Even heroes have the right to bleed

Other than about a hundred head of cattle? Not that much. Really.

[locked to those who know]

Okay, so I guess I 'command' my abilities, but I don't really think those count. I mean, do you think you have command over your own body because you can walk, or breathe, or blink? That's pretty much how I feel about the supposedly special things I can do.

Command over my wife and daughter? Ahaha. Ha. Excuse me while I go laugh myself silly. It's pretty much the other way around. Zoe throws chairs through walls and teleports to Greece on a whim. No control there. As for my lovely wife, well, I wouldn't want to command her anyway. She's more beautiful when she's free.

And the JLA, well, no. I don't command them at all. If anyone does, that's Oliver's gig and he's welcome to it. They're a great group and I don't mind helping them out, but I don't think I'll ever be cut out to lead a whole bunch of heroes on a regular basis.

[/locked]

So yeah. Cows.

My dad's watch kind of fits all three. It's old because he had it as long as I can remember, given to him by my mom on one of their anniversaries. It's new because it wasn't mine to start with, so it was an addition to my wardrobe. And it's borrowed because he didn't exactly give it to me, not that I think he minds in the least that I have it.

It's not even that fancy a watch. The band is a generic black leather. The face is square and silver, the numbers gold on a marbled white background. The back is scratched and worn, but the engraving is still legible: “To JK, The love of my life. MK.” The batteries never last long and the only reason the leather hasn't worn through is because I save it for special occasions.

It's one of my most prized possessions and I almost let it go. Stubbornness will do that to you, sometimes, especially when it's combined with grief. I don't know if I'd actually miss it if Lana never found it, or if I'd have gotten over it. Part of me thinks I would, the other part isn't so sure. It's not like it's the only thing I have left of my dad's, but somehow, it seems all that more important.

I guess I'm just glad I didn't have to find out.

Kents don't hide, not from anything. They stand up strong, take on whatever the world wants to throw their way and deal with it the best they can. They're a rural minded family, to be sure, and they've even been called reclusive by some. But hide? Never.

Clark wishes he had that part of the Kent DNA. His whole life has been about secrets and lies, purposefully leading people down the wrong path. Hiding. He can't even say he puts on a good public face, because he was really bad at it when he was younger.

He used to wish things were different, that one day,m he wouldn't have to hide any more and everything would be fine. Clark knows that isn't the case now, which doesn't exactly make him feel better about what he has to do, but it's an odd sort of comfort. He just has to go about life the way he was taught to growing up and over the years, his skills have improved.

Sometimes, he can even hide from himself.

Clark doesn't have a way with words like Chloe does, or Oliver's business acumen, or even Lois' ability to talk her way in to and out of any possible situation. And he certainly can't put someone at ease the way Eirene can with just one of her smiles. But Clark is talented.

It has nothing to do with his abilities. Those aren't talents or gifts, as his parents liked to call them. It's just the way his anatomy works on this planet. You wouldn't think a human was talented because they have a beating heart, so Clark isn't talented because he can shoot fire from his eyes. ...even if it is pretty damn cool.

What Clark has is football.

It might seem a stupid thing to some people, but it's something he can do without his abilities, and do it well. He can throw a perfect spiral to the right teammate, he can cradle the ball so he doesn't lose grip, he can run with the best of them without even thinking about turning on the superspeed. He helped Smallville High win the State Championship his senior year. He earned himself a full scholarship to Met U, along with several other schools around the country. He's good at it.

And yet, he gave it up. Clark hasn't played football in years, now. He never accepted any of those full rides to post secondary education; he hasn't sought out a just-for-fun league to play in on weekends, likely because he knows if he does, he'll never be able to give it up again. He also knows that giving it up was the right thing to do.

Talent may recognize genius, but it takes a person with their head truly on straight to recognize when talent for talent's sake isn't enough. With great talent comes responsibility and Clark's enjoyed his. He has more important things to focus on now.

