Stepping Up

Prologue

From the moment Kurt was born, Burt knew he'd lay down in front of a semi-truck for the kid. He'd never forget getting that first glimpse of his baby boy. Nor would he forget taking him from Elizabeth's tired arms and walking him around the room as the nurses tended to his beloved wife. He'd whispered so many promises to Kurt that night. He promised to always love him, always protect him, always provide for him, and always be there for him. In short, he promised to be the perfect father.

Eight years later, and he'd kept those promises. But as he took his little boy's hand and led him away from his mother's funeral, he began to have doubts. Being a father had been hard enough, how in the world would he be both father and mother to his kid?

But like any difficult thing you think you won't be able to do, you've just got to grit your teeth and dive right in. And that is exactly what Burt did. He got Kurt up in the morning, fed him breakfast, got him to the bus stop on time with a packed lunch, heck, he even helped him with his homework. (At least he tried)

Those first few months after Elizabeth's death were all about survival. Taking each day as it came. If Kurt was fed, clothed, and keeping up in school, Burt figured things were going well. And for awhile, that worked. Burt didn't even have to think about what to do if Kurt stepped out of line because the kid was too grieved to even consider pushing boundaries. But then Kurt bounced back, as kids tend to do, and push those boundaries he did.

It started small. Kurt refused to do the dishes one night, Burt excused the behavior as over-exhaustion and simply did them himself. For Burt it was no big deal, "If this is the worst I'm seeing out of the kid them I'm doing a pretty good job," he thought. Unfortunately, he was wrong. Dishgate, as he'd later come to think of that night, was only the beginning

The next morning, Kurt didn't want to eat his oatmeal. A few well-placed cutting remarks from his angel about the oatmeal's consistency/taste and Burt found himself counting to 10, taking a deep breath, and counting to 10 again. Later that same day at the shop, Burt stuck his head into the employee lounge expecting to see Kurt studying his spelling words. But Kurt was nowhere to be found. After 20 minutes of frantic searching, he found Kurt making a decorative mobile (complete with glitter glue) out of the spark plugs his mechanic, Mike, had laid out for a job that afternoon.

"Kurt, what do you think you're doing? You know you're not allowed to handle parts you find around the shop. Let alone use them for some arts and crafts project," Burt said attempting to keep his cool.

"Whatever, Dad. This is so not a big deal. I only used 4 spark plugs. Mike can just go and grab 4 more from the box in the back hallway. A new shipment came in this morning, I saw the delivery guy drop it off. Now go away; I need to concentrate. I gotta to add a bit more glue to the top left corner, it's not catching the light the way it should." And with a casual wave of his hand Kurt turned back to his work.

Mike, who was standing just a few feet away, kept himself quiet as he watched the scene before him unfold. It was hard work keeping the look of shock off of his face. If, at 9, he'd spoken to his father in that dismissive tone, he wouldn't have been sitting down for a week. Heck, if he spoke to his father that way now, he was sure the conversation wouldn't end well.

Burt was at a loss. He simply couldn't believe that his son was acting so disrespectfully. What was he supposed to do now? He couldn't ignore this kind of behavior.

"Kurt," Burt said firmly.

Kurt reluctantly turned and looked at his father in a most exasperated way.

"Kurt, you are going to apologize to Mike this instant for interrupting his work. Then you are going to put that glitter glue away, get your school stuff from the lounge, and go wait in the car for me. We are going home now."

"Dad, I..."

But Burt cut him off before he could utter a single protestation.

"Young man, you will do what I say this instant without any backtalk."

Had he just called his son "young man?" Where had that come from? And when had he become his father? Burt pushed those ideas out of his mind, and left Kurt to his apologies while he went to find Jerry, the assistant manager. Jerry agreed to close up that night, and in less then 5 minutes time he was driving his sulky son home. The drive home would, hopefully, give him time to figure out what in the world he was supposed to do.

As he drove, hearing nothing more then the occasional dramatic sigh from the backseat, he couldn't help but think of his father. What would his father do in a situation like this? That was easy. His old man hadn't tolerated disrespect, it was a simple as that. If Burt had spoken to his father the way Kurt just spoke to him, he'd have earned himself a trip out to the garage and he'd have eaten his dinner standing up that night.

But Burt wasn't sure he could do something like that to his son. When he and Elizabeth had sat down to talk about parenting, they'd both agreed to do things differently then their parents had. They both wanted there to be more hugs and fewer harsh words. And they'd stuck to that. More importantly, they'd been a team. They'd worked together to raise their son. Now, But was alone, and he knew the way he chose to handle today's poor behavior would define him as a single parent.

All too soon, he was pulling his car into the driveway. He and Kurt got out, walked up and through the front door, and then they were standing awkwardly in the front hallway. After a few tense moments, Burt sighed, he'd made his decision. He told Kurt to go and have a seat on the living room couch.

"Kurt," Burt began, sitting beside his son, "I'd like to tell you a story."

Kurt looked up at him, confusion written across his face. "Is this my punishment?" Kurt thought.

"When I was your age, I started to test the limits your grandparents set for me. I started complaining about my chores, stomping my feet, rolling my eyes, dramatically sighing whenever I was asked to help out, things like that. You're grandparents, for whatever reason, decided to ignore my annoying little behaviors at first. I guess they thought I was trying to get attention. In a way, I suppose I was. More then anything, though, I wanted to see what I could get away with."

"Really, Dad? Cause Gramps doesn't seem like the kind of guy that you'd want to mess with."

"To true, but don't interrupt me. I'm the one telling this story, okay?"

Kurt signed, "Okay."

