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Sometime ago, there was a man in my hometown who really wanted to be a great
writer. He thought very much what his book would be about, and he came to
a conclusion: His book had to be about a different theme, a theme none of
the other writers had written yet and his book had to be interesting for
most of the readers. Time went on, and after days and months and years,
he was still not able to find a very interesting theme to write about. Meanwhile,
he worked very hard to support his family, trying to give them what he thought
they deserved. He also tried to keep close to him, his relatives and friends,
being good to everyone. At last he decided his book would be the history
of his own life. He wrote about his childhood-- which he remembered as a
happy one-- with his parents always at his side. He mentioned the time when
he was teenager: when he became free (to a certain point), his first girlfriend,
his first kiss and even his first caresses to the skin of a girl older than
he. He made a narration of his life as a student and finished up by talking
about his marriage: his fine wife, the respect, fidelity, sacrifices and
love with which they fulfilled their lives, leaving all that to their children
as a legacy. The pages of his book were written in a simple way, with kindness,
loyalty and humility, his own virtues. As it always happens in our lifetime,
this man also had free enemies who wanted to stop him on his development,
especially because he was a free thinker and always looked happy and got
enthusiastic about everything. Paying close attention to these facts of
life and getting them in a positive way, he got to know who his real friends
were: those who were close to him in bad or good happenings of his life.
His book was copyrighted, printed and put on sale at several bookstores,
but not very well accepted. He did not care that his name was not on the
book, he had used a pseudonym to publish it. He had hoped his book would
be helpful to the readers, but this was not the case. At that time, the
people were thinking more of "having" than in "being." |
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Of material goods rather than spiritual rewards: Philosophy, truth, loyalty
and discipline were not in practice. Everybody could see that envy, grudge,
treachery and corruption were all around. The people wanted "to have," no
matter what. The only thing the people did not care about was their own
dignity. Once, a fifteen year old boy went into a bookstore, and his attention
was called by a book which he took from the shelf and started reading. A
salesman came right away and told him: "If your are going to buy that book,
you have the right to read it, otherwise, it is forbidden by the rules of
the house to open the books and read them over here. We sell only brand
new books and please understand me, we do not know if the hands of a customer
are clean or not. Buy it and read it, it is a good book." The boy bought
the book, though more on his pride that on his interest for it. But once
he had bought it, he started to read it. As he was reading the book, his
interest increased. He found many examples of how to live a good life. He
understood the great effort that parents make to educate their children
and lead them on the right path of life. He started to respect all the people
more and more, especially his own family and became a good man. He wanted
to be a good man indeed, because of the example of the author of that book
named "My life." At the age of thirty five, "the boy" had accomplished several
tasks. He had gotten a University Degree, a good job and formed a family
to which he was devoted. His three children, (two sons and a daughter,)
and his wife made him very happy. He never forgot the book, it was always
on his night table and he consulted in frequently. One night he got curious
about the real name of the author: "Who was this man who made me the way
I am?" Next Saturday morning, he went to the publishing house to try to
find out the real name of his favorite author. Fortunately, an employee
of the company had the records on hand and he could get the name of whom
he was so grateful. When he saw the name, he let out a sigh of satisfaction
and pride, thinking: THANK YOU, MY FATHER, FOR WRITING THIS BOOK!!! |
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