In­vest in your chil­dren..!

Pakistan Observer - - FRONT PAGE -

Ihim­self T was a case of sui­cide! The man in his late thir­ties had thrown

down from his build­ing. I read the news item and read the dif­fer­ent re­ac­tions from friends and fam­ily. “Why did he do it?” asked his grief stricken fa­ther, and as I looked at his pho­to­graph in the tabloids, I found I knew the man.

It was twenty five years ago, I was just out of my teens and worked for my fa­ther, an in­te­rior de­signer. We were do­ing a flat on the ground floor of a build­ing and the owner a huge gi­ant of a man seemed pleased with our work. My fa­ther had told me he was a smug­gler and ran a flour­ish­ing smug­gling busi­ness along the coast. “I want you to do my other flat,” he told me, “come up and let me show you” I went up with him to the sixth floor and door was opened by a lovely lady with beau­ti­ful gray eyes. They hugged each other in front of me. I knew it was his mis­tress.

My dad and I started work­ing on the flat, but what I re­mem­bered so well, was his wife down­stairs who with tears in her eyes would ask me ques­tions about the pretty lady up­stairs. What I also re­mem­bered so vividly were her three lit­tle chil­dren who hud­dled in a corner lis­tened to their mother as she wept over her hus­band’s kept woman. He was a smug­gler. He had to show the world he could get away with any­thing. At least that’s what he thought. To­day as I looked at the photo of the fa­ther in the news­pa­per, the fa­ther who had lost his son, I re­alised it was the same smug­gler: An old man now, who asked the world, “Why?” Why did my son do it?” I don’t know what the im­me­di­ate cause for the sui­cide was, but I can imag­ine the boy spent an un­sta­ble child­hood know­ing his fa­ther was not as good a man as fa­ther were sup­posed to be. And fa­ther cried, “Why? Why did he do it?”

Once a lit­tle boy of five was left along with his dad at bedtime. It had never hap­pened be­fore. Af­ter an evening of fun and games, the fa­ther fi­nally got the lit­tle fel­low into his night­clothes and was about to lift him into bed with the child said, “Daddy I have to say my prayers.” He knelt down be­side his bed, joined his hands to­gether, closed his eyes and prayed: “Now as I lie down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep.” That was his usual prayer, but tonight he opened his yes, looked up at his dad and added, “Dear God make me a great, big good man like my daddy..!”

In a mo­ment he was in bed and five min­utes later fast asleep. The fa­ther had tears in his eyes and knelt down by the same bed and prayed, “Dear Lord, make me a great, big man, like my boy things I am..!” God gives us chil­dren for a time, To train them in His way, But they will never learn a thing, If we dad’s don’t show the way..!” —Email: bob­s­ban­ter@gmail.com

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