"Daddy Forgets" is written by W. Livingston Larned and is simply worth reading to remember what is very important: Instead of condemning and criticizing others, perhaps it would be better to try to understand them , to try to understand why they act in a certain way.

Listen, son: I'm saying this while you're asleep, with your little hand under your cheek and your wet blonde curls against your forehead. I have sneaked into your room alone. Just a few minutes ago, as I sat reading the paper in the library, a suffocating wave of remorse washed over me. I came to your bedside with guilt.

Here's what I was thinking, son: I've been hard on you. I scolded you while you were getting dressed for school because you hadn't wiped your face properly. I scolded you for not cleaning your shoes. I yelled angrily as you threw some of your things on the floor.

In the morning I found something wrong again. You spill the stuff. He does not chew food well. Put your elbows on the table. Put a lot of butter on the bread. And as you went to play and I went to the train, you turned and waved and called, "Goodbye, Daddy!" and I frowned and said:

"Keep your shoulders forward!"

Then I started all over again in the late afternoon. As I walked out into the street, I saw you on your knees, playing with your eyes. You had torn your socks. I humiliated you in front of your friends by ordering you to go home. Socks were expensive - and if you had to buy them yourself, you'd be more careful! Imagine son, told by a father!

Do you remember, later, when I was reading in the library, how you entered timidly, with a kind of hurt look? When I looked up from the paper, annoyed at the interruption, you hesitated at the door. "What do you want?" I told you. You said nothing, but ran quickly and threw your arms around my neck and kissed me, and your little arms clasped me with a love which God had ordained to blossom in your heart, and which not even neglect can wither.

And then you ran away, climbed the stairs. Well, son, a little while later the paper slipped from my hands and a terrible, sickening fear came over me. What has the habit done to me?

The habit of finding fault, of scolding - this was my reward for you. It's not that I didn't love you; but I expected too much. If I measured you with the step of my years.

There was much that was good and beautiful and true in your character. Your little heart was as big as the dawn itself over the broad hills. Your spontaneous impulse to run up and kiss me and say "Goodnight" showed this. Nothing else matters tonight, son. I have come to your bed in the dark and knelt in shame!

I know you wouldn't understand these things if I told you when you were awake. But tomorrow I will be a real father! I will stay with you and suffer when you suffer and laugh when you laugh. I will bite my tongue when I want to say something. I'll keep saying as if it were a ritual: "He's nothing but a boy—a little boy!"

I am afraid that I have perceived you as a man. Yet as I see you now, son, lying and weary on your bed, I see that you are still a baby. Yesterday you were in your mother's arms, with your head on her shoulder. I asked a lot, a lot.

- Translated and adapted by Anabel.