I hear slow footsteps coming down the stairs. I smile to myself. I know he'll admit that he broke something. He's a good kid. An extremely good kid. More well behaved that any other child I know.

It's almost as if he doesn't want us to have any reason to send him away, like his real parents did, whoever that were.

Of course, his mind does wander and he slips into his own world where he forgets what his Mom tells him, sometimes, but then again, what child doesn't?

"Mommy?"
"Good Morning, sweetheart. Yes?"

I turn around and a small gasp escapes my mouth before I can stop it. I bite my lip.

There in his hands lays the shattered pieces of a little porcelain figure my father had given me from a business trip in Japan. The last souvenir I ever received from him. Soon after that, I married Jonathan, and all little trinkets stopped coming my way.

Clark's little face was filled with remorse, he looked like he was about to cry, he knew how important it was to me. Another stran- I mean different thing about Clark is that he never cries. I have never seen one tear slip down that boy's face.

"Oh, sweetheart. It'll be alright. When Daddy comes back we'll see if he can fix it. Don't worry."

I kneel down beside him and wipe a tear from his cheek. I take the broken pieces from him and place them on the table. One of the pieces cuts me and I hiss in pain. Quickly I rinse my fingers under water and reach into a drawer for a band-aid

"Mommy? Did you cut yourself? Are you bleeding? Will you be alright?"
"Yes to all your questions Clark."

Clark always becomes intensely interested when someone gets hurt. I marvel at how he never gets injured, and so far, his skin is unbreakable. I've never seen him bleed. Bruises, yes. But they disappear within a few hours. He hardly even gets those any more. In fact he hasn't had any in about a year. And that only happened because he was fooling around in the tractor's engine.

And he never gets sick. Ever. My own little miracle.

"Clark, what happened? How did my doll break?" His face falls as he remembers what happened.

"I...I was trying to reach for something under your cabinet but I couldn't reach it, so I lifted your it to get...the thing. And that's when it fell off the top."

"You lifted my 200 pound oak cabinet with one hand while reaching for something with the other?"

He swallowed and nodded. Completely oblivious to the strangeness he just admitted to. I sighed.

"Well, please try to be more careful in the future, sweetheart. And no lifting up furniture without permission, or something else might break. So, what was it you were reaching for?"
"Umm, well, it was..um.."

Just then the door swings open and in walks Jonathan.

"Hey Sport! You're up already - great! I need your help with the tractor. Hey beautiful."

We kiss as I serve everyone some food. I say the prayer for the meal and we begin to eat.

"What exactly do you think Clark is going to do to help you with the tractor?"

Jonathan looks at me sheepishly. "Well, my jack's broken. And..."
"And?"
"Well, I need Clark to lift it up and put it onto some cylinder blocks."
"You want our son to lift the utility tractor?"
Quietly he adds, "Actually it's the row crop one."
"Jonathan! No! You're just going to have to buy a new jack."
"Martha, I know he can do it."
"No, he's only six years old, Jonathan, he's never lifted something that heavy before, it could be dangerous."
"He's not your average six year old. Just let him try. Please."

My eyes shift to Clark, who's watching our argument intently. My mind imagines him lifting my cabinet with one hand easily. I sigh.

"Oh, alright. But only if he wants to."
Jonathan turns grinning to Clark. "How about it Clark? Wanna help Daddy with the tractor?"
"Yeah!"
"You don't have to make it sound so exciting." I shake my head as he laughs and finishes eating.
"Thanks for all the good food, Mom." Jonathan says as he stands up and kisses me on the forehead.
"When you're done, come out to the barn, son."

I turn to Clark who super speeds eating his meal.
"Thanks for all the good food, Mom!" He says excitedly. It's not every day we ask Clark to use his powers.

"Clark, honey, wait. What was it you were reaching for?"
"Oh, um, this."

He takes something out of his pocket. It's a little wooden fairy. Fairly well crafted by a six year old.

"Clark, did you make this?"
"Yeah, with my pocketknife."
"It's beautiful. But I still wish Daddy never gave you that knife."
"It's not dangerous. It can't cut me."
"I know. This is beautiful craftsmanship Clark."
"It's..it's for Lana."

I smile.

"I'm sure she'll love it Clark."

He sticks it back in his pocket, flashes a grin at me and super speeds out the door, leaving a trail of blown napkins in his wake. I've got to warn him about that. Anyone could be walking up the driveway and see him. Oh, Clark there are so many warnings and cautions in your life. Too many for a child his age.

I quickly clean up and head towards the barn, to see what mischief my boys are up to.