Title: My Father's Son
Author: Elizabeth L. Iacono
Rating: PG
Category: Vignette
Keywords:
Spoilers: None
Summary: I am my father's son.  I am a believer...

I fully blame Paige and Frogdoggie for this....My 
pain in the ass muse wouldn't let it go though....
But I thank them so much too, because without
them and their chats I never would have written
this. :-)

Disclaimer: Anyone XF related isn't mine.

Feedback: I'm not sure I should be asking for it, 
this isn't my typical fare.  But, if you want to, 
send it to RhiaRamsay@aol.com

Archiving (if it ever makes it that far): I'll 
send to Gossamer, Ephemeral, Xemplary, Legacy, 
and KTF can all have it.


My Father's Son
Elizabeth L. Iacono


My mother always says that I am my father's son.  
Normally, that would be all right, but it puzzles 
the hell out of me, because I am nothing like my 
father.

My father's name is Walter Skinner.  He's the 
ex-marine who fought in Vietnam, the hard-ass 
FBI assistant director who, in my eyes, does 
absolutely everything by the book.  He's an 
all around good guy, and I know he loves me 
and my mom (her name is Dana Scully) very much.

What I can't figure out is how I, Andrew Fox 
Skinner (God, you think they could have picked 
a better middle name when I was born) ended up 
being totally different from him.  Dad's had 
such a big influence on my life, and yet sometimes 
I feel like we're from two different worlds.  
I guess I would call myself a believer.

Did you ever feel that there was something 
more out there than what they were telling 
you?  Like if you look up at the sky and you 
know that there's not just stars out there, but 
maybe some other civilizations, and those people 
are there looking back at you and wondering the 
exact same thing.  I like to think I'm open to 
extreme possibilities.

For my thirteenth birthday a few years back, Mom 
gave me this poster that I think sums me up 
pretty well.  It's a simple poster (and kind 
of old too, when you take a close look at it), 
trees and a blue-sky background.  In the sky is 
a flying saucer.  At the bottom of the poster in 
big white letters are the words 'I want to 
believe'.  I think that's become my credo in 
life.  When I told Mom that she almost began 
to cry, for some strange reason.

Mom is a doctor, a pathologist, so she deals 
with facts that she can scientifically deduce 
daily.  Dad is the same way.  His daily dealings 
mostly have to do with bureaucratic problems and 
the occasional problematic agent.  Neither of 
them have anything to do with the mystical or 
fantastical.  I wonder what would happen if 
either one of them ever saw an alien, or something 
that science can't explain away.  Stroke or heart 
attack, take your pick.

Sometimes though, Mom has her moments.  Some 
nights I'll catch her staring up at the stars, 
as if she were looking hard to find something.  
I wish I could make her happier than how she looks 
during those times, but I get the feeling that 
there's only one thing that can.  If only I knew 
what that one thing was.  I think Dad has an 
inkling of it, because when she gets like that 
he gets all sad and sympathetic too.

I wonder if nervous habits are genetic.  I don't 
think so, because if they were I would constantly 
be running my hands through my hair like Dad does 
(well, in Dad's case it's over the bald spot 
where his hair once was).  Instead, I resort to 
sunflower seeds.  I don't know where I picked 
that up, but some people smoke when they get tense, 
I suck down sunflower seeds like a parrot.  This 
is yet another habit of mine that gets those looks 
from Mom.  I wish I knew what she was thinking of 
when she gives me them...

I love my parents, I really do.  But some times I 
can't help wondering if I was adopted.  I don't 
even look like my father!  I've got my mother's 
skin coloring and her nose, however the rest of 
it I'm having trouble pinpointing.  What bothers 
me the most are my eyes.  According to most people 
I know, they're hazel.  Mom's eyes are blue and 
Dad's are brown.  A friend of mine told me that 
it could be a recessive gene, that that's the 
reason that she and her sister have blue eyes 
when the rest of the family has dark eyes, but 
that just seems so...so logical.

All right, Drew, now you're reaching for extreme 
possibilities that definitely aren't there.  I 
guess my imagination has a tendency to get away 
with me sometimes, thinking that I have some 
special destiny when I'm really just an ordinary 
kid from Alexandria, Virginia.  My parents love 
each other and me and are supportive of just about 
anything I do.  So why does something feel so out 
of joint and missing?  I am ordinary.

My friend doesn't think so.  One day when she was 
over my house (this is the same friend with the 
blue eyes) I did something typically strange and 
weird, and she called me Spooky.  Yeah, it was a 
little insulting but I got a kick out of it.  
The really strange part is that Mom was in the 
room when she said that.  Mom actually smiled, 
this really soft smile and said 'That's something 
you definitely get from your father'.

Let me be the first to say that Walter Skinner is 
definitely NOT spooky.

But I am.  And I don't mind it.  It makes me feel 
different, and special.  I can only hope that 
there's someone else out there who knows how I 
feel, what it's like to be the spooky one.

And no matter what, I am my father's son.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I'm still blaming Paige and Frogdoggie for 
starting this little conspiracy. ;-)

And thanks to IWTB for all their wonderful
feedback on this story that made me very
nervous! :-)