Evening star., 1948-09-03
FATHER FORGETS.

FROM Mrs. L. j. G., washington. }
Condensed from an editorial that
originally appeared In People,
Home Journal. w. Livingstone
Larned.)
Listen, son: am saying this as
you lie asleep, one little paw crum-
pied under your cheek and the
blond curls stickily wet on your
damp forehead. I have stolen into
your room alone. Just few minutes
ago.. as I sat reading my paper In
the library, a sitting wave Of re-
morse swept over me- Guiltily ]
came to your bedside.
These are the things I was think
ing, 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 the 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 ell
bows on the table. You spread but
ter too thick on your bread. And
as you started of to play and !
made for my train, your turned and
waved hand and called, Good
by, daddy" and I frowned and said
in reply, Hold your shoulders
back"
Then it began all over again in
the late afternoon. AS came up
the road I spied you, down on your
knees, playing marbles. There were
holes iE your stockings. I humil-
lated you before your boy friends
by marching you ahead Of me to
the house. Stockings were expen-
sive-and If you had to buy them
you would be more careful! Imag-
inc that, son, from a father!
Do you remember, later, when
was reading in the library, how you
came in, timidly, with sort Of
hurt look in your eyes? When I
glanced up over my paper, impa-.
tient at the interruption, you hesi-
tated 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 which even neglect could not
wither. And then you were gone,
pattcring up the stairs.
Well. son, 1t was shortly after
ward that my paper slipped from
my hands and 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. 1t was not that I did not
love you; it was that I expected too
much of youth. 1t 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 goodnight. Nothing
else matters tonight, son. I have
come to your bedside in the dark
ness, and I have knelt there,
ashamed!
1t Is a feeble stonement; I know
YOU. would not understand these
things if I told them to you during
your waking hours. But tomorrow
I will be real daddy! I will chum
with you and suffer when you
suffer, and laugh when you laugh.
r will oite my tongue when i'm
patient words come. 7 will keep
saying as if it were a ritual: HE
is nothing but boy, little boy!"
I am afraid I have visualiZed you
as a man. Yet AS l see you now,
son, crumpled and weary in your
cot. see that you are still baby.
Yesterday you were in your mothers
arms, your head on her shoulder.
have asked too murh, too much.
BRAIDED RUG.
(From A. W., Falls Church,