School went well on Monday and Tuesday. Everyone was in a good mood and even the bullies seemed unusually mellow with the approach of the oncoming winter holidays and had not harassed Kurt even one time. Still, he was growing successively more anxious about his trip to Birch Park as the event grew closer. He pretended nonchalance when Tina and Artie, whom Mercedes had talked into joining her for Emergency Moral Support duty, had asked him for details, but in truth he was feeling increasingly jittery and was relieved to know that he would have some backup. Mercedes was doing him a favor, after all, and he had been prepared to let her off the hook if nobody else was willing to go along, not liking the idea of her wandering through the park all alone.

By the time Kurt got home from school on Tuesday, excitement was winning out over nerves. He would never admit it to anyone, but he knew that the heart of a little kid still beat beneath the cool, fashionable exterior he showed to the world, and that child was virtually doing handsprings and cartwheels at the thought of Daddy taking him to the carnival.

School had let out at 3 o'clock and Dad would be home some time after four. Birch Park was open until 11pm on weekdays, so they were planning to have dinner there and spend a few hours enjoying the sites. Even the thought of greasy carnival food was not enough to dim Kurt's enthusiasm.

Going straight to the basement, he raced through his homework. He knew the quality was probably not as good as usual, but at least it would be done and he could go out with a clear conscience. He knew his father much too well to think that he would be allowed to simply blow off his school-work in favor of playing games.

When Burt Hummel came in the door at 4:30 pm, Kurt all but pounced on him. "Hi, Dad! I did all my homework. Can we go now?"

Burt grinned at the eager words, all jammed together so fast he could barely separate them. "Give me a second to put my stuff away, will you?" Looking his son over, Burt shook his head at the ¾ length plaid trousers, beige silk shirt and matching plaid waistcoat he was wearing. "Go change your clothes, Kurt. It'll be cold out at the park and we're going to be outside the whole time. And there's a chance that you'll get dirty, so you might want to lay off the fancy stuff."

Though Kurt strongly suspected that his dad just didn't want to be seen in public with what he liked to refer to as "my son, the fashion-plate", he could also see the logic in his suggestion. It was only about fifty degrees outside right now and the temperature would certainly drop lower as the night progressed.

"Be right back," he promised.

Dashing downstairs, Kurt rifled through his closet, quickly considering and discarding a dozen choices. Something casual would be best. Pegged blue jeans and the royal blue double-layer Gucci sweater that Aunt Mildred had send him for his birthday, (Hey, the woman was a lush, but she did have great taste in clothes), along with his black lace-up Prada boots, he decided. Kurt briefly considered his collection of hats, but opted against one. His hair was looking more than usually fabulous today, after all. He did, however, grab a long cashmere scarf done in blocks of gray and blue, just for flair.

Happy with his choice, he quickly changed clothes and raced back upstairs to find his dad waiting with a smile, Kurt's favorite black Marc Jacobs walking jacket outstretched in his hands. Kurt grinned and slipped into the coat. A small part of him wondered, as he watched his dad pull on a beat-up baseball cap and shrug a plain, dark brown coat on over his baggy blue jeans and red plaid work shirt, whether anyone would ever guess that they were father and son.

"Ready to go?" Burt checked, patting his pockets for wallet and keys out of reflex.

"Sure am," Kurt told him, surreptitiously checking his own pocket for his cellular phone. He had a good feeling about tonight, but it was still comforting to know that he had Mercedes and company on standby in case he needed them.

As Burt's truck pulled out of the driveway, Kurt forced his excited body to be still as he realized that he was actually bouncing a little in his seat. The radio was playing some country singer who sounded as if he was about to keel over and die, so Kurt rolled the dial in search of something better. He paused for Beyonce, scowling when his dad reached over and immediately gave the station another spin. The next song to come up was some heavy metal band that had them both racing to turn it off. Kurt got to the switch first and decided to try out one of the 'Classic' stations that Finn Hudson always listened to.

"Nirvana?" Burt said incredulously when the song started, his recognition of the band surprising Kurt a little. "That song's not a classic. It's not even twenty years old!"

"It's older than me," Kurt pointed out.

Burt snorted. "I've got underwear that's older than you."

"Ew," Kurt retorted. He changed the station again, this time finding the song 'Pink Cadillac'. Seeing that his father looked happier with this one, Kurt decided to leave it alone. At least it wasn't John Mellencamp.

"Springsteen, now that's a classic," Burt declared.

Bopping his head in time to the music, he started singing along with the radio. Kurt grinned and joined in on the chorus, the only part of this particular song that he actually knew. A part of him was amazed to note that their voices actually blended very well together. It had been a long time since they had done anything like this, and in those days Kurt had not yet had dozens of Glee practices under his belt to give him an appreciation for harmonies.

"How come you always say I get my voice from Mom?" he wondered aloud. "We sing in different keys but you're not bad at all."

Burt glanced at him, surprise in his eyes as he realized that Kurt was serious. "Oh, well, thanks. This is about as far as it goes for me, though. Your mom was the one who always sang around the house, in the shower or cleaning up the house, or cooking dinner. She was always singing something in that beautiful sweet voice that you used to say must be what angels sounded like. You remember that?"

"Sort of," Kurt said. He did remember his mother singing, but sadly the memory was getting dimmer with every passing year.

"Sometimes when I hear you down in the basement, or singing some real high girl's song while you work on a car over at the garage, I have to stop and remind myself that it's not her."

Kurt ventured, "So, it really doesn't bother you that my voice never dropped very much? I had wondered. I mean, I know I don't sound like most guys my age."

"Well, that's because you're not like most guys your age. And it's okay if you're a little girly," Burt assured him. "I'm used to it."

Not quite sure whether he appreciated that or not, Kurt sighed and turned back to the radio dial, searching out another song as the current station went to commercial.

TBC