“Can I have a piece of cake today, dad?”
Even after years of having to do this, Tiloh still cringed a little when he curtly shook his head. “Oh well, some other day then!” the 12 year old boy, Ghanteh, said in a fake bubbly voice.
Tiloh had hinted and then had a long talk with the boy several times about how money was short and relieving their heavy debt was the priority of their lives, rather than buying cake for an already pudgy boy.
But the boy was obsessed with food, cake in particular. And Tiloh had seen that the boy could not help asking for cake when they were at the baker’s shop. Tiloh had thought of quitting the baker’s shop but that was one place that brought him memories of happier days, when his wife and his two daughters were with them. Most of his other life was draining and exhaustive. His work was the only place where he felt alive and passionate; and his company recognized his talent - he was paid quite well although most of the pay went to alimony and a crushing credit card payment.
At home, Tiloh was in a constant state of regret – regret that he had pushed his wife away due to what now, 6 years later, seemed utterly petty and easily resolved issues. Regret that he had fought tooth and nail to keep custody of the boy, causing him the most emotional and financial pain – he had hired the best lawyer; for what? So that he could watch the boy play video games all day long, lose interest in school and just eat, eat and eat?
They had barely talked for 3 years; in fact Tiloh could count the number of words they said to each other on a daily basis – “How did you sleep?” “Ok”, “Breakfast today?” “No”, “How was school?” “OK” and the dreaded “Can I have a piece of cake today, dad?” Tiloh had reminded the boy several times that he preferred being called “Papa” but the boy always nodded like he understood and went on calling him “Dad”.
Tiloh would go to work even when sick. One such day, his boss noticed his croaky voice and remarked, “You really should be resting at home.” Tiloh replied, “Yes, I should be but I .. there was too much work left over…” His boss nodded and said nothing.
Next pay period, Tiloh had an extra check for “over-achievement” for $3,000! Even that didn’t bring him much joy because even $3,000 wouldn’t make a noticeable dent in the debt.
That day he drove to the baker’s and when the boy asked “Can I have a piece of cake today, dad?” he was about to shake his head when he remembered his extra check and he decided he could afford some cake today.
He said, “Yes, go ahead”
“Oh well, some other…” the boy stopped and looked at him sharply. “Did you say...?” Tiloh nodded, “Yes, have a cake today – any kind you like”
The baker had an exceptional number of cakes on his shelves. The baker and his wife ran the shop and always looked fully of jolliness. They seemed to really enjoy their work. The ingredients on their products always listed “Love” and Tiloh believed it was true – there really was love in their breads and in their lives. He had never really struck a conversation with them because they were almost always busy and he felt out of league from their high energy. But to Tiloh coming to the baker’s shop was almost a religious ritual – he usually had moments of some clarity and relief from his suffocating home life.
The boy looked around intrepidly and still a little unsure if this had actually happened, pointed to the cheapest one he could find. The baker handed him the piece and the boy looked for a full minute at the cake like it was a long lost treasure that he had discovered. He again looked at his father, who nodded; then with one gulp, in case his father changed his mind, finished the cake. He again looked at his father to make sure he hadn’t done something wrong. The boy was too stunned to say words of gratitude or to smile; he just looked dazed.
Tiloh looked back at him and suddenly realized how much pain was hidden in the boy’s eyes. With almost a jolt Tiloh realized that he had been wrapped up so much in his sorry story that he had completely failed to see what had happened to his son Ghanteh. For the first time he felt pity for someone other than himself. His son was the one who had suffered the most - Ghanteh had lost his mother, his sisters ... and his father too. And Tiloh saw that Ghanteh had no one to turn to – at least Tiloh had his work to dive into for relief, Ghanteh had nothing!
A deep sense of remorse went through Tiloh. How could he have let this happen? He felt like sobbing and turned away, catching his own reflection in the cake shelf glass. He couldn't believe what he saw - a fat old balding man. When did this happen? No wonder Ghanteh never looked directly at him.
He felt a sharp pain in his heart - he thought he would have a stroke. Then something shifted inside him and someone, apparently another part of him, said and he heard it distinctly, "You don't have to take this self-created pain."
Tiloh was not a hippie type, as he would have put it; he barely believed in God or anything other than what he could see, but this was happening as surely as the day outside. And he knew the voice was speaking the truth - yes, he did not have to take the pain, and he realized with a deep sense of intuition that the voice was a part of him who knew a lot more than he did, so he listened again for more instructions, but there was stillness and silence. And it felt good to be so still.
He might have stayed there for moments or minutes but when he came back to himself he looked at his reflection again and it had lost much of the "old man ness" - he looked kind of handsome even; he smiled. "I don't have to take the pain," he softly muttered to himself.
Tiloh felt more awake and alive than he had in years. He straightened up a little – there was still time - he was going to use the extra money for the well-being of his son; he would get him all the cake he wanted and go on a trip with him some place where they could reconnect.
He wanted to hug his son and say he was sorry, but he knew the time hadn’t come for that yet. So he turned towards him and lightly placed his hand on his shoulder. Ghanteh stiffened at first (they hadn’t touched for a long time) but then relaxed and started walking back to the car with his father. When they reached the car, the boy leaned in a little bit towards his father and mumbled “Thank you … Papa”
So many endure constant pain and abuse; even these are gifts from the One.
----- Guru Nanak, Jap Ji, 25th pauri
Seeker: How could pain be a gift?
Teacher: You have to realize that for Guru Nanak the only worthy goal of life is to merge back with God and so pain, or indeed any other intense feeling, which has the ability to push you out of your comfortable space and wake you up, is a gift.
