Father Forgets

Tulisan ini disalin, buat ngingetin gw pribadi... kalo anak itu bukanlah orang dewasa yang kerdil.
Diambil dari "How To Win Friends & Influence People" by Dale Carnegie.
Good Book, kalo sempet jangan lupa baca.

Father Forgets
by W. Livingstone Larned

Listen, son: I am saying this as you lie asleep, one little paw crumpled under your cheek and blond curls stickly wet on your forehead. Just a few minutes ago, as I sat reading my paper in the library, a stifling wave of remorse swept over me. Guiltily I came to your bedside.

There are the things I was thinking, son: I had been cross to you. I scolded you as you were dressing for school because you gave your face merely a dab with towel. I tookyou to task for not cleaning your shoes. I called out angrily when you threw some of your things on the floor.

At breakfast I found fault, too. You spilled things. You gulped down your food. Yout put your elbows on the table. You spread butter too thick on your bread. And as you started off to play and I made for my train, you turned and waved a hand and called, "Goodbye, Daddy!" and I frowned, and said in reply, "Hold your shoulders back!"

Then it began all over again in the late afternoon. As I came up the road I spied you, down on your knees, playing marbles. There were holes in your stockings. I humiliated you before your boyfriends by marching you ahead of me to the house. Stocking were expensive-and if you had to uy them you would be more careful! Imagine that, son, from a father!

Do yo remember, later, when I was reading in the library, how you came in timidly, with a sort of hurt look in your eyes? When I glanced up over my paper, impatient at the interruption, you hesitated at the door. "What is it you want?" I snapped.

You said nothing, but ran acroos in one tempestuous plunge, and threw your arms around my neck and kissed me, and your small arms tightened with an affection thet God had set blooming in your heart and which even neglect could not wither. And then you were gone, pattering up the stairs.

Well, son, it was shortly afterwards that y paper slipped from my hands and a terrible sickening fear came over me. What has habi been doing to me? The habit of finding fault, of reprimaning-this was my reward to you for being aboy. It was not that I did not love you; it was that I expected too much of youth. I was measuring you by the yardstick of my own tyears.

And there were so much tht was good and fine and true in your character. The little heart of you was as big as dawn itself over the wide hills. This was shown by your spontaneous impulse to rush in and kiss me good night. Nothing else matter tonight, son. I have come to your bedside inthe darkness, and I have knelt there, ashamed!

It is a feeble atonement; I know you would not understand these things if I told them to you during your waking hors. But tomorrow I will be a real daddy! I will chum with you, and suffer when you suffer, and laugh when you laugh. I will bite my tounge when impatient words come. I will keep saying as if it were ritual: "He is nothing but a boy-a little boy!"

I am afraid I have visualized you as a man. Yet I see you now, son, crumpled and weary in your cot, I see that you are still a baby. Yesterday you were in your mother's arms, your head on her shoulder. I have asked too much, too much.

Aric Alergi
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