I read a fanfic once... (titled Baby Mine? I think? Well. It was adorable) that had the name of Kurt's mother be "Emily". I thought that was an AMAZING name for Kurt's mom. I can see Burt, Emily, Kurt as a family. Emily is such a pretty name for a pretty woman. (If she birthed Kurt, she would HAVE to be pretty. KURT IS SO CUTE GAH).

My fangirl-ness aside, I typed this on the way home from my brother's house (It's like a 3-hour drive or something). I finished it on fanfiction.

And yes! It was Baby Mine by Infernape Master! Twas a cute story. :]

I know. I wrote a book. :/ Please attempt to read it, anyways! AND THEN REVIEW. .

PS: If anything is redundant, let me know. I've probably repeated myself.

It all starts back to when you were three. You were already talking up a storm, already potty trained, already walking and running. You were the cutest kid in the world, Kurt with the most beautiful face. Luckily you take after your mother. Your mother was—is—the most beautiful woman in the world. She had soft brown hair, like you. She had dark blue eyes—you have mine, Kurt—that were big with long eyelashes—like you. Her skin was as smooth as a dolls—like yours. She was slender, medium height, and very well proportioned. You mostly took after her. All you wound up with me is my eyes and my talent for working on cars. You may not look like a car person, but Kurt, you can fix cars better than most of my colleagues and that's saying something.

When you were born she held you in her arms. You were so tiny, only weighed about 6 pounds. You looked like something the heavens had birthed. Which your mom is an angel, so maybe you were. She smiled at you with a tired look, but I've never seen someone with so much sheer happiness and warmth on their face.

"Hello, Kurt," she said softly, stroking your face with her finger. "I'm your momma."

And that was it. From then on you were attached to the hip, you two. She would dress you up in the cutest clothes. Some of them were pink because we were thinking you were a girl for the longest time, but a sonogram told us otherwise later. She taught you how to walk, how to read, how to talk… She let you watch your first musicals. I don't remember what they were called, but I'm thinking Mary Poppins was in there somewhere.

I played a little bit of catch with you went you turned old enough to throw the ball a good way. At age four, me and you played catch and then your mom would call saying that there was a "Top 10 Greatest Musical countdown" on Turner Classic Movies. You would drop the ball without even throwing it back, run off with your face smiling to your mom. She would shrug and I would sigh, picking up the ball and your discarded glove and putting it away. I popped the popcorn while you and your mother sat on the couch watching these movies with singing at random intervals. Sometimes you would sing along. At four I've never heard a kid sing as pretty as you sing. Even then you had a high voice. You would kick your legs which were unable to reach the floor as you swayed back and forth to the music that you were singing. It was cute, so I sat and watched you and not the movie. You got so into it. I kind of wished that you were that into basketball games when they were on. Your mother just went with it, singing along too sometimes. She, too, had—has—a beautiful voice so I can see where you get it from.

At age 5 you took a ballet class at Lima's community center. You dress in your little leotard while little girls danced around you. You were the only boy, Kurt. I wondered if maybe this was something you actually enjoyed. It was so girly. Most boys would cringe at the thought of even putting that item of clothing near them, but you wore it proudly. Well, I thought watching those little girls dance and prance across the stage at a recital of yours, maybe he thinks that these little girls are cute or something. That's my little boy, dancing with girls. Dancing wasn't very manly, but you were just a little boy so I thought nothing of it. Your mom sure was proud, though. She was smiling, her eyes were sparkling… she clapped when you were through, standing up like a proud parent. I stood up too, admittedly feeling out of place there. But you are my son and I had to be proud of you. I was, I just wish I was at your pee-wee game or little league baseball game.

You told me age 5 was when you started knowing who you were. It was true. You and your mother went shopping a lot and you would watch these chick flicks with her. You both cried for no reason. I sat in the movie theater uncomfortable, sitting next to this couple making out. It was awkward for me. I made a list of things I would rather have been doing. 1) Watching the Lakers kill the Colts 2) Watching the Red soxs kill the Yankees 3) working on Mr. Ackles's car (a '55 Cadicallic convertible) 4) Eating your mom's leftover pot pie that was in the fridge from last night 5) watching the action movie that was playing next to us. I went in only because your mother thought I should. I would do anything she told me.

