What Do We Work For?

‘What do we work for?’ Monday reflects, when his son tries to buy an hour of his time.

For money, or for the ability to spend our time & money with our loved ones...

Monday felt grumpy these days, and returned home late from work. He was on call, and there was talk of recession everywhere.

People were losing their jobs, home and happiness and he was worried about his big mortgage.

The strain was beginning to show on him, and in his family and work relationships.

“Work less!”Joy admonished him often these days.

“And who will pay the mortgage?” he would answer, almost reflexively. “I’ve got to take the work while it’s there.”

Dinner table chat was grim, if and when it did happen. Monday just ate his dinners lost in his own thoughts, and barely noticed his food or family around him. Joy was worried, but she understood his anxiety.

Today was no different, so Monday was shocked out of his reverie when John suddenly asked, “Pa, how much do you make an hour?"

"$10," answered Monday unhappily, a little surprised at the question.

"Oh!" the little boy replied. His big black eyes looked contemplatively at his father, as he mulled over his answer.

Monday had a beggar’s choice in the matter. He did whatever he needed to do, to put food on his table. He also ran a tight ship. Joy was a thrifty manager too, making do with whatever they had. Paying bills came first for them, even though not much was left for anything else after.

So, money talks these days reminded him of his plight. He hated talking about it, because there wasn't anything more he could do to remedy his affairs. But John had meant him no slight, he knew.

No one spoke at the table again until dinner was almost done.

“Why did you ask?" he finally asked his son.

"Pa," John perked up immediately. "Can I borrow $5 please?"

"Is that why you asked?" Monday flared up. "To get some silly little toy or lolly? Go to your room. Off to bed. I work too hard, to waste money on such nonsense."

Quietly, the boy got up from his chair, walked out to his room and shut his door. Monday too, eventually calmed down. He loved his son dearly.

‘Maybe, there is something he really wants,’ he thought. ‘He has never really asked me for money before!’

Monday walked up to his son’s room, and slowly opened his door.

"Are you asleep, son?" he whispered in the darkness.

"No Pa, I'm awake," replied the boy. He was in his bed.

Monday came in, and sat down on the bed beside his son.

"I am sorry I was rude to you today,” he said. “It's been a long and tiring day. Here's the $5 you asked me for."

John shot up straight, and hugged his father tightly.

"Oh, thank you, Pa!" he beaming brightly in the darkness, crumbling the note in his tiny palm.

Then, reaching under his pillow, he pulled out some change.

Seeing that John already had some money, Monday felt his temper rising again.

"Why did you want more money, if you already had some?" he asked grumpily.

"Because it wasn't enough," John replied. "Here’s $10, Pa. You can now come home an hour early tomorrow. It’s your birthday.”

Monday

tossed and turned in bed that night, thinking of how his son must have saved and skimped, to collect his ransom. What he must have sacrificed.

‘Time slips through my fingers like sand,’ he thought. ‘I’m missing all the beautiful colors of rainbow, looking for a pot of gold.’

‘What have I achieved, if I can’t spend $10 worth of my time with those dearest to my heart? When things are gone, one can buy new things. When people are gone, they are gone forever. If I die tomorrow, my boss would replace me easily. But my family will feel my loss for the rest of their lives.'

He thought of Barbara Johnson’s words, ‘To be in your children’s memories tomorrow, you have to be in their lives today.’

He rued, that focused on reaching, he had forgotten that half the fun was in getting there. Together!

‘Whom do I work for?’ he reflected. ‘For those who pay me money, or those with whom I’d rather spend the money.’

Late that night, he finally resolved, ‘I must pay the price for what I really want. After all, there are no free lunches in life.’

Sleep came easily to his troubled mind that night.

Let Them Grow Roots

Let them grow roots, if you want them to grow tall and strong.

Insightful story with parenting tips for overprotective parents.

Trust in the genes & let kids be...

“If only his trajectory could correct, he’d become something,” said smart. “Then I could die in peace.”

“Have faith in your kid,” sighed Mary. “Smart has your genes. Trust them to lead him through. In the meantime, it’ll help your trajectory a lot, if you can stop being so overprotective of your child.”

“Not everyone can be the queen bee. We need the queen bees, but we need the worker bees too. Leave them to their destiny. He will become what he was meant to become.”

‘Maybe he was meant to be insignificant,’ Smart thought, staring gloomily into his drink, his mood somber. ‘Maybe I have unrealistic expectations of him!’

‘Everybody is a genius, he remembered reading somewhere, but if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.’

“It is useless to suffer for things we cannot change,” Mary told him again, “and useless to suffer for things we can. Get on with your life. And leave him to his. He’s a survivor. He’ll make it!”

Smart turned away from her, staring blankly outside his library window, his mood still not lifting. She came to him then, and messaged his temples.

“Ina forwarded a story on WhatsApp today,” she said. “About a couple of people who lived across from each other, their units separated by a compound.”

“It so happened, that they planted identical saplings on their sides in this compound. The younger of the two neighbors gave her saplings lots of water and manure. The elderly neighbor gave hers just a little.”

“Soon, the youngster’s saplings grew into leafy, lush green, robust plants. The elderly’s plants were normal too, but much less luxuriant than her neighbor's.”

“Then there was a storm one night. Rain beat down upon the earth with a vengeance, and the gusty winds tore at it. It was a night of terror.”

“The next morning, both neighbors emerged gingerly out of their havens to inspect the damage outside, and tend to the cleaning and repairs.”

“To the youngster’s surprise, all her plants lay uprooted, while all her neighbor's stood unharmed.”

“Amazing!” She blurted out to the elderly lady. “The fate my plants have suffered despite such good care! Yours have all survived even though they were hardly cared for.”

“The elderly woman's answer was very insightful…” Mary paused, and looked at Smart. “A lesson worth remembering.”

He was listening attentively, his drink forgotten in his hand. She continued:

“Look young lady,” the retired woman replied. “You supplied your plants everything they needed. You were so generous, they did not have to go out in search of anything. So, their roots never went deep.”

“I supplied my plants just enough to keep them alive. For the rest, their roots had to go deep down into the bowels of the earth to fulfill their needs.”

“Since your plants’ roots were superficial, the storm felled them easily. Since my plants’ roots were deeply grounded, they withstood the onslaught.”

“Just because I did not do what you did for your plants, doesn’t make me uncaring, or less caring than you. Sometimes, less is more!”

Her story finished, Mary

touched him lightly on his shoulders. He sat unmoving, as if in a trance.

“The same applies to our children,” she whispered again, driving her message home. “Give them time. Let them grow roots. They will grow tall and strong.”