Father Forgets — Touching Words From A Father To A Son and What We Must Learn From It

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“I will speak ill of no man, ‘he said, ‘.... and speak all the good I know of everybody.’ ~ Benjamin Franklin

One of my priority this year is to be the best version of myself. For me to accomplish this feat, I need to break bad habits and develop good habits. I want to influence people positively and also build true and lasting friendship.

Just yesterday, I learned a vital lesson from a touching story that I will share with you shortly. The title of that story is Father Forgets and I got it from the famous Dale Carnegie’s book “How To Win Friends and Influence People.”

I found out that there’s one trait that stops us from cultivating meaningful relationships. It is very very difficult to do away with this trait. It seems embedded in our nature. We exhibit it every where we go and every single time.

It is very sweet when we do it to others but yet, painful when it is done to us. Well, incase you’re still scratching your head wondering what it is, I’m talking about criticism. Have you ever thought about the fact that you’ve been too judgemental about someone and have condemned his/her behavior harshly?

Let’s get into the story and see what a father has to say to his own.

FATHER FORGETS

Listen, son: I am saying this as you lie asleep, one little paw crumpled under your cheek, and the blond curls stickily wet on your damp forehead. I have stolen into your room alone. 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 a towel. I took you 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. You 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. Stockings were expensive—and if you had to buy them, you would be more careful! Imagine that, son, from a father!

Do you 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 across in one tempestuous plunge, and threw your arms around my neck and kissed me, and your small arms tightened with an affection that God had set blooming in your heart and that even neglect could not wither. And then you were gone, pattering up the stairs. Well, son, it was shortly afterwards that my paper slipped from my hands and a terrible, sickening fear came over me.

What has habit been doing to me? The habit of finding fault, of reprimanding – this was my reward to you for being a boy. 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 years. And there was so much that was good and fine and true in your character.

The little heart of you was as big as the dawn itself over the wide hills. This was shown by your spontaneous impulse to rush in and kiss me good night. Nothing else matters tonight, son. I have come to your bedside in the 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 hours.

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 tongue when impatient words come. I will keep saying it as if it were a ritual: ‘He is nothing but a boy—a little boy!’ I am afraid I have visualized you as a man. Yet as 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.

MORALS OF THE STORY

Here are some things to consider if you want to have a nourishing relationship with others:

– Instead of condemning people, try to understand them. Try to figure out why they do what they do.

– Show tolerance, kindness, and sympathy to others. You might be strong, you might be right, but give people a second chance to right their wrongs. We all deserve second chances.

For me, the biggest goal is to try my best not to criticize, condemn, or complain. It is something worth trying to attain.

Thanks for reading.