Father and Son (and the seagulls)

An elderly father and his son sat on a park bench near the ocean. It was a sunny day, and the seagulls were out in full force, always alert to see what they could scavenge.

The son in his mid-forties, was looking at his phone like most younger people these days and not really looking at the world around him, like his father was.

“What do you call those birds again?’ asked the father.

“They are seagulls, Dad,” replied the son.

After a few minutes, the father asked his son again, “What did you say those birds were again?”

“Father, I have already told you , It’s a seagull.”

After a little while, the father again asked his son the third time, “What sort of birds were they?”

The son became agitated by the father’s persistent questions and inability to remember. “It is a seagull, a seagull, OK,” the son replied in a harsh tone.

The father thanked him and returned to watching the world, but his son’s tone hurt him.

A little while later the father went to speak again. His son cut him off as he put his phone down, “I have told you three times, it’s a seagull, don’t you understand?” snapped then son.

Tears formed in the father’s eyes. The son, noticing these, suddenly felt guilty.

“I can remember when you were young, you asked me many times why the ocean was blue,” the father said.

“Each time I answered you with the same reply. I was not upset, if anything, I was overjoyed that you were taking such an interest in the world around you."

“You seem to forget about that, and now that I am older and my memory is not good, you get irritated with me. I heard you the first time, but I wanted to see if you had compassion."

"I have my answer,” he said, turning away to watch the ocean again, "I won't bother you again."

This is an adaptation of a parable about a father and a son that I recently read. It brought tears to my eyes as I remembered the patience my mother had shown when I was young.

I bombarded her with questions and was never satisfied with just one answer.

“When can I go out to play?”

“What time is it?”

My favorite concerned milk.

My mother would sit down with me in front of a bottle of a bottle of milk.

She would say to me, “milk, m-il-k.”

I would reply, “Luke,” because I could not pronounce milk for some reason. We would go through this repeatedly. After each failed attempt, she would smile and start again. Never did she get angry or frustrated. This continued for a year until I finally got my mouth around milk.

Now, at 92, her memory is not as good as it could be. She often repeats the same sentences or reiterates the same stories.

I smile to myself and think about all the times she has shown patience and hope that when I am her age (if I am ever her age), someone will be kind enough not to get upset with me if I do not remember.

We all need to remember and practice patience. Life goes too quickly, and it will not be long before we need the compassion of others.

Till next time,

Calvin