A Beard, a Blanket, and a Boy’s Question: A Sleepless Lesson in Life

 

In a quiet village nestled amidst the mountains of Iran, there lived an elderly man known not just for his wisdom, but for two peculiar things that brought him quiet pride — his long, snowy-white beard that flowed gracefully to his chest, and his enviable ability to fall asleep the very second his head touched the pillow.

Life had settled into a peaceful rhythm for him. He had grown used to the familiar creaks of the house, the hush of winter winds, and the comfort of his daily habits. But the innocence of a child has a way of unsettling even the most contented hearts.

One winter evening, as the old man sat beside the fireplace sipping warm tea, his curious three-year-old grandson climbed into his lap and asked a seemingly simple question:

“Grandpa, when you sleep, does your beard go under the blanket or stay on top?”

The old man chuckled. “You know, I’ve never thought about it,” he admitted, ruffling the boy’s hair. “But tonight, I’ll find out.”

That night, wrapped in the chill of winter, the old man slid into bed. The warmth of the blanket embraced him as usual — but then, like a bell echoing in silence, the boy’s question returned.

He suddenly became acutely aware of his beard — it was under the blanket. That felt strange. He gently pulled it out and laid it over the blanket. But now, that felt even stranger. He tucked it back under. Moments later, he changed his mind again. In and out went the beard like a restless pendulum, with the old man growing increasingly frustrated.

He tried lying on his side, then on his back, adjusting the blanket, fluffing the pillow — but no position seemed right. The quiet ease with which he once drifted to sleep had deserted him. That night, for the first time in years, he lay wide awake, caught in the absurd but strangely profound dilemma of a child’s innocent query.

At dawn, with tired eyes but a decisive heart, the old man walked to the mirror, picked up a pair of scissors, and trimmed his beloved beard to chin length.

His daughter, who had been gently nudging him for months to do so, greeted the new look with joy and laughter. “You finally listened!” she beamed.

The old man smiled, eyes crinkling. “No, not to you,” he said with a wink. “To your son.”

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Sometimes, it’s not the weight of the world that keeps us awake, but the light tug of a child’s question.

It’s in these small, tender moments that life reminds us: even the simplest things — a beard, a blanket, a curious little boy — can shake up our routine, stir reflection, and bring unexpected change.

And maybe, just maybe, those moments are the ones worth staying awake for.

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Out Of The Box July 22, 2025