"So, I went on doing little things and they went on ignoring them. Then one day, I remember it was a Saturday, I decided to put off my chores that morning so I could watch cartoons. Then, after lunch, I was settling in to watch the Buckeyes play UofM and your grandma stuck her head into the living room to remind me to go and rake the leaves out front. I told her I'd do it later and she said that I'd given her that excuse that morning and that it no longer worked with her. "

Burt shifted a bit in his seat before continuing. He knew that for this story to be effective he had to tell the whole thing, even the uncomfortable parts.

"I really wanted to watch the game so, at first, I simply ignored her. When she repeated herself, I got mad. I started yelling back and saying all sorts of disrespectful things but I ended my little tirade by calling her a bitch."

"You did what?" Kurt asked. He was shocked. He'd only ever heard his father swear once, and that was when some psycho almost cut them off in traffic. He couldn't believe his Dad had called his grams that word.

"I did just like I said, Kurt. I'm not proud of it, but that's what happened. Now your grandfather happened to have come into the house to hear the tail end of my bratty rant, including the cursing at the very end. As you might imagine, he was none to pleased by my behavior. He took me by the arm and led me outside. He gave me his pocket knife and told me to go and cut a switch from our hickory tree. Do you know what a switch is?"

"No," Kurt said shaking his head slightly.

"It's a thin bendy branch with the offshoots cut off. It's usually about this long." Burt held his arms out from his shoulders to demonstrate. "And about this thick." He formed a small circle with his thumb and pointer finger for Kurt to see.

"What'd he do after that, Dad?" Kurt asked nervously. Kurt may have been a modern child, but he'd watched plenty of episodes of Little House on the Prairie with his mom. So he strongly suspected just where this story was headed.

"Once I'd stripped the branch of any offshoots, I handed it to my father and followed him to our garage. There he made it abundantly clear that I was never to speak to your grandmother in such a disrespectful way ever again. He also made it clear that both he and your grandmother expected me to be both respectful and obedient and that they'd no longer be ignoring my antics."

"Then what happened?"

"Well, he gave me a little time to compose myself, and then I had to go rake the front yard."

"You still had to do your chores?" Kurt asked. He was shocked.

"Yes, Kurt. My chores weren't a punishment, they were my responsibility to complete. I'd chosen not to do them that morning so I had no choice but to complete them in the afternoon. I remember I got back inside to catch the end of the 4th quarter. Then that night at supper, which I ate supper standing up, your grandmother had made meatloaf and mashed potatoes."

"Your favorite," Kurt chimed in.

"Yep, it was her way of saying I was forgiven. Just like your grandfather watched the end of the game and the postgame commentary was his way of saying it. I never liked it when your grandfather spanked me, he's a big guy and those spankings always hurt, but I did like that once they were over I had a clean slate. Your grandparents aren't the sort of people who hold grudges. I have always admired them for that."

When Burt had finished telling his story, he sat back and was quiet. He wanted Kurt to break the silence. After a few minutes, he did.

"Dad, why did you tell me that story?" Kurt asked nervously.

"Why do you think I told you that story?" Burt countered.

"Um," Kurt took in a slow breath and shifted his gaze towards his shoes, "because I was bad at the shop today."

Burt instantly put his arm around his son's small shoulder, pulling him in for a side hug. "You are not bad. Kurt, look at me."

Kurt did. And as he did Burt saw that there were tears starting to fill his son's eyes.

"Kurt, you are a good kid. You may do bad things from time to time, but you are not bad. Do you understand me?"

Slowly, Kurt nodded and Burt pulled his son close and let his son cry sloppily into his shoulder. After a few moments, Kurt pulled away and looked up at his father once more.

"Dad?"

"Yes, kiddo?"

"Are you going to spank me?"

Burt looked directly into Kurt's eyes for a long moment and then said, "Yes. I don't want to, God knows I don't want to, but yes I am."

This pronouncement set Kurt into a fresh round of sobs. When Kurt finally pulled his tear-stained face away, Burt's left shirt sleeve was a snotty mess.

"Okay, buddy, let's get this over with." With that he helped Kurt get to his feet, took his small hand, and let him outside into their backyard.

They didn't have any hickory trees but Burt soon found a suitable substitute. Finding the branch itself, was another matter all together. Even in this, choosing the instrument for his own chastisement, Kurt was a perfectionist. He wanted to find a branch that matched his father's description exactly. At first, Burt thought he was simply stalling. But then he realized that doing anything half-way just wasn't in his son's nature.

When, at last, the perfect switch had been found, Burt led a now trembling Kurt back into the house. He brought Kurt into the kitchen, pulled one of the kitchen chairs away from the table, and sat himself down facing his son almost at eye-level.

"Kurt, why are you getting this spanking?" Burt inquired calmly. The calm in his voice was an act. In reality, Burt was absolutely terrified, but Kurt couldn't know that. Burt knew that he needed to man up if he was going to get through the next few minutes.

Kurt took a deep breath and then replied, "I was disrespectful to you at work today, and I took things that didn't belong to me." The entirety of this little speech was spoken directly to his shoes. Kurt couldn't bring himself to look at his father. Afraid he'd see disappointment in those familiar eyes.

That sounded about right to Burt. Eager to get this whole affair over with as quickly as possible he began to pull his son closer to his waiting lap while uttering that time-tested parental cliché, "Son, this is going to hurt me far more then it hurts you."

Afterwards, Burt pulled his son into his lap and Kurt once again found himself sobbing into his father's left shoulder. Burt was sure his shirt was going to morph into one gigantic ball of snot, but he didn't care. All that mattered to him at the moment was making sure that Kurt knew just how much he loved him. He hugged his son even closer to his chest and lovingly rubbed his back. As he rubbed small circles into Kurt's back he said, "It's okay sweetie, it's all over. You're forgiven. I love you."

Kurt raised his tear-stained face to meet his father's and managed a weak smile. That was what he wanted to hear most of all.