Monday, September 13, 2010


Sweet and Low

My family sold watermelons in a small farmer’s village.
Father hasn't been planting watermelons for a long time.
Praised was father for his watermelons were the sweetest, although, this is a somewhat bitter story.

Now, every family in the village claims they have the sweetest and best watermelon. Father had the sweetest watermelons, it had to be true.We knew, everyone knew, but everyone still claimed their own, the best.

Father wasn’t very boastful, but the town wanted to know. They wanted to know who in this town has the sweetest and best watermelons.
So the village decides to put up a contest. The award entitles a medal and of course, namesake. Father thought to himself that he would certainly win, no contest, but just to make sure...

Father was a very inventive fellow. He filled up a syringe with sugar water and injected each picked melon for the contest. They were well-sized melons, but nothing to be proud of. Father wasn’t proud of what he did. He didn’t think it was wrong, he had something to prove.

Laid out in front of everyone were great melons from all the competitors.

Come contest time, Father’s melons won with flying colors.

Everyone congratulated him for his skills as a farmer. Father’s head was low, and got lower with each pat on the back.

The villagers hoorayed for a good picking!
“What a great a year for us farmers!” the elders said.
One mentions, “This isn’t just the sweetest in the town, it’s the sweetest in the world!”
Another one says, “The award should be changed in that name!”
“Yeah! The medal should be changed!” says another, then another.

Father stood there with his head to the ground, deep in thought.

“Boy the colors are really nice compared to the others.” Someone says.
“But it’s the same as the others.” Father remarked.

“Ah! And the scent it’s giving is so heavenly!” Someone says.
“But it’s the same as the others.” He thought again.

“The size too is so grand and well-shaped!” Someone says.
“Well no, there are larger and better shaped melons that weren’t mine.” He thought.

“Here’s your prize!” Yelled the elders.
Father spoke in a deep tone, “No, no, I got to go. I need to go. I ought to go home. I’m leaving. Will you people give me room?”
Father was saddened for some reason. He was walking out of the festival alone at a quick pace and shouldered a bystander.

“Hey watch it!” said the man.
“I’m sorry.” father said out loud to all of us.

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