My father rarely scolded me and I don't remember him ever raising a hand against me. His instinct was more to teach me right from wrong in a way I would never forget. Once, when I was six years old, I stole a new crayon from a friend, shiny and bright red. I don't know what came over me to take it; red wasn't even my favorite color. Maybe it attracted me because such an item was a luxury in our village, and therefore rare. I took it home proudly, without giving my action its proper name: theft. My father remained calm when he found out the origin of the shiny red crayon, unlike my mother, who at first shouted and eventually cried because her son had become a thief. No matter how much my father tried to explain my mistake, he was met with the wall of childish innocence. “Why, Dad, was it wrong that I took it? Christos has others! He wouldn't even notice! But I don't have a single crayon!” I don't know exactly when my father came up with the way he would teach me a lesson I would never forget. However, after a week, he brought me a huge iron truck, painted with shiny green oil paint. A precious and hard-to-find toy for the time, and I still remember today how joy overflowed in my chest, swollen with pride for my possession, which was unmatched anywhere in the area.
15
92
€
Delivery
by Mon, 27 Jul
14,00 €
shipping cost
Sent from Greece