A Father’s Mercy

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Daddy was an unusual person. He grew up in an era when cowboys were real. His favorite memory was a cattle drive with his father and his best friend. His was a life of responsibility and a no-nonsense approach to whatever needed to be done. That does not mean he was dour: he loved music, playing with us kids, and was a friendly, albeit controlled, sort of man. Indeed, people always greeted him warmly. Of his eight children, he had to raise seven unaided by his wife (my mother) who was ill and unable to be with him and us at home. When I was five, he became an original “Mr. Mom,” remaining home to do all the things a housewife does to care for all of us. Since I was the youngest child, I learned from my older siblings to obey Daddy. From him, I learned to do my tasks without complaining, to be on time, to be thoughtful, of others and of animals, to be honest and self-controlled, to be responsible, to never tarnish our family name, and that I could rely on him.

When I was ten years old and got my first watercolor set, I sat on a bench under the trees to paint. I really enjoyed sketching and coloring, and this was my first attempt to paint. Since we could never really afford extra things, this set was quite special to me. One of the neighborhood boys who was three years my junior came to see what I was doing. Ordinarily, we played together well, but today his older naughtier brother accompanied him, so my friend acted differently toward me. He began shaking the table upon which lay my paint and a small tin cup of coal oil. I told him several times to stop but he would not. I still cringe at the thought of my actions that day. Without thinking of the consequences, and in anger, I tossed the coal oil at him. It splashed into his face. He ran home crying, and I hurried home as well. My heart pounding, I told Daddy what had happened and what I had done. I knew I had let him down and felt ashamed. Daddy could see how I felt but had no time to say a word to me because my little friend’s mother was at the door demanding to talk to Daddy. She unloaded on him with all her motherly fury-and I could not blame her at all. Daddy just listened to her tirade without saying a word. After she left, he turned away from the door and went on with his work.

What a surprise! I thought I was in for a scolding and possibly being grounded, or at the very least having my watercolors taken away from me. But his silence was sufficient. He knew my anguish would prevent me from doing that again. As I wiped away my tears, my sister Betty took me aside and said, “Sissy, if you can’t control your anger you may one day hurt someone badly. I know you don’t want that.” And she was so right! I could hardly believe the mercy Daddy showed me, and that he had trust in me to have learned my lesson.

Interestingly, a few days later my little friend and I discussed what had happened, why it had happened, and how each of us felt. We agreed to never do things to each other-and hopefully to any other person-again that would endanger or hurt them.

Discussion: Have you ever acted thoughtlessly? Have you ever hurt someone and was sorry for it? What did you learn from it?