I feel like there's some big expectation for me to start waxing poetical about redemption and of course it's possible, don't be silly, it shouldn't even be a question. But I'm not going to, because while I think the idea of redemption is amazing and there are certainly people who have striven for and would be considered to have achieved it, I also think it's a very subjective concept. And that it is just that: a concept.

People do questionable things every day. Some of those things are deemed horrific and evil by society's standards. Some of them are deemed to be only minor infractions. Naturally, we think the latter is easier to overcome than the former, but if someone consistently errs on a smaller scale is it really better than someone committing a more major crime once? Are they more worthy of being “saved”, a “better” candidate for redemption? Society seems to think so. We'd rather help and rehabilitate the habitual petty thief than the one-time murderer.

What does that say about us as a society, then? What makes the majority the final word on who has been redeemed, who is worthy to be considered a good person again when we don't really want to put the work in to help everyone on the same level? It's a bit hypocritical, frankly. Only those who conform, who act the way society thinks we should are acceptable.

I suppose the better question to be asked is what is redemption? Is it acceptance by the general public? Is it truly enough for everyone else to think you've changed, you've bettered yourself if you don't feel it yourself? There are plenty of people out there who can fool most of the people most of the time into thinking they're truly repentant for their past behaviour. Does it make them redeemed because society believes them?

I don't think so. To me, redemption is something that only you can give yourself. You have to accept your past deeds, realize there's something inside you that needs to be changed and then make that change for yourself, not because someone else wants you to. Support is wonderful, occasionally vital, but when it comes right down to it, you need to be comfortable with who you really are, mistakes, flaws and all.

It's also not something I think there are half-ways about. You either have to want to make up for everything you feel badly about, or not at all. You can't pick and choose; the change has to be complete. Being okay with robbery but not with murder is splitting hairs. You either want to be a good person, or you don't, and you have to make that choice for yourself. And if you're okay with who you are, regardless of what you've done in the past, then you don't have anything to be redeemed for.

I'd like to think I've got a pretty good handle on English. Mom says I was a quick learner and caught up to the other kids my age in just a few months after they adopted me. I did well in school and wrote for the high school paper. Write for a national newspaper now and I have a feeling my grasp of the language had something to do with that. Despite all the little red circles Lois likes to decorate my copy with.

Aside from that, I'm actually fairly useless with other languages. My Spanish is terrible and anything else is non-existent. I should probably work on that, but one day at a time.

[locked to those who know]

I do, of course, know another language, but it isn't all that useful in day to day life. For the average person, anyway. I seem to get enough use out of it that I don't regret having it anymore, but given what I generally have to use it for I sometimes wish I didn't need it. I'd almost rather have learned it on my own because I wanted to, not because it was decided for me that it was knowledge I required.

Still, I'm glad I know it. It helps me feel connected to my past and my heritage and there aren't all that many things left which do that.

I am an only child.

My parents couldn't have children of their own, so they adopted me. I'm sure they would have liked to have adopted ten more, but that just wasn't feasible. I'm grateful every day that I was the lucky one they decided to take in and love as if I was their flesh and blood, even if they are a bit overprotective. I can't say I blame them for taking every precaution to guard against losing the one thing they'd wanted more than anything else.

I almost did have a sibling, once. When I was fifteen, my mom got pregnant. The doctors bantered around the word “miracle” a lot, but the human body can just surprise you sometimes. I remember being jealous briefly, but I was old enough to know that nothing was ever going to change how much my parents loved me. Mostly, though, I was excited. I was really looking forward to being a big brother. But that didn't happen.

[locked]
They'd be six now. Starting school, following me around trying to help with chores, gearing up for the Smallville Harvest Festival frog jumping contest. I don't understand how my parents were able to forgive me. I don't think I ever will.
[/locked]

Biologically speaking, I'm also an only child. I've been fortunate enough to have learned some information about my birth parents. Seems they have a little in common with my adoptive ones, in that they had difficulty having children. Apparently, I was my mother's “miracle baby”. Which is and isn't nice to know all at the same time. They died not long after I was born, so they never had the chance to try for more, but I have a feeling I would have been the only one even if they had.

