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A pile of mangled metal lay in the field behind my house.
It had, at one point, been my car.
I give my child the look and he wilts.
"Mom, I -."
"What did I tell you about using your super powers," I ask as serenely as I can manage.
"To not do it where anyone else might see," he mumbles, head down.
"And?"
"To keep control of my temper."
"AND?"
Clark looks up at my use of the mum voice. "Not to do anything that might hurt others," he recites in a near whisper.
I point to my dress covered in dirt and my skinned knees.
He winces. "I didn't mean to throw it so far mom. I just wanted to see if I could lift it and it went up in the air."
"If I'd been one more step to the left, or hadn't hit the dirt and rolled when I did, the car would have landed on me."
Horror crosses his face as he realises just how close we'd come. His fist clench and tears spill.
"Come here, Clark.” I say, as I kneel down and draw my little boy in for a hug.
Clark accepts my embrace, face pressed to my chest. He doesn't hug back. The last time he did so he had cracked my ribs.
It grieves me that he does not know his own strength but he has begun to understand the limitations of mine.
"I'm so sor-ry mom,” Clark stutters out around sobs.
I stroke his head and his tears gradually settle. "I know my darling. But you need to be aware that whenever you use your powers you could really hurt someone.”
“If you don't want me to use my powers, I'll stop,” he promises. “I don't want to hurt anyone. I don't want to hurt you.”
And though he is only four I can tell he would try to limit himself for my sake. My heart breaks a little.
“Then how would we get the car back to the barn, hmm. Your dad is busy out in the field.”
He brightens. Clark loves when he gets mom approval to use his powers.
It’s a risk, I know, but he needs to learn how to control himself. More than that, he needs to know that I trust him to do so.
And honestly, he can't do much more damage to the car.
“I don't want you to throw it again.” I instruct. “See if you can carry it all the way there. Put it down gently if it’s too much.”
He listens to me so intently, little brows furrowed together. When I finish he nods.
I smile. “I'll walk ahead and open the barn door for you.”
"Sure mom," he says happily and jumps in one bound to the far side of the car.
Clark waits till I have reached the barn before he tries to lift the wreckage that used to be my car. Far more cautious this time, he does not fling it across the field. I sigh with relief.
As Clark walks toward me, fully supporting the car overhead, I wonder, for the millionth time, what my special boy will become.