JONATHAN KENT

"I knew this day would come. I knew there was going to be a day when Clark would want answers, a day when he would question everything he thought he knew.

I mean if these were questions any ten year old asks, the situation would be different. It seems somehow easier to explain what traffic lights are than laying down the concept of pain, or clarifying why it is that other kids can't pick up tractor tires with one arm. I knew this would happen. There was going to be a day when Clark would start asking questions to which we do not have the answers for. I suppose that happens to everyone, to every parent. I suppose there always comes a day when parents can't teach their kids anything else.

I just wasn't expecting it to be this early."

Sitting on the other side of the table, Martha looks at me. She has that look on her face, a look I've seen for years, but I'll never be used to. Her hair is up in a bun and her head is slightly tilted to left. There's a half smile on her mouth and her grey eyes lay on me with the sweetness of a mother's kiss. This is a look of pride.

"What?" I ask, knowing perfectly well what her answer will be.

"Nothing." She says, unsurprisingly. "I'm just proud of the man I've married."

No matter how many times she says that, the words still slice through me like a hot knife in warm butter. Proud isn't exactly what I thought she would be ten years ago when we found out that I was infertile. By then I thought it would be it, the thing that would make Martha reconsider the relationship. That night, ten years ago, when I ran out of the house and closed myself in the barn, like children hide when they've done something wrong, when I thought the Kent family wouldn't go on for another generation, was both the saddest and happiest moment of my life.

That thought makes me look out the window, through the farm. It looks beautiful. The crops rise high, above six feet tall, with the orange light of sun down giving it a gold colour. It seems all but fitting as it is a priceless image. Through those perfectly trimmed yellow fields, however, there's a black trail that starts just halfway.

That must be where Clark is.

"Go to him, Jonathan." Martha says while suddenly grabbing my hand. "He is going to need you, now more than ever. He's going to start to change soon, he will have all these questions, all these doubts. God knows what he will be thinking or feeling. You'll have to be there by his side. Jonathan, Clark will need his father."

The part of me that thinks I'm not Clark's real father gets quickly shutdown. Martha is right. I need to be there. Clark is my happiness, my world. He is my son.

I get up and kiss Martha on the forehead. "Keep an eye out" I say. She strokes my face and smiles. I open the door, a razor sharp wind makes me pick up my red wool scarf. I start running towards the crops, the sun is quickly going down, giving place to the night and involving the farm in darkness, making my job of following Clark's trail all the more difficult. I don't want to call him because I know he won't reply and, worst case scenario, will start running or will jump eight stories high and disappear. I seem to be on the right track, though.

And, sure enough, I am.

I don't know what I was expecting to find when I found Clark, but surely wasn't expecting to find him so calm. He's just laying down on the floor, arms and legs spread out like a five pointed star, and he's looking up to the sky, silently watching the night conquering the light of day. He seems happy. Perhaps he knows that's where he belonged, one day, out there by the stars, perhaps, in his mind, he's flying with them. Any word I say now will only make him crash back to Earth, so I decide to lay down next to him and, with him, observe the darkness unfold.

We stay like that for a good five minutes, just the two of us, looking up. I have to fight the urge to say anything or even look at Clark. I feel like this is the time for him to ask me whatever he wants, so I won't pressure. Almost as if he was reading my mind, Clark breaks the silence.

"Dad?" He says, in a childish voice that melts my heart. "I'm sorry."

I know a father should be assertive and sure of himself but, at this moment, I am not. I sit up slowly, though, and turn my head to Clark. The bright moonlight shows me that whatever happiness was on his face the moment I laid down, has now vanquished. Clark seems sad and disappointed, I can also see that he's holding back a tear.

"What are you sorry for?" I almost surprise myself by how warm I sound.

"For not being like the other kids. For not asking the questions they all ask. I'm sorry for not being someone you and mum can help with when I need to pick something up, or when I need to clean up my room. I'm sorry that I've never had a bruise or that I've never bled so you can take care of me and look after me. I'm sorry that I've burned half the crops last spring when you showed them to me. I'm sorry that I froze my birthday candles when I blew them two years ago. I'm sorry I'm not normal."

Clark has sat up as well and was unable to stop himself from crying. His eyes were starting to glow in a familiar shade of red, the same shade they were glowing after lasers came out of them in the spring. I picked up Clarks head and turned it to me. He closed his eyes, probably afraid he was going to lose control and burn me, or worse. But I didn't care.

"Clark, you listen to me. You don't have to apologise. Not to me, not to your mum, not to anyone. All you need to do is learn. The things you can do, the powers you have, they are great gifts. Sure, no one else can do what you do and that can seem terrifying but, in time Clark, in time you will control all your powers." I felt confident with my words. "Open your eyes."

"I...I can't...I might hurt you." Said Clark, terrified.

"You are my son. In your brightest days or in your blackest nights you will never hurt me. The only thing you can do is make me proud. You make me proud of the powers you have. You apologised about burning the crops, but do you forget how it took you about ten minutes to replant everything? I am proud of who you are and I'll be proud of the man you will become one day, because you are my son." I paused, astonished of the speech I'd just delivered. Who knew Pa Kent had that in him? "Now open your eyes, Clark. Look at me."

Clark opened his red eyes and they looked like they were going to turn to fire at any moment. The bright red colour was ready to explode.

"I can't control it, dad." Cried Clark.

"Yes you can. Just think about it. You are in command of your own being. Just think about not seeing red." Despite the security in my voice, I have no idea if it will work or not. The only thing I know is that I trust Clark.

Slowly, his eyes started to loose the red colour and went back to being the two drops of the purest water you can find. Clark's head then tilted forwards, he looked exhausted.

"Are you okay?" I asked, holding him now in a hug.

"Yes. Yes I am. But I'm starving." He replied, both the words and the hug.

"Don't worry, I think Ma is cooking your favourite." I assured just as I started smelling the scent of sausages and pan fried corn. There was no reply from Clark and, as I looked over, I realised that he had fallen asleep on my shoulder. Carefully, I removed my scarf and placed it around his neck and covered the back of his blue tshirt, I picked him up and carried him towards the house. In that moment, that simple moment, I was happy. I had my son in my arms, floating in his land of dreams, and, for the first time in a while. I was sure of myself.

As we got closer to the house, Clark twitched and woke himself up.

"Dad?" He said, still with his head on my shoulder.

"Yes son?"

"Thank you."

And suddenly, it felt like the night had turned into day.