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Surrender And
Dishonour
And Discipline
And Glory
proverb until it was inexpugnable from his mind.
One cannot become
useful without being educated
.
Dan showered, dressed and left for work. Desperate to get out of
the house, I slipped into my scuffed, sheepskin slippers and
embraced the chill of the slowly emerging morning. The sky was as
smooth and transparent as glass, empty almost. Morning dew
latched onto my slippers with every step, my eyes undeviating from
them until I neared a cliff facing Beachy Head. A lone figure stood
watching the overlooking seascape, wearing an oversized trench
coat that smelled of gasoline and sea salt. He didn’t stir as I stopped
next to him. He seemed hypnotised, unconscious even, as he
watched the monotonous rotation of the lighthouse beacon down
at the bay. At each turn, there was a fleeting moment at which the
harsh ray of light faced away from us, engulfed by the morning fog.
And every time, that ephemeral calmness vanished as the rotation
continued, like a heartbeat breaking silence. I, too, must have fallen
into a sort of trance; the continual dripping of a tap and
indistinguishable choking noises startled me, and I woke to reality.
The tramp was gone. I turned back home, heavy with an aura of
lonesomeness.
I knew that feeling all too well. Dan had tried to run away once,
when he was just seventeen. I had let him go, knowing that before
long he would return, drawn back not by my company, but his
dependence on my financial stability.
To tell you the truth
, I was almost
relieved at his relinquishing; he had abdicated respect and honour
and pride long ago, when he wrote his first story, unleashing the
Pandora’s box that was his untamed imagination and desire. His
mother, not as dissociated as I, fidgeted and began to cry.
I looked at
her serious, beautifully lined face
, her bright moistened eyes, and already
I felt myself betraying them.
‘He is your son.’ her voice quivered through her silent tears,
‘What’s more important is not that we have a perfect, disciplined
student, but a son.’
‘There is no discipline here. He is impudent and stubborn and
thinks he can do anything he wants. That is not how life works.’ I
was agitated, angry even, at his childish stories and his childish
mind.
She stood from the worn, threadbare sitting chair, sighed, and
trudged to bed, rubbing her eyes from weariness and from sorrow.
Here is what I believe
– children owe their name to their parents, and
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