padre, what of the youth?

One time, a son asked his father about the meaning of youth.

Padre, what was your youth?

Father looked at his son and tried to regain his stories from the past, how he ended up there and not anywhere. His son asked again.

Father, when I was at school, there was this family time when my class had to tell stories about their parents; how they met; how they fell in love; how they called upon sacred bond called marriage; how they had children; I want to know anything before my existence. Where is Mother?

As a Father, he knew that his son deserved to know these things because of his age. But again, before he could start telling, his son asked again with the same tone and topic.

Father, one of my friends told the class about how their parents met. It was so cool and romantic. Imagine that his mother met his father back in high school, a reputable one too. They even went to the same college and their romance grew even stronger. My friend, he told the class that his father was the perfect match for his mother. He described things like this: his father is more like social person; he tends to be in the crowd, being the center of attention; he was a leader of some kind back in high school and college and even in his quite busy time, he still could get an awesome rank of graduation, well, how do I call this, GPA or something?; his mother was also a smart woman; she grew up in the city and was well educated. Father, do you know this college? Yeah, his parents went there too. They were the center of attention, a sample to be followed, and a couple people had been dreaming of. I just could not imagine how proud my friend was.

Father, my turn is tomorrow to tell the class about our family but until now you have not told me anything about you. Mother said that everything about you is for you and telling them to people is up to you. Why would you not tell me? Father, when they asked me about how you were, I just gave them smile and tried to convey anything to them so they could change the topic. When teachers asked me what you do for a living, I was lost in so many ideas which were unknown; was it right, wrong, or just there was not any?

Would you agree, Mother if Father just tells us about how you two met? I really want to know everything behind your life. Everything before me, sister, and brother were born. Would you, Mother?

Mother smiled and looked at the Father. His tired face and grey hair showed the boy how old he was and how he owed so many things to tell to his eldest son. Mother started to speak.

Father, I have also been wondering when you would tell me everything about you. We met with nothing so special about it. We met after we saw each other in college and you surprisingly know my life before your eyes in a second when I now have nothing know about you. Why don’t you sit here with our children when I prepare some tea for us to relax? I bought the red tea you like back in the market.

Father looked at his family. Telling his stories which was jet black would easily awaken his old wounds. He would plainly disgrace himself in front of his family: his beloved children and wife. When he stepped into marriage, he made a decision not to open anything related to his early life. He chose to ignore, even to forget if he could but in the end, everything about him would always be with him for life.

He sat with his children on the floor while his eldest son was preparing his pencil and some papers. Mother appeared from the kitchen and was bringing the family a set of small tea party. Mother joined the circle, took a sip of her tea and began to listen his husband telling the story of his youth, or in fact a tiny part of it.

They said only being alone would protect your stories, your past, your life. But again, there is no such thing as being alone forever for people would be forever people and stories were to be told sooner or later. Even if the they had to be told by Death himself after life.

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