The Treasure Within
I was sitting on the bench with my daughter, watching my grandson gently propel himself across the ice rink which was located in the park not more than a half kilometer from our home. A bunch of tall pines giving off their sweet fragrance surrounded the lake. On the horizon was the setting sun, ready to give in to the night that would soon take over the place. With a soft glow from the sun, the iced water was glittering as though the shining lights were the stars and the lake were the sky. Though I quivered a little with cold, I was overwhelmed by this dazzling view.
I looked at my grandson, Mike, saw his shiny hair dancing with the rhythm of the cold breeze as he made a quick turn and smoothly slid on the frozen lake. His ears turned red and his face blushed because of the frosty weather.
I had, so many times before, watched a boy skating in this breathtaking place, except that it was not my grandson and it was long ago—long before my grandson was born. It was my own beloved and only son whom I took with me every time I came here. Sometimes I could still hear his voice, that lovely little sharp voice of a young boy.
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“Dad, let’s go skating!” was what my son always said to me when the winter came and when the ice was thick enough to hold our weight. I remember he loved skating so much that he could spend five to six hours a day doing nothing but skate. I was delighted to see him in such joy.
I remember the first time I took him to this place. I was the one who held him and taught him how to skate. At that time, he didn't like the idea at all.
“I don’t want to do it,” said my son, frowning, lying on the floor,” I always fall; it hurts and I don’t like it. I’m never gonna know how to do it.”
“It’s O.K. Just keep on practicing. When you fall, all you need to do is to get up on your feet,” I encourage him. “It’s always hard the first time. I promise it’s worth giving it a try. Who knows, if you quit now, you might miss all the fun.”
At last, I managed to persuade him to at least try again. This time he didn’t cry or give up when he fell, instead, he would immediately push himself up and continue practicing. He did it all over and over again until he got it and became good at it in just a few days time. After that, skating became what he loved to do most. We—the father and the son—would find some time and come back here every winter.
The bond between me and my son grew strong. What we had was rare: there was this little tiny, yet, strong string holding us together. Every time he had problems, he would come to me for advice for I was always there to listen.
“Dad, my friends are always teasing me that I’m a whimp, that I’m a mama’s boy,” my son told me, trying so hard not to cry, but the pain was too great for the little boy to bear. He then lifted his hand and brushed off his tears.
“It’s going to be fine, my son,” I replied, pulling him close into my arms. “You know what, some people were built with a great figure, looks and a strong body but it’s not a bad thing that you don’t have those things. You are special, you know that? Maybe it’s God purpose to put you in this situation so that you’ll have a heart that will understand others.”
Christmas came. That day was the day that changed everything. I got promoted that day. I was very surprised, and at the same time happy that finally my years of hard work had paid off. I had always wanted this, though I knew that if I agreed to be promoted, I had to sacrifice more of the time I had with my family to the work. But despite that knowledge, I took the chance.
And just like I expected, I had to travel almost every week, spending ten to twelve hours on a train. Once in a while I even had to go abroad to work and observe a branch company overseas. My relationship with my son became distant and I also grew apart from my wife and daughter.
Then, one day while I was at the office, working before the desk that was cluttered with all these papers I have to hand in before the deadline that night, my cell rang. At the end of the line was my wife. I knew right then that something bad had happened.
“Rick, you have to come back right now!” her voice trembled.
“What? What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Just come here first O.K.?” she sobbed.
I immediately left the work and ran straight to my car. I drove as fast as I could. In front of my house was a police officer’s car. I ran quickly into the house. As soon as I walked in, I heard a cry. I looked at where the sound came from, and there sat my wife and the two gentlemen wearing navy blue uniforms. As soon as they saw me, they stood up, walked up to me and then said, “We’re sorry to inform you that your son died this morning. He was drowned at the park nearby. We assume that he went there to skate, but, unfortunately, the ice was too thin.” Right then when they finished the last sentence, I fell onto my knees. My heart was shattered like a glass that was broken and could never be mended. My wife put her arms around me. We tried to comfort each other. We sat there and sobbed and that is the last thing I can remember of that day.
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And here I was, twenty years later, at the very park which carries both tragedy and the moments of joy I used to share with my son. The worst and the best time in my life can be found right here, in this lake. I was hurt every time I came here or even when I walked past and took just a little glance at it. But then I looked up and there he was, a blond-haired boy waving at me.
“Mommy, can I have another 15 minutes? I’m having fun,” my grandson begged his mom.
“No! You’ve been saying that for an hour. You should get out of there already. Come on, let’s go,” my daughter commanded.
“Let’s give the boy another 15 minutes, huh?” I interrupted.
“But he’s just wasting our time!”
“No….dear, he just gave us more time,” I said and then shouted,
“Wait! Mike, would you come and get me please?” after I called him, he approached and then stretched out his hands to me. I got up and reluctantly moved my numb legs to take a step putting my weary hand into his. It reminded me so much of that moment—the moment when I first took my son here and taught him to skate, except that this time I was the one who was being held.
