Summary: Clark's first show of his abilities and first temper tantrum.
"Daddy, I'm bowed," Clark whined, tugging on Jonathan's blue plaid shirt as he was working on some wood in the barn.
The tall, handsome farmer looked down at his newly adopted son. After three months Clark had grasped the english language fairly well. It was good since the child hadn't known any language known to man when they found him.
Jonathan ran his hands through his sandy-blond hair and tried to think of something that would keep the three-year-old's attention long enough so Jonathan could finish his chores.
Then it hit Jonathan. Jonathan stooped down to his son's level and smiled at the boy. "How about I put up the swing and you can use it while Daddy finishes the chores in here?" Jonathan asked, looking into his son's eyes.
"I help with chores, Daddy," Clark begged.
"No, Son. Remember when you used Daddy's razor? The chores are dangerous and I don't want you to get hurt," Jonathan said firmly, but gently.
"I be careful, Daddy," Clark said, sticking his lower lip out in a pout.
"I'm sure you could, Clark. But the chores will wait until you are big enough," Jonathan said, walking over to the loft.
Jonathan grabbed the tire swing his father had gotten for him as a boy. Jonathan couldn't help smiling. When he was a small boy he wanted to help his father with the chores too. He remembered being mad when his father said "no."
Being mad was what Jonathan would remember in the next moment. Just as he stepped onto the stairs he saw an unbelievable sight.
"NOT FAIR!!!" Clark screamed at the top of his lungs, kicking a post in the wall. Jonathan didn't even have time to think if Clark had been hurt doing that. The post fell in, landing neatly on the straw ground.
"Clark Jerome Kent!" Jonathan exclaimed, causing the little boy to jump guiltily. Clark turned to look at his father. Jonathan's eyees both looked surprised and angry.
Jonathan put the swing up on a shelf and stooped down to his son's level. "What do you mean by throwing that tantrum?" Jonathan said, grabbing Clark firmly by the shoulders.
"Me help, but Daddy no want me to help," Clark said, a huge tear rolling down his cheek as he looked up into his father's eyes.
"You are too little, Clark Kent. In a few years you can help Daddy, but Daddy just wants to make sure you are safe right now," Jonathan said, pulling the little boy into his arms.
"Me no get hurt, Daddy," Clark whimpered slightly.
"I don't know that, Son. But you were very naughty to kick at that beam. You are going to sit there until I tell you to get up," Jonathan said, picking Clark up and putting him on one of the steps leading up to the loft.
Clark sat there quietly until it was time to go to supper. After he had gone to bed that night Jonathan and Martha sat in the living room talking about what had happened.
"How did he knock that beam over, Jonathan? He's just a little boy," Martha wondered, looking at the worried look on Jonathan's face.
"I don't know, Martha. My father and Bill Ross's father put that post in. It weighs at least fifty pounds. No little boy could be able to move it," Jonathan said.
"Could his knocking it over have anything to do with where he came from?" Martha asked, taking a drink of her tea.
"Possibly. Martha, this means that we can never tell anyone that Clark's from another planet. If they knew that he had that kind of strength they could take him away from us. Stick him in a lab," Jonathan said, sounding for the first time as if he was afraid for Clark.
"All right, Jonathan. Are we going to tell Clark?" Martha asked.
"When he's older. He's too little to understand it right now," Jonathan said flatly. The secret was kept for twelve years before Jonathan and Martha told Clark's secret to him.