There was once a father and son who shared a small patch of land, working together to grow vegetables on a quiet farm. While they lived and worked side by side, their outlook on life couldn’t have been more different. The father, a gentle, slow-moving man, believed in savoring moments. The son, driven and impatient, was always in a rush—chasing time, chasing results, chasing more.
One morning, they packed their ox-drawn cart full of fresh produce and began the long journey to the city market. The son was eager to get there first. “If we move quickly, we’ll beat the crowd and fetch better prices,” he insisted, urging the ox forward again and again.
But the old man just pulled his straw hat low over his eyes and murmured calmly, “Take it easy, son. You’ll last longer.”
Hours passed. The ox walked at its usual pace, and the son simmered with frustration. As they passed a small house along the road, the father stirred and said with a smile, “That’s your uncle’s place. Let’s stop in and say hello.”
“Father, we don’t have time! We’re already behind!” the son protested.
“A few minutes won’t hurt. We live so close, yet we rarely see each other,” the father replied, stepping down from the cart. The two old men talked and laughed like only brothers can, while the son sat fidgeting, watching the sun crawl across the sky.
Back on the road, the boy tried again to lead them quickly. But at a fork, the father steered the ox toward the longer, winding path.
“This isn’t the fastest way!” his son snapped.
“No,” his father replied, “but it’s the most beautiful.”
And it was. But the boy didn’t see the rolling meadows or the blooming wildflowers. He didn’t hear the soft gurgle of the stream beside them or notice the way the golden light danced over the landscape as the sun began to set.
When the father suggested they rest for the night in a flower-laced field under the stars, the son finally burst out: “This is the last trip I take with you! You care more about sunsets than success.”
To which the old man only smiled, closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep beneath the sky.
At dawn, they resumed their journey. Not far down the road, they came across a fellow farmer whose cart had tipped into a ditch. The father, without hesitation, slowed the ox and said, “Let’s help him.”
“But we’ve already lost so much time!” his son protested.
“Time spent helping someone is never wasted,” the father said simply.
By the time they got moving again, it was well into the day. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the sky turned ominously dark over the city.
“If we hadn’t wasted so much time…” the son began.
But the father interrupted gently, “Take it easy. You’ll last longer. And maybe... you’ll understand more.”
They climbed the last hill toward the city, and as they reached the top, both of them fell silent. Below them lay devastation—ashes, ruins, and silence where a bustling city had once stood.
It was Hiroshima.
The boy stared in disbelief, his anger replaced by a cold realization. The rainclouds had brought more than just weather. He put his hand on his father’s shoulder, his voice quiet and shaken.
“I see what you mean, Dad.”
Without another word, they turned their cart around and made the slow journey home—not to sell vegetables, but with hearts heavy with gratitude for the path they’d taken.
Moral: In a world that rushes forward, don’t forget to pause, to connect, to help, and to listen. Sometimes, what feels like delay is divine timing. Life isn’t always about the fastest route—it’s about choosing the road that helps you arrive whole.
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