours are too strong but it is edible,” England said, enjoying America’s attempt at his shepherd pie, roasted ham with peas and side mash, also with a freshly baked pumpkin pie and a wobbly gingerbread house made by their kids.
“Dude, don’t say like your food is any better. Mines are beyond edible unlike yours. But, thanks man! I put a lot of time into– Hold on, my sense’s tingling. Republic of Molossia! Republic of Slowjamastan! Where do you think you’re going!?” America turned his head around to see his sons and nephew at the front door, caught in their attempt at sneaking out.
“Oof, full name. We’re screwed,” Molossia sheepishly whispered to his brother and cousin.
“Yeah, like we’re gonna tell you, old man. Les go bro!” Slojamastan quickly wore his shoes and grabbed his helmet.
“Hm, Is that so? C’mon Mo. Tell me. Promise, I won’t get mad,” with puppy eyes, America pleaded, knowing that the young nation had a soft spot for him. Slowjamastan and Aerica quickly turned to Molossia and tried to pull him away through the door, realizing that the teen was going to ruin their plan. “Daaad don’t look at me like that. Fine! We’re getting booze!”
“Knew it! Morro! Slo! You both are so grounded!”
“MO!” Aerica and Slowjamastan glared at Molossia as their plan was now ruined. “I can’t help it! I can’t lie to dad!”
“Uncool you two. Un-cool! Go to your room! You’re grounded,” America scolded his boys and shooed them to their room, pointing to the stairs.
“You said you wouldn't get mad,” cried Molossia, feeling betrayed by his own father. “I’m not mad! But I’m not letting children go buy alcohol! You’re too young for that!”
“I’m 50 years old!”
“Slo is 5!”
Click
Amidst the yelling by the Americans, the sound of the front door opened made all of them look in that direction, a young Canadian micronation with his penguin knitted hat and winter boots on.
Two young boys were confused as they thought they were grounded. “A.E.?”
“What? I’m not his son.”
“Dad!” both of America’s children screamed. Whining about him being unjust for letting their cousin buy some alcohol while they got stuck in their house.
“Dang it. Loophole. Mattie scolds him then,” America turned to his brother, thinking he would do the same, “I don’t do scolding.”
Hearing that, America nagged Canada the same annoying way his boys nagged him for being ‘unjust’ until Canada complied, “Ugh fine. A.E., mate, you know you are too young for alcohol, eh?”
“Not really papa. See I was born in 1985, that makes me almost 50 too. . .” Aerica chose to shut up when he sensed a deathly glare from Canada. Maybe trying to be a smartass to your dad wasn’t a great idea. “But I’m getting cheese curds, not alcohol.”
“Yea ain’t buying it,” Canada placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder. Knowing what his kid was thinking about, he smiled, “Al, let me handle this.”
“Well. Uncle made gravy and he had fries. So I’m gonna get some cheese for poutine.” After hearing that, a small chuckle left Canada. He knew exactly what the boy wanted. “Aw mate. I’m sorry, eh. This land is a lil uncivilized. They don't have cheese curds in convenient stores for poutine here.”
“THEY DON’T!!????”
“Sorry lad. I’ll make as much poutine as you like once we’re back home, eh? Now head upstairs and play games, kids.” he chuckled a little more. His kid realising that not every place is like his home was simply a funny moment.
As the children were going back upstairs very much disappointed, the two brothers locked eyes, America was obviously upset hearing those words describing his land. “Uncivilized? Really? Your ‘putin’ is not peak cuisine and you know it.”
“Excuse moi, it’s ‘Poutine’, and it is. Everything in my place is superior to yours,” crossing his arms, Canada retorted. “Nuh uh. Your culture is just mine with a french accent. Yo Iggy, Frenchie help me here- Why you look at us like that?”
England, now with tears in his eyes, looked at his little brothers dearly and grabbed his embroidered napkin to wipe off his tears. France looked none too different except he did not cry, just a dreamy smile at the sight.
“It's just- Aw… you boys grow up so fast,” England couldn’t even express his feelings before going back to crying. Sobbing into France’s shoulder uncontrollably. France's face dropped immediately as his emotions on the brothers went out of the window when England did that. Anything but England ugly crying on his expensive pretty suit.
“Lapin, stop that, you're ruining my clothes. But yeah. Have you noticed that you both act like father figures to those kids? It’s really cute,” he could clearly see that the brothers hadn’t noticed their behaviour as both of their faces became more red from the realization and their bodies squirming around.
“Well… at least we’re better than Iggy, right?” England gasped loudly, slapping America’s shoulder angrily and aggressively. America laughed it off, he’s too strong to be in actual pain. France chuckled softly, it’s nice to spend time with his family like this.
“Absolutely”
“So how’s it?” Stomaria smirked at their failed attempt as the boys entered the kids’ room and slumped down on beanbags, disappointed that their plan did not work out. One question still lingered in the American boys’ mind so Molossia asked “Are you really gonna get cheese curds?”
“Let’s just say I’m as innocent as my dad.”
“Oh, so you're really getting them huh.”
. . .
“Bro Canada is why we have the Geneva convention.”