Sorry, son Bashny.Net

From the author.
The network has a wonderful story about how a little boy saving money that would buy from her, always busy dad the hour of his time for himself. Yesterday, I experienced almost similar.
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I'm in my small measure of the concept of teaching life, but Makarenko of me see any, and a love for the child has learned nothing.
 - Serge! - Periodically I resent me, that's where you got the money? (every little thing, small banknotes) You do not work, do not earn? And just because the money does not come, or their minds or hands must be earned ...
 - Serge! - Money is not a toy! (when he tenderly puts the bill to the bill, a coin to a coin)
 - Serge! - My hands after the money, you know how many of the unclean hands touched?
 - Serge! - First learn to make money, and then count them.
But recently, the wife occasionally throws him a trifle for the work which is not part of his duties. And the older daughter also which that fills him sometimes. And yesterday, I look, again sitting on his tin of tea and shifts under the bills, coins. Considers moving his lips, all this focused as Panikovski when sharing out. Mutters, calculate how many thousand rubles more to accumulate there. And I have a disagreement at work, stripped of the award, the infamous reprimand, and a purely preventive measure, so to speak for the edification of others, but not something that would really so nakosyachil. And then, instead of the small classes, the money is clearly someone else thinks.
Well, I rebuke him, and about other people's money is not earned, and not much about the study, and that the coins are not considered necessary, and to learn, etc. And finally, I ask, that's why you need money? Something is missing? Needs? The room full of toys, everything is small. Yes?
And he looked up (I am a huge hang over him), so look at me, little eyes are big, big, wet, wet, lips trembling, tear at the edge of the cheeks running ... - I ... One thousand saving up ... To ... a gift ... you mom ... Buy ... And all this, in a trembling voice ...
Of course I apologized, embraced, hugged ... He's like a little puppy, pressed, trembling, sobbing ...
And it's better you do not know what I thought to myself then. About himself, about work in general about everything that made me the kind of heartless asshole here. Why did it happen? Why do I like that, in passing, can hurt the baby, very dear person to me on this earth? Why am I not interested in the reasons for his actions, why just draw conclusions? Why should he be afraid to do something just because of the fact that the pope-asshole suddenly understand it correctly? How to apologize to him and to ourselves? He had forgotten, and I am still uncomfortable ...
Probably it is necessary to complete some sort of high moral phrase, but I do not. Mats has, but moral - no.





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