At age 6 your mother and I were preparing for bed. She was propped against the headboard, reading a book by the light of the lamp on the bedside table. It was a harlequin romance novel, one that you later read and loved (think its sitting on your dresser, worn down with pages ripped). She looked up at me as I undressed for sleep. She pulled off her reading glasses and set them aside, doing the same thing with the book and placing a bookmark on her spot.

"What?" I said to her when I noticed the look on her face. Apparently she had been thinking this long and hard and I didn't hear anything about this.

"How much do you love your son?" she asked in a serious but questioning tone. I wondered what brought this up, but I went along with it.

"You know how much I love him. I love him as much as I love you. He's my son." I chuckled a little and crawled under the covers, propping the pillow up so I could be doing a half-laying, half-sitting sort of deal.

"No matter what?"

"Of course no matter what!" I said this rather defensively, and she flinched from my tone. "Sorry," I said softer. "What brought this up?"

"Today Kurt said he thought a little boy at the Y was cute. I told him that he was, but I wasn't sure what to think. He's only 6." Her eyes squinted a little bit in a look of thoughtfulness and confusion. I was a little bit stunned. Okay. My son thought a little boy was cute. I wasn't sure what to think, Kurt. What would you think if you had been me in that situation?

"It's probably nothing. He's 6."

"Yes, but what if it was something, Burt." She grabbed my hand with one of her own. Her other hand rested ontop of our two hands together. "What if your son if different? What if you son likes other boys? What would you do?"

What would I do. I thought about this for a moment.

"He's my son and I would love him for who he is." I said this, but I wasn't exactly sure if I thought that way yet. I wasn't even thinking about it much. She sighed and kissed my cheek.

"I just don't want my baby to get hurt." She rolled over and switched off the light. I laid there with my eyes wide open for some time, staring out the window to where a faint light was coming from. I couldn't stop thinking about that. What would I do? What if you were picked on, bullied even? How could I protect you from being called a "fag" or "dick-sucker"?

At age 8 your mother died. I remember identifying your mother's body, Kurt, from the rubble of the smashed car. A drunk driver had hit her head on. The 1999 Toyota Camry was crumpled in a pile of metal that didn't even resemble a car anymore. Your mother… I've never been so scared, so sad, so angry all at the same time. When I came home that night and the babysitter was free to go, you rushed up to me with a smile on your face.

"Where's mommy?" you asked in that innocent little voice. I wasn't sure what to tell you. I think you must've seen the look on my face as I walked over to the couch and sat down.

"Daddy, what's wrong?"

What was right? Nothing. Not a thing.

"Kurt," I said trying to regain my composure. I was about to lose it. I locked my fingers together and squeezed hard, attempting to calm down before I burst out in sobs. You looked at me with confusion and worry in your eyes. "Your mother…is gone."

"Gone where?" you ask. I think you somewhat understood what I meant, but I don't think you wanted to believe me. "Indiana?"

"No, Kurt," I said, my stomach tight and my eyes filling with tears. I clenched my jaw, trying to make my voice sound normal. "Gone…forever."

You pulled away from me then. You kept your scared eyes on me before you turned around and bolted downstairs to your room. You left me to sit there, wallowing in my own grief. I sobbed on the couch, happy that you weren't there to see this, but sad that you weren't there with me. We needed each other then.

The funeral was arranged. On the day of you were fooling around with a neatly tied tie that your grandfather had tied for you. He taught you how to tie a bow tie that day. Your mother's father was a kind man. It's too bad he's also gone too. You remember when that happened, don't you? I don't think you remember him much; he was never around except for the funeral and Christmas parties with your mother's family.

You held my hand when we walked into the church. We sat on the front row. Your face was emotionless, your jaw set. Your eyes were brimming with water, but not a tear fell. I think you were trying to stay strong, but Kurt, it's okay to cry.

