Discipline

A blonde-haired little boy came into the bakery today. His eyes were bloodshot and drooping, his cheeks were rosy red and his shoulders stooped low. His hands messily wiped a concoction of tears and snot from his face. His mother followed a few steps behind, she glanced at me while prodding her son through the doorway, her eyes told that today had been long for the little fellow. The boy looked up at me, pitiful, wide-eyed, craving mercy's kiss.

I smiled at the boy.

Only a few minutes had gone by before the mother could handle her discipline no longer; she embraced him and gently kissed him on the forehead.

I smiled again, I remember that feeling well.