Defiance: The Living Arrow
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When the father first held his newborn son, he looked to the sky and declared, "Ah, the living arrow of which Gibran spoke. I shall guide your flight well."
Yet the boy seemed less an arrow than a firework—scattering light and noise in all directions.
He threw his food more often than all of the other kids, he talked back constantly, and he generally didn’t listen to anything his parents told him.
On his third birthday, the father gifted a toy car, which the son immediately adopted as a ballistic missile.
His wife and all those around him berated the father for not being more stern with the boy. "You should grab him by the scruff of his neck and bare your teeth!"
The father took the car away from him each time, but nothing more. He said, "Like mold on bread, defiance grows in the quiet corners, often where you least expect it, but always where it's been neglected."
Observing closely, he found that the car’s flights always coincided with his own distraction. A clever bid for attention, he reckoned, a tiny Zen master yanking him back to the Now.
As the boy navigated adolescence, the level of fireworks lessened, but sparks remained, especially when life choices were discussed.
When the boy was 17, he started discussing what he wanted to do with his life.
He'd been obsessed with boats his whole life and was determined to work on one immediately, foregoing college.
His father, having worked his ass off to gain his current career position, insisted he go to college, saying it was "the only suitable thing for a grown man of ambition to do."
"You will not be the first of our family not to go to college," the father insisted.
There was a huge fight, and at the end the boy grabbed something off the shelf and held it up in front of his father's eyes.
"Then I don't want to be a part of this family anymore dad," he said, dropping the old toy car into a trash can.
His wife and everyone around the father scolded the boy's audacity and lack of appreciation.
Although he was devastated by his son's decision, for he feared for his life and his future prospects, he said, "A father's wisdom is his history, but a son's defiance is his prologue."
For the first time, the father considered that the bowstring doesn't dictate the arrow’s path. He was suddenly aware of many examples where his son clearly knew what was best for himself. And he trusted that this was another of those times, even if he couldn't yet see it.
Years later, at the pinnacle of his career, the father held a high political office. And for the first time his views on a very important matter departed sharply from that of his party.
What shall I do? If I speak my mind, I'll surely be canned by my constituents. And if I don't, how can I sleep with myself at night?
Upon returning home on the eve of the crucial day, he discovered his wife talking to someone in the living room.
It was his son!
This was the first time they'd seen each other in years.
His son was beaming.
The ship captain of a major commercial fleet, he had a wife and baby on the way. He seemed to live life on his own terms. This filled the father with joy.
After a short time, the father said that he had to prepare for a big day. They promised to see each other again soon.
Having decided to do what was prudent so as to continue providing for his family, he began preparing the letter of ascent to the rest of the party assuring them of his cooperation. Looking for a new pen, he saw something under a small pile of papers he had hastily thrown down when he entered his office.
He lifted them up, and he started crying.
Taped to a single sheet of paper with a note on it was the toy car.
And on the note he read, "Mom called and filled me in on what's going on. I'm sorry for the way we left things but am eternally grateful for the way you stood for me being me. In my happiness and my success, I stand on your shoulders Dad. I've learned through the way you held me in my youth that in defiance, one finds the purest form of self-obedience."
The father set down the note, abandoning his plan, and took a long, steadying breath. The living arrow had found its mark after all.
Artwork by: Kahlil Gibran
I’ve been handwriting a chapter of the book The Prophet each morning before I start writing a story. This is the image that accompanies my favorite of his poems - On Children.