Alice Stone

Thomas

When I was a child, an unpleasant man lived in our neighborhood. He was tall, heavy-set, broad-shouldered, and roared at his wife and children like a volcano that regularly erupted. When he mowed his lawn he always wore a big scowl, even when we smiled at him. The men of the community avoided contact with him, nodding respectfully as they passed, but getting little or no response.

One day while some of the neighborhood kids were playing softball in our front yard, a wild hit made its way to the man's yard and crashed through his kitchen window. We froze in our tracks, terrified of what he might do. He charged out of his house with the ball in his hand. My mouth turned dry and my hands gripped the bat tightly as he headed straight for me.

Then suddenly my father came out of our house, all 130 pounds of him. I almost fainted for my father was no match for him. The man's voice boomed at us, demanding to know who had done it. My father put his arm around my shoulders and gently said, "My daughter is responsible and we are truly sorry. I expect to replace your window."

I held my breath while the other kids hovered together as they inched away from us. The man's face lost its grimace as his eyes met my father's. He accepted my father's apology and told him it was not necessary for us to replace it. They shook hands and I saw the big man smile. As he walked away, that giant of a man began to shrink in front of me, while my father grew in stature right before my eyes.

I remembered Solomon's advice in