15/09/2025
My father, now 83, asked me three times in five minutes what the bird on the fence was. Frustrated, I snapped at him.
A moment later, he returned with an old leather notebook and handed it to me. Inside, I found his words from decades ago: ‘Today my little boy asked me 27 times, “Dad, what’s that?” Each time, I answered with a smile and a kiss on his head. It was a perfect day.’
That little boy was me. And my father had answered me with patience, love, and joy. Yet here I was, treating his fading memory as an annoyance.
The lesson struck me deeply: parents once carried us through every question, every tantrum, every sleepless night. When they grow old, what they need most is not gifts or money — but our patience, our time, and our love.
One day, we too will sit in that rocking chair, hoping for the same kindness we once received.