"Friends and family of Emily Jane Smith-Hummel, we are here to honor a life that was special, that was life altering for most."

I wondered if the pastor every really knew your mother that well. He was just spouting meaningless nonsense about her. Not that it was meaningless coming from someone else that knew her, but from him there was nothing behind it. Not a care or worry behind his tone. He did this a lot.

We placed yellow roses on her body. She looked beautiful laying there, her hair in curly locks, scattered on the pillow. She wore a white dress. They had done well covering up the scrapes and scars from the crash. Underneath was the most damaged, since she had a collapsed lung and internal bleeding. Her organs eventually failed sometime when she was lying in the car. The Ambulance had come too late after passersby saw the car and called 911. I was just glad to see her beautiful face once more, to remeber and to have closure. A single tear slid down your cheek as you laid a rose on her.

"Goodbye, mommy," you whispered. You walked over to me and held onto my waist since you weren't very tall them. I patted your back while I stood there and cried silently. Her relatives and a her close friends placed the roses into place and once that was over, we walked back to our seats. They closed the casket. You didn't watch. I simply stared off into to space until it was my turn to speak. I walked up there, wiping my face with that pocket hankerchief you gave me. I cleared my throat and said my things. When I finished, the funeral seemed to pass quickly. Afterwards we drove to the cemetary and buried her.

It was a sad day, Kurt. I don't think I'll ever forget it. I don't think you will either. You were young, but I'm sure you'll remember. Time may fade the memory, but you will anyways.

So you grew up like a weed after that. Your whole outlook on life changed. You got into fashion and spending your paycheck you got from working in my shop on designer names and stuff. Kurt, you don't have to buy expensive clothes to look good. What do I know, though? I look like a truck-driver as you have mentioned before. You were more independent. I'm sorry if it seemed as if I was avoiding you or whatever for a bit, I just wasn't sure if you wanted me around seeing as you weren't in dire need of me. I was always there watching you. You were bullied a bit in grade-school, and in high school you were bullied even more. I think it was bringing you down. Then you joined glee.

And that's when you smiled brightly for the first time since she died. You looked like an angel and you reminded me of her. You spoke about it to me.

"Dad. It's amazing. I had so much fun today. We did this rendition of Journey's 'Don't Stop Believing' and you will never believe how Finn Hudson can sing. You know Finn Hudson, right? He's the quarterback of the football team. Also this girl named Rachel Berry-who is horrid in everyway, especially her attitude and how she dresses-can sing like none other. I'm probably just as good, but you know how they won't go for a guy singing girl solos. Well, she's probably better. Also we have really talented members. Dad, you would be so proud."

"I'm sure I would, son. Maybe you can get me tickets or something to a show of yours. You wanna hand me that wrench?"

You talked on and on about glee club. I've never heard you talk of anything the way you did like that. Not to me, anyways. Your eyes were bright, your smile was wide... it was nice to see that you were happy and feeling more confident.

I think things picked up with you. You were happier. You looked like a snob sometimes, Kurt. Your nose would be turned-up. I think it was where you were trying to fit in. You're not a snob, Kurt. You don't need to act like one.

You and Mercedes began to be friends, and you were attached to the hip. After school and glee you would come into the shop and tell me all the things you and her had did that day. "Oh, we're going shopping, oh she likes so and so..." I was happy that you had a friend. You never really kept them close. You were off doing your own things.

Then you tried out for the football team. I had never been so proud of you in my entire life. My son the football player. You were the kicker...so what? You were out there in your uniform. I could just picture the trophies, the plaques...all hanging on the wall in the living room where my old things used to be. The day I went to your game and you won... wow. Wow, Kurt. I think I nearly choked a guy in front of me. I was so proud. Your teammates were so happy, so proud. It earned you a little respect. It didn't stop all of the bullying...but it did a bit. You were happier still. I was happy. My son the football player.

