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3854Ficlet: Like Father, Like Son or Maybe Not! 1/1 PG

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  • kittenrescue
    Dec 5, 2001
      Title: Like Father, Like Son Or Maybe Not!

      Author: Karen

      Email: Kittenrescue@...

      Disclaimer: The kids are my creations, everything else is stolen...I mean borrowed, yeah, that's it...borrowed.

      Rating: PG

      Archive Rights: Any site with automatic rights, Dolphin Haven, Mutual Admiration and anyone else who already has my other stuff.

      Feedback: Absolutely.

      Summary: Logan muses about his son.

      Note: This is the result of a plot bunny I tossed at the DDFH list that just happened to ricochet right back to me.

      {{ Logan's POV }}

      Houston, we have a problem.

      I walked into the rec room and found the kid bouncing up and down on one end of the couch, putting the inner springs to the test as usual. At the other end of the couch getting jarred by all the bouncing was a boy a little younger than the one doing the Tigger impersonation. The younger boy was attempting to read - something he did voraciously.

      "NATHAN!" I shouted in exasperation.

      The bouncer stopped, turned to me and innocently said, "Yes, Uncle Logan?"

      "What have you been told about jumping on the furniture?" I asked futilely.

      "Don't," Nathan replied with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.

      "Then why are you?"

      "Cause it's raining and I can't go outside to use the trampoline," he replied in way of an explanation.

      Nathan Summers was a one-kid mini destruction force, hurtling through the mansion like a small hurricane, usually leaving a path of devastation in his wake. Jeannie was constantly running behind him cleaning up the mess and apologizing. Sam, the fruit of my loins, however, was the quiet one, the well-behaved one. I'd once joked with Marie that she musta had a secret affair with Scooter to have produced such a stick-up-the-ass kid. She replied, in that case I musta had an affair with Jeannie for her to have produced such a hellion. Needless to say, that was the first and last time I made that particular joke.

      I would've sworn the two kids had accidentally been switched at birth, if not for two things - they'd been born six months apart and Sam looked exactly like a miniature version of me, right down to the same shade of hazel eyes and the wild hair that refused to be tamed. It always stuck up in every direction, no matter how much of that goopy gel Marie used on it.

      I walked over to the couch and looked down at my son - the nerd. He was sitting there with a book perched on his lap. All he needed was the pocket protector, the bow tie, a pair of glasses with tape around the bridge, and an asthma inhaler to complete the picture. But he didn't show any outward signs of nerdyness. He looked perfectly normal. So while he may have looked just like me, he obviously had something recessive from Marie's side of the family, cause he was way too well behaved. I'm probably the only parent on the planet who cringed at hearing their kid say "please" and "thank you". I'd plant the kid in front of the tube watching hockey games, hoping to teach him about macho guy shit. Instead, he pointed out when the players were breaking the rules.

      I used to take Sam with me on recon missions to sabotage Scooter's stuff and do various other amusing things, until he kept ratting me out to Marie. So it was Nathan who now helped me put playing cards on the spokes of Chuck's wheelchair, superglued shut all the toilet lids on the first floor and put pink dye in the washer with Scooter's tidy whitie undies. Well, Nathan *was* my little partner in crime, until Jeannie said I couldn't play with him anymore. Something about being a bad influence. Now I don't feel so bad that I replaced her birth control pills with placebos.

      It seemed the more I tried to mold my son into a little wolverine, the more he resisted. For every *harmless* prank I tried to teach him, he'd do penance by eating his vegetables or brushing his teeth without being told. I hated to admit it, but my son was a lost cause. He was gonna be a good kid.

      However, I did have a small ray of hope. My salvation became apparent one afternoon when I walked into the rec room and was just in time to catch St. John taking it on the side of the head from a flying Barbie doll. I watched as Hayley, the two-year old miniature version of Marie, proceeded to launch the Ken doll at Bobby, while giggling mischievously.

      Now that's my girl.


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