It was all about A Toy

“Here is a memorable event and an endless dream”

Eight years back when I was just ten years young. The fact that I do not have sisters at all let me used to play with boys. Well, with my brother most of the time. We hate strangers. There were just that red and yellow ball, the only thing that could fill our free wasted time. The time that we did not know that would be better to hold on it. He stands against the front door-stairs ,in his short pants that ends far above his malleolus, and me in my favorite jeans short-coveralls against the other side at the small ugly garden that we used to have back then. Small pretty eyes looking at me.

I wandered if they would look like that forever! Maybe because I do not see that in the surrounded adults.

Her is dad coming back with a box. A small one. I and my brother ran to him and here is the family all emotional hug that we used to give everyday. The one that squeeze your bones and say; you ‘re not gonna be alone ever.

But seems like it was fake. You know what a different it is when you move on from the dreamy childhood to the adult childhood.

Dad brought us gift, though christmas is about to knock our doors soon. I remember that we were very happy. I can not remember if I felt more happier .. And young. There were two bear wooden toys. They look so lovely and the same. But they were not the same. As dad settle down and hangout them out of the box, I realize that one of them has scratches on the back. I know it would be broken soon, we always broke our toys. Quickly I choose the other one, the good one. And that little boy I grow up with, the one that I would abandon the world to play with him — my brother, choose the broken one. He did not even realize that it is broken.

When evening came, and the sun hide back in it’s castle away from our dark ugly world, my brother broke his wooden bear toy on two pieces.

He sit in the garden ground, and start the “usual justification of kids” — crying. The only thing they know to quench their sadness.

I sit down beside him, trying to ease him. I did not give him my toy. I did not even offer that. When climb to the bed that night I felt guilty for that more than my brother felt sad for his broken christmas toy.

- Now the little boy in short pants become a handsome guy, yet still love to play with ball. Since that day … sometimes I dream of young boy weeping on the garden floor holding one piece of that broken toy.

Like what you read? Give n a d a a round of applause.

From a quick cheer to a standing ovation, clap to show how much you enjoyed this story.