"I'm gay". That's what you said. And I said "I know". Of course I knew, Kurt. You are very flamboyant and very obvious. A monkey could tell that you are, well, you know. I accept it, Kurt. I really do. And I'm glad that you are who you are. I'm also glad that you had the gall to tell me yourself. I could tell that took a lot of courage on your part. You probably thought I would be mad and force you to like girls or worse, kick you out of the house. I'm not gonna say that I don't blame you, but you know me, Kurt. I love you with my whole heart. I'd never leave you out on the street because I couldn't live with myself for one thing, and another thing...what if you were to die out there?

I wasn't totally happy with the idea, you know. I mean, I don't care who you are, it's just...like other parents with kids, I've always wanted grand kids. I guess you could always adopt, but they're not actually yours. That's one of the only things that really bothers me, but don't think that you need to jump at the chance to adopt because it's expensive and I don't want you to go all out just for me.

Well. I got more and more used to the idea. Then you were all upset about that solo that you wanted. Schuester wouldn't let you try out for it at first because you're a guy, Kurt, and guys don't sing girl solos or whatever. I disagree with his judgement, but you know how that goes. Not everyone is accepting that you can sing like a girl, and you can like guys like a girl. He's always giving the solos to that Rachel girl, or at least that's what you tell me. "Mercedes is just as good, and sometimes better but all Mr. Schue does is let her sing the part of the song that requires Mercedes's belting talent. Rachel is great, but she isn't soulful like Mercedes. I think we should do more."

It hurt to see you so upset that day, Kurt. You weren't being your usual self. You know, always smiling and going on about music and glee club. Thank God it wasn't about a guy, though. I think I'm more ready to discuss that now. Then I wasn't.

"It's a glee-club thing."

Music. To. My. Ears.

Then I asked, and you told me about the solo and how he automatically gave one of your favorites away to Rachel who was less than happy about that. You reached the high-F, and that was the day I got a call from that son of a bitch saying that my son was a... you get it. You just shrugged it off. "I get that all the time".

Kurt. Why didn't you tell me, huh? That you get called such a word all the time. I thought maybe once or something. All the time?

I won't get into that now, but you can bet that I'll bring that up sometime. My son does not get called a fag. Ever. Even if it's "faggy".

I couldn't believe that you blew the solo for me. That meant...well, the world. My son, giving up what he wanted...for me. You probably didn't have to do that, but it made my day none the less. The Hummels have to stick together, Kurt. Me and you. Maybe add Carole and Finn in the mix soon, I dunno.

That brings me to my next point.

I don't think I can apologize enough for paying more attention to Finn. Taking him out to basketball games, watching sports on TV... I know I can talk with you, it's just... You were never a big fan of sports. As I mentioned early, games of catch were cut off early. Finn is hard-core sports fan like I am. Though it's not excuse. I should've given you more attention because your my son. I was too dense to notice that you were upset that Finn was getting more attention than you had been getting. You know that I would never abandon you, though, Kurt. I love you. Finn is awesome, but he isn't my son.

He needs a father, though. Just like you need a mother. We'll be a family soon, hopefully, Kurt. Carole adores you, you know that? She thinks you're the sweetest kid. Also, I heard she likes Broadway a bit, too. Maybe you and her could spend some time together.

It was hard listening to Finn say those things, and then telling him off about it. I don't care though; my son is never being called a fag again so help me God. Especially not in my own house. Not even a form of that word is going to be said in my house so long as I live and breathe. You, Kurt, are special. It's good you're special. The world would be a mess without people like you to push people out of their safety zones and into a world where there are people who think and speak differently then they do. Hey, even I needed that wake-up call. I needed to hear that my son was gay so I could experience new things and learn from them.

Everyone should do the same. New ideas can be helpful if you let them to be, you know?

I hope your glee club wins your Regional competition or whatever. I'll be there for you, Kurt. Me and Carole plan to go together and scream whenever you all take home that trophy.

I have high-hopes for you, Kurt.

You know what? I love you more than anything.

Since I wrote this story, I'm probably going to delete my other Burt to Kurt story/letter thing.

It's not needed. : P

REVIEW. NAO.