(Kar) In a hot summer afternoon, I was alone at home when I was a six-year-old child. There was a mechanical clock on the desk. Driven by curiosity, I wanted to gain insight into the clock how to work.
I dismantled a lock of the clock and was confident to restore it before my parents returned since I thought the job was easy to do. There were bits of metal on the desk after the clock was dismantled. Having a sense of self-accomplishment, I successfully took the clock apart and learnt the little hands of the clock were driven by the gears. However, I was faced with an insurmountable task of reassembling the clock because it did not work. Those curiously shaped pieces of metal also did not fit anywhere. I was anxious about it. Suddenly, hearing the footsteps of my father, I immediately kept hiding the metal pieces as well as the dead clock, not be noticed.
That evening, my father called me to the desk when I was watching TV. He asked me if I had done anything to the clock that day. I answered that I dismantled it as result of being curious how it worked. My father asked whether I failed to restore it and where all the pieces were. “Yes, I did.” I replied. I did not know what to do but stood there as a criminal waiting for condemnation. Nevertheless, my father did not punish me but wrapping the bits of metal in a sheet of paper and put the paper parcel into a desk drawer. He softly placed his hand on my shoulder and said that he knew I could not restore it that day, so he would keep those things until I would fix it one day when I was able to.
Six years later, it was about I went to junior school. One afternoon, I found the clock in the drawer and the bits of metal wrapped in a white paper. Trying my best, I repaired the clock with a screwdriver. I spent the whole afternoon on making the clock until it was all right again. Besides, it is still on my desk. I feel my father had preserved not only a clock but also a child’s curious heart for all those years.
I dismantled a lock of the clock and was confident to restore it before my parents returned since I thought the job was easy to do. There were bits of metal on the desk after the clock was dismantled. Having a sense of self-accomplishment, I successfully took the clock apart and learnt the little hands of the clock were driven by the gears. However, I was faced with an insurmountable task of reassembling the clock because it did not work. Those curiously shaped pieces of metal also did not fit anywhere. I was anxious about it. Suddenly, hearing the footsteps of my father, I immediately kept hiding the metal pieces as well as the dead clock, not be noticed.
That evening, my father called me to the desk when I was watching TV. He asked me if I had done anything to the clock that day. I answered that I dismantled it as result of being curious how it worked. My father asked whether I failed to restore it and where all the pieces were. “Yes, I did.” I replied. I did not know what to do but stood there as a criminal waiting for condemnation. Nevertheless, my father did not punish me but wrapping the bits of metal in a sheet of paper and put the paper parcel into a desk drawer. He softly placed his hand on my shoulder and said that he knew I could not restore it that day, so he would keep those things until I would fix it one day when I was able to.
Six years later, it was about I went to junior school. One afternoon, I found the clock in the drawer and the bits of metal wrapped in a white paper. Trying my best, I repaired the clock with a screwdriver. I spent the whole afternoon on making the clock until it was all right again. Besides, it is still on my desk. I feel my father had preserved not only a clock but also a child’s curious heart for all those years.
沒有留言:
張貼留言