Martha wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes, then immediately returned to being her brisk, no-nonsense self, a Midwestern farm wife.
She turned, gave the strips of rag hanging off Clark a look of distaste, and urged him:
"Clark, get upstairs and wash all that mud off! Look at your clothes. They're so torn up I wouldn't even use them to mop the floor! Hurry up and put on something clean before you come down. If you dare track mud onto the living room carpet, I won't let you off, alien or not!"
"Yes, ma'am."
Clark smiled helplessly and hurried upstairs like an obedient child.
Half an hour later, the atmosphere around the dinner table was warmer than ever.
Having changed into a clean plaid shirt, Clark looked much more refreshed.
Steaming beef stew and sweet apple pie filled the table, and the fire in the hearth bathed the little house in warmth.
As Clark took large bites of pie, he opened up to Solomon and talked about his childhood.
"Honestly, if it weren't for my adoptive parents, I have no idea what I would have become."
Clark looked at Martha, his eyes full of gratitude, then said to Solomon,
"They found my spaceship during that meteor shower and brought me home. My adoptive father, Jonathan Kent... he was a truly great man."
Clark set down his fork, his tone growing somewhat wistful and heavy:
"When he discovered I had strength far beyond an ordinary person's, he didn't exploit me, and he wasn't afraid of me. He taught me how to control my temper, how to restrain that power with human morality. He always told me I would change the world someday, but until I was ready, I had to hide who I was, even if that