Even though I never grew up with one, I've recently had the opportunity to get a feel for what it would be like to have a sibling around. Technical blood relationship aside, I think I'll always consider Kara to be more like a little sister than I will a cousin. And not just because it's a way to annoy her by calling her “little”.

I am an only child. But I'm not alone.

[locked to those who know]

I've been sick exactly twice in my life. The first time was when I was fifteen. I ruined my perfect attendance record at school. I don't really remember much about how I felt because I was knocked out for most of it and the parts I do remember, I don't really want to talk about.

The second time, I was nineteen. I no longer had an attendance record to ruin, just a city to help rebuild and I wasn't going to shirk that duty. In retrospect, I probably made myself sicker by doing so, but it had to be done.

I guess what I had was something equivalent to a human cold. My head felt like it was going to explode. I was exhausted. And I sneezed. For the first time ever. It was actually really interesting and very hard to describe. It also kicked in what is commonly (well, at least to those of you reading this) known as my “superbreath”. That was also interesting, although rebuilding the barn door was an extra chore I didn't need. Nor did I really need Lois wondering why our old one had fallen out of the sky miles away and almost crushed her.

By the way, that? Is hysterical now. You have no idea how many times I want to tease her about it, but I can't. It's a tough life, sometimes.

I have to admit having mom fawn over me was kind of nice. I think she actually enjoyed it, never having been able to do this when I was younger. And I have to agree that nothing tastes better in the world when you're sick than chicken soup.

But aside from those few bright spots, being sick pretty much sucked. I have no idea how everyone else puts up with it on a semi-regular basis.

[/locked]

I'd say he got it half right. The past is never dead. There are definitely more than a few events in my life that I will never be able to forget, unless of course someone steals my memory. Again. But I don't really think that counts. Me as myself, I will never not be able to remember the pain I've caused, the pains I've seen. Or the joy, but somehow that tends to get outweighed. Still, those feelings, being able to replay those moments like a movie in my head will never go away. Not ever.

But the past is the past. Unless you're into time travel and then all bets are off. But I'm not, usually, so yeah. The past is behind us. I know it might not always feel like it with the memories lingering around, but just because you don't forget something doesn't mean it's present. The events are done. Finished. Any action you take because of it are either present or future. And once those are done, then those are past, too.

I've always sort of envied people who really can let the past go, not let it colour how they view the future, or the present. I can't imagine that kind of freedom. And yet on the other hand, I kind of feel sorry for them, too. Remembering your past and in some cases honouring it can shape who you are. If we don't learn from our past, what point was there to it? If we're all here for a reason, shouldn't learning be it?

[locked to those who know]

When you're Clark Kent, super powered alien from another planet and sort of protector of, well, the world, five minutes can encompass any number of activities.

On mundane, regular days when nothing unusual is going on and he's just a regular guy working on a farm, five minutes can be spent baling hay, or fixing things around the barn, or plowing the fields, harvesting corn, and of course the two-time-a-day favourite – milking cows.

If chores are done for the time being, then five minutes can be spent on reading, or watching the news, playing catch with Shelby, talking to Chloe on the phone, running in to Metropolis to bug Chloe at Isis.

Of course, time can also be relative. If superspeed is involved, you can get a hell of a lot done in five minutes. Or if you're stuck in the Phantom Zone (again), five minutes might not actually be five minutes. Pocket dimensions tend to do what they like with space and time.

Activities on the unusual days are even more wide and varied. It could be five minutes battling the latest meteor freak, or talking to the AI representation of your biological father housed in an ice castle in the arctic, flying for the first time, teaching your newly found alien cousin how to use her super hearing or welcoming ex-girlfriends back from the dead.

The bottom line is, in Clark's world, five minutes can be spent on almost anything, but his favourite way to spend it? Having one on one time with a nice, warm piece of apple pie.