Violin
The father dragged the boy into the room and pushed the violin into his son’s hands. It felt heavy, heavy with the weight of expectations.
“You will play beautifully.” He thundered as he turned to leave, “I will not allow you to fail.”
“But father,” the boy replied, “I don’t want to play the violin.”
“I will lock you in this room until you understand.“ His tone was firm, “I do not want you to regret not being able to play, as I do.”
The door was locked.
The boy looked at the violin in disgust, he played, and he grew bored. He stared at it as time spilled out. He kicked the door, he shouted for release. There was no reply. The violin mocked him. He hated it, he played again and its tune was different.
His father returned, standing in front waiting patiently was the boy, violin in one hand and bow in the other.
“I understand now father.” The boy announced.
“You can play?”
“No”, said the boy, “But I’ll never regret it.”
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