“Jan,” called his teacher, “don’t forget to tell your father about the hockey match on Friday night.” Jan’s expressions changed. “Why should my father come?” Actually he didn’t want his teachers and classmates to meet his father. “My father knows nothing about hockey,” said Jan. “Nobody ever played hockey in my village.”
“I know, Jan”, Mr. Wasif said, “but I am sure he wants to know about our national sport as much as you do. Fathers should also have fun in our game. See you both on Friday. By the way children are also bringing some refreshments.” Jan walked home slowly. He had almost forgotten that six months ago, he had come here with his family from a nearby village.
He remembered those first days at school well. He had looked out of place in his short pants, his homemade sweater, his heavy-soled shoes and his lunch tied up in a handkerchief. Mr. Wasif had been a good friend during those first difficult days. He had taken Jan aside and had talked to him about many urban customs that were strange to him. Jan’s skill in sports and his good grades soon won him the respect of his classmates.
They stopped thinking of him as a strange boy. But now Mr. Wasif was asking him to bring his father to school.”Hi, Jan,” called Samy, a dark-haired boy in a red-striped shirt. “I know you have signed up for the hockey match. Is your father coming for the match?” Jan was reluctant. “I don’t know. He is quite busy.” He loved his father, but he knew he would look out of place with other fathers. Back in the village his clothes had looked fine, but here he may feel uncomfortable. Jan decided he could not let his father come to the school.
On Friday morning, Jan was the first boy to arrive at the school playground where the match was to be held. Mr. Wasif was already busy arranging chairs. He called Jan over. “Jan, I saw your father on the street last night. When I asked him about the match, he looked surprised and said he didn’t know anything about it. Didn’t you ask him to come?” Jan just couldn’t answer. “Don’t you want him to see you play?” asked Mr. Wasif.
Jan’s eyes filled with tears, “I know I was wrong, Sir! I am going home now to ask my father to come.” “You don’t need to, Jan. I invited your father myself, and he wants to come.”
In a short time, the other boys and their fathers began to arrive. The fathers wore sports clothes, T-shirts, or bright—coloured shirts. Jan was troubled. Each time he looked behind, he held his breath.
At last his father appeared in the entrance gate. He was wearing a pure-white casual shirt looking handsome. He held a large basket with a bright flowered cloth. The other children’s fathers didn’t carry food in baskets. Just then, Jan found himself remembering his father’s kindness and his goodness. He also remembered, how people back in his village had asked his father’s advice in troubled times. He recalled all the occasions when his father had supported him, and how his father had dreamt of his wonderful career.
Without thinking further, Jan walked to the front of the main gate and took his father’s arm. “I’ll carry the basket, Father. Come, sit here with me.” After the match was over, the fathers offered their support for various jobs in school. Finally only Jan’s father was left. He stood up and spoke in his slow careful. “I don’t know much about hockey, but I can get people to keep your school playground neat and clean.”
“Thank you, uncle”, shouted everyone. Jan’s father continued, “May be i can also invite the hockey teams and the school administration to have a picnic at my farm.” All the boys crowded around Jan’s father. Jan almost burst with pride. His father always did the right thing at the right time. Jan picked up the basket and took it to Mr. Wasif. Inside were ripe, plump, juicy mangoes. “Jan you are certainly lucky to have such a nice father,” said Mr. Wasif.
“I just realized that,” said Jan quietly, “I can clearly see now.”