Many years back, when man was much happier a being, because he found life’s pleasures in the simplest things, a little boy went to an ice cream parlour. “Excuse me, Ma’am! How much for a Sundae?” he asked the waitress behind the counter.
The waitress was busy taking other orders. The parlour was always this full in the evening. Without even looking at the boy, she said, “50 cents!”
The little boy dug into his pocket and started counting the money he had.
“And how much for a vanilla ice-cream?”
The waitress got impatient. ‘Why can’t he just read the menu card??’ she thought.
“40 cents!!” She said impatiently.
“Alright. So please bring me a vanilla ice-cream. I’m sitting right there, at that table” he showed.
After a few minutes, the waitress served him the ice-cream, along with the bill.
The little boy had his ice-cream. He enjoyed every bite of it. And when he was done, he walked to the counter, paid the bill, and went away, as happy as ever.
Moments later, the waitress came to clear up the boy’s table, and what she found almost made her cry. On one corner of the little boy’s plate, she found a tissue neatly folded into a small square. When she unfolded it, she found something that made her cry. 10 cents. Her tip. The little boy took a vanilla ice-cream instead of a Sundae, just so that he could tip her 10 cents.
Once little Rob had gone with his parents to watch a local football match, where his brother was playing. The game was at a nail-biting climax, and Rob’s brother was to play the penalty kick. Amongst the cheers of the crowd, his father, excited, shouted out to him: Come on, son! Just do it! Show em’ you’re the number one!!
At this, little Rob pulled gently at his father’s sleeve and asked: ‘But Papa, what’s wrong with being number two?’
His father looked at him, knowing he didn’t have an answer.
Jeanne tugged tightly to her teddy and shut her eyes, trying to sleep. She tried not to listen to her parents yelling at each other in the other room. This happened often. And whenever it happened, little Jeanne couldn’t get sleep. This time, she switched on the light of her room, sat on her desk with a paper and pencil, wrote something on it, and when she knew her parents must’ve gone to sleep, she went quietly to their room and slid that piece of paper under the table-clock. She then returned quietly to her room and slept. Next morning, her parents found that piece of paper, and felt deep shame as they read it. Her daughter had written in her shaky handwriting:
I love you. But I feel very sad when you two fight with each other in the night. I know it may be important to fight, but it makes me cry. It makes Teddy cry, too. So can you make a little change? Can you please fight from 5 p.m. to 6 p.m. in the evening, when I go to play with Sylvia? You can also fight when I go to school. So that we can be happy in the evening and in the night. I know it is difficult, but please do this for me. Won’t you?
Good night, Momdad. Sweetdreams.
Once a little boy was asked by his Mom: Baby, what do you want to be when you grow up?
“I don’t want to grow up, Mama!”
“And why is that?” the mother asked, puzzled.
“Because then I’ll become as big as Dad, and then you’ll never love me so much. You’ll never put me to sleep, or sing me a song, or cook me my favourite dishes. You’ll not say ‘I love you’ many times, and so I won’t say ‘I love you, too’ many times either. I know I’ll look smart and have lots of money, but I won’t get to be with you all day. And when you grow older like Gramma, you’ll need me all day, won’t you, Mama?”
Mama tried, but couldn’t stop her tears. All Mama could do, was hug him tight, and cry.
“The birth of every child is a message, that God has not yet lost his faith in mankind.”
– Rabindranath Tagore