I’m Sorry
By Kristen S. Sandoz
A handsome, dark haired, deep eyed boy ran frantically into
his family’s farm house. “Father! Father!” he yelled.
His father’s looming figured darkened the door way to the
kitchen scanning the boys muddy clothes.
“The cows were supposed to be in the barn an hour ago.” He said in a quiet sort of growl.
“But father, I…” the boy began.
“I don’t want excuses boy.
I want obedience. Now come
here.” His eyes were foreboding and his
face was hard as he began to remove his belt.
“Father, please, the cow…” the boy tried again.
“Now!” barked his father.
The boy knew there was no arguing, it would only make it
worse. He stepped forward and took his
whipping as bravely as any seven year old boy could have. Then he climbed the stairs to his room, where
he would spend the rest of the evening without supper. Through his window he watched his father head
out toward the pasture to finish his job.
A light rain began to fall, but no tears fell down the boy’s solemn face. His job was to bring in the cows and he had
failed.
The father was in a dark mood. He was not a tall man but he was broad and
muscular like a tree trunk. He had lived a hard life leaving home when he
was fifteen to work on a logging crew.
Even so, whipping his children was not his favorite task and yet, it was
necessary. With four daughters, only one
son, and twins on the way there was little room for lack of discipline. On a small family farm everyone had to pitch
in to make a living. Seven year old boys
had to learn to carry their load.
He stormed passed the barn and headed down the hill to the
lower pasture. He could see some of
the
cows grazing near the creek at the bottom of the hill. Bringing the cows in from pasture was
really
a simple job. A job even a seven year
old could do. Usually, they’d come with
little encouragement knowing a warm barn and food were waiting for them. Today they were reluctant to move along. The father gently cooed them forward as he
walked behind them toward the creek trying to scoop them a little closer
together.
That’s when he heard it, a strange heavy panting coming from
the creek. He walked to the bank and
peered down. He caught his breath. One of the cows had fallen into the creek and
couldn’t get up. Its head was barely
above the water line and the cow was in a panic. Signs of a struggle were all about. Mud along the bank had been matted down. Branches from the tree close by were
broken. It was clear the cow would drown
if something wasn’t done immediately.
The man clambered down the bank and rested a hand on the
cow’s hind quarters and spoke soothingly to it.
He reached her head and even his toughened heart sank to his stomach at
what he found. He knew instantly it was
the boy and all the pieces fell together, why he was late, his muddy clothes,
the frantic look, the back talking. The
boy had done his job or at least he had tried.
He had come upon the same cow in the creek and did his best at trying to
help the cow up. But her 2,000 lbs was
too much for his small seven year old frame.
Somehow the boy knew if he left the cow alone even for a couple of
minutes to get help that she would die.
So he formed and executed an ingenious plan. The boy found a sturdy branch on the tree
with a “Y” in it. He broke the branch off
at just the right length. He shoved the
end into the mud under the cows head and placed the “Y” under her neck lifting
her head out of the water just enough for her to breath. Then he ran.
After an hour or so the boy watched his father through his
bedroom window walk slowly back to the house.
Did his father find the cow? Did
his plan work or was it too late? He
heard the farm house door creek open and slam shut. He heard is father’s deep low voice saying
something indistinguishable to his mother in the kitchen. Then he heard his father’s heavy plodding
footsteps climb the farm house stairs.
The boy turned to the bedroom door and froze. Something was wrong. His father never came upstairs. He stood motionless and watched with Jersey
sized dark brown eyes as his bedroom door opened. His father stepped into the room an
unreadable look upon his face. Without
any words his father stepped forward grabbed the boy by the arm and lifted him
onto his shoulders.
It was at least a mile walk into town but the father
tirelessly carried his son all the way stopping only to buy his son an ice
cream cone before heading back to the farm in the same manner. Although no words were spoken the boy knew
what his father meant. He knew his
father had found the cow and that it was because of his seven year old plan
that she was still alive. The boy felt
happy. He had done his job and his
father was proud of him. He knew, too,
that this was his stern yet loving father’s way of saying what he did not have
the words to say, “I’m sorry”.
I wonder what family stories have effected your life? Please share. I'd love to hear about them. Then share them with the Littles in your life.
Happy Tales!
Kristen
