Parable 5. A Real Man

 
An elderly man sat on the threshold of his house, intently watching two boys from next door: The older brother was teaching the younger one the art of archery. Intermittently, the older one looked over at the elderly man, hoping to see approval in his narrowed eyes: Everyone in the neighborhood knew the elderly man was the most accurate marksman.
The elderly man watched and watched, then stood up with a loud sigh, waving his hand dismissively in despair and shuffling down the dusty village road with a cane for support.
The older brother, noticing how the elderly man gestured with his hand, raced after him:
“Wait a minute, mister. I’m teaching my brother how to shoot an arrow accurately. I noticed your despair. What did I do wrong? I just want him to become a real man!”
“First, you have to become a real man yourself,” the elderly fellow replied sternly.
“I’m an accurate marksman; I can hit a gazelle in the eye with the first shot. Why do you think I’m not a man?”
“It’s not a beard on your face, nor an accurate shot nor strong fists that make a man,” the elderly fellow said, as he continued on his way, without looking into the young man’s eyes.
“Please, mister, wait up. I grew up without a father and from an early age I tried to be the backbone of the family. No one taught me the wisdom of life. From an early age, I learned how to shoot accurately to support my mother and brother with the prey from hunting. Please, don’t go away, tell me, mister: What have I done wrong?”
When he heard the boy’s voice, his desperate desire for an answer to his question, the elderly man stopped.
“Get your bow and quiver. Follow me. I’ll show you what it means to be a real man.”
In his joy, the boy ran after the elderly man, who suddenly strode at a brisk pace toward the huge oak tree that stood alone at the end of the field. Not far from the oak, the elderly man stopped.
“You have five arrows in your quiver. Will all your arrows hit the trunk of the oak?”
“Easily, with my eyes closed! I don’t even need to aim,” the boy replied excitedly.
One by one, all five arrows plunged into the tree.
“Now, take all the arrows out of the tree, look carefully, and tell me what you see,” said the elderly man.
“I took out all the arrows, sir, but no matter how much I look, I don’t see anything,” the boy replied at a loss.
“If you don’t have mercy and compassion in your heart along with courage, you aren’t worth a cent. I’ve been watching you. You taught your brother archery, insulting and belittling him with the same ease that you shot those arrows – as you put it – ‘with your eyes closed’. Every arrow is a word ready to hurt and inflict pain. Now you’ve taken the arrows out, and the tree is weeping... see the drops of tree resin rolling down the trunk? And a hundred years from now there will still be marks on the tree trunk from your arrows. In the same way, the wounds of unkind words remain on a person’s Soul.”
“Please forgive me,” the boy whispered, his head bowed.
“Words of regret are like mountain sage: The herb will ease the pain of the wound inflicted, but the scar will remain, won’t it?”
“I get it, sir. Thank you. Now I know what a real man should be like. The way I acted is terrible.”
“It’s worse when the one you owe words of regret to is someone who’s no longer here...”