Even after years of having to do this, Tiloh still cringed a little when he curtly shook his head. “Oh well, some other day then!” the 12 year old boy, Ghanteh, said in a fake bubbly voice.
Tiloh had hinted and then had a long talk with the boy several times about how money was short and relieving their heavy debt was the priority of their lives, rather than buying cake for an already pudgy boy.
But the boy was obsessed with food, cake in particular. And Tiloh had seen that the boy could not help asking for cake when they were at the baker’s shop. Tiloh had thought of quitting the baker’s shop but that was one place that brought him memories of happier days, when his wife and his two daughters were with them. Most of his other life was draining and exhaustive. His work was the only place where he felt alive and passionate; and his company recognized his talent - he was paid quite well although most of the pay went to alimony and a crushing credit card payment.
At home, Tiloh was in a constant state of regret – regret that he had pushed his wife away due to what now, 6 years later, seemed utterly petty and easily resolved issues. Regret that he had fought tooth and nail to keep custody of the boy, causing him the most emotional and financial pain – he had hired the best lawyer; for what? So that he could watch the boy play video games all day long, lose interest in school and just eat, eat and eat?
They had barely talked for 3 years; in fact Tiloh could count the number of words they said to each other on a daily basis – “How did you sleep?” “Ok”, “Breakfast today?” “No”, “How was school?” “OK” and the dreaded “Can I have a piece of cake today, dad?” Tiloh had reminded the boy several times that he preferred being called “Papa” but the boy always nodded like he understood and went on calling him “Dad”.
Tiloh would go to work even when sick. One such day, his boss noticed his croaky voice and remarked, “You really should be resting at home.” Tiloh replied, “Yes, I should be but I .. there was too much work left over…” His boss nodded and said nothing.
Next pay period, Tiloh had an extra check for “over-achievement” for $3,000! Even that didn’t bring him much joy because even $3,000 wouldn’t make a noticeable dent in the debt.
That day he drove to the baker’s and when the boy asked “Can I have a piece of cake today, dad?” he was about to shake his head when he remembered his extra check and he decided he could afford some cake today.
He said, “Yes, go ahead”
“Oh well, some other…” the boy stopped and looked at him sharply. “Did you say...?” Tiloh nodded, “Yes, have a cake today – any kind you like”
The baker had an exceptional number of cakes on his shelves. The baker and his wife ran the shop and always looked fully of jolliness. They seemed to really enjoy their work. The ingredients on their products always listed “Love” and Tiloh believed it was true – there really was love in their breads and in their lives. He had never really struck a conversation with them because they were almost always busy and he felt out of league from their high energy. But to Tiloh coming to the baker’s shop was almost a religious ritual – he usually had moments of some clarity and relief from his suffocating home life.
The boy looked around intrepidly and still a little unsure if this had actually happened, pointed to the cheapest one he could find. The baker handed him the piece and the boy looked for a full minute at the cake like it was a long lost treasure that he had discovered. He again looked at his father, who nodded; then with one gulp, in case his father changed his mind, finished the cake. He again looked at his father to make sure he hadn’t done something wrong. The boy was too stunned to say words of gratitude or to smile; he just looked dazed.
Tiloh looked back at him and suddenly realized how much pain was hidden in the boy’s eyes. With almost a jolt Tiloh realized that he had been wrapped up so much in his sorry story that he had completely failed to see what had happened to his son Ghanteh. For the first time he felt pity for someone other than himself. His son was the one who had suffered the most - Ghanteh had lost his mother, his sisters ... and his father too. And Tiloh saw that Ghanteh had no one to turn to – at least Tiloh had his work to dive into for relief, Ghanteh had nothing!
A deep sense of remorse went through Tiloh. How could he have let this happen? He felt like sobbing and turned away, catching his own reflection in the cake shelf glass. He couldn't believe what he saw - a fat old balding man. When did this happen? No wonder Ghanteh never looked directly at him.
He felt a sharp pain in his heart - he thought he would have a stroke. Then something shifted inside him and someone, apparently another part of him, said and he heard it distinctly, "You don't have to take this self-created pain."
Tiloh was not a hippie type, as he would have put it; he barely believed in God or anything other than what he could see, but this was happening as surely as the day outside. And he knew the voice was speaking the truth - yes, he did not have to take the pain, and he realized with a deep sense of intuition that the voice was a part of him who knew a lot more than he did, so he listened again for more instructions, but there was stillness and silence. And it felt good to be so still.
He might have stayed there for moments or minutes but when he came back to himself he looked at his reflection again and it had lost much of the "old man ness" - he looked kind of handsome even; he smiled. "I don't have to take the pain," he softly muttered to himself.
Tiloh felt more awake and alive than he had in years. He straightened up a little – there was still time - he was going to use the extra money for the well-being of his son; he would get him all the cake he wanted and go on a trip with him some place where they could reconnect.
He wanted to hug his son and say he was sorry, but he knew the time hadn’t come for that yet. So he turned towards him and lightly placed his hand on his shoulder. Ghanteh stiffened at first (they hadn’t touched for a long time) but then relaxed and started walking back to the car with his father. When they reached the car, the boy leaned in a little bit towards his father and mumbled “Thank you … Papa”
----- Guru Nanak, Jap Ji, 25th pauri
Seeker: How could pain be a gift?
Teacher: You have to realize that for Guru Nanak the only worthy goal of life is to merge back with God and so pain, or indeed any other intense feeling, which has the ability to push you out of your comfortable space and wake you up, is a gift.
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