The Brick House and Help That Goes Too Far

I’d been sad for a few days and didn’t feel much like playing. I spent most of my time in the courtyard, by the flowerbed. Agha Bozorg noticed. He came and sat beside me. “Is something wrong, son? You seem down.” “No, it’s nothing. It’ll pass.” He turned toward the house. “When you’re ready to talk about it, come to my room.” That night I decided I should talk to him. I took some fruit and went to his room. When he saw me, he turned off his radio. “Come in, and close the door.” “Well, tell me what’s bothering this young man.” “I’m really upset with my friend Reza. I helped him so much with his schoolwork all year. I even did his Nowruz holiday assignment for him because he’d gone away and couldn’t do it.” “And?” “A few days ago I asked him to help me make the wall newspaper for our class. He said he didn’t have time. He wouldn’t even show me his own so I could get an idea. What hurts most is that I once stayed up all night doing his work, then overslept and got to school late the next morning. The school supervisor gave me a caning, and I never said a word about why.” Agha Bozorg was quiet for a moment. “Helping is a fine thing, but remember that it has limits. “It’s better to build yourself a house and offer shelter to someone who needs it than to give away the bricks from your own house and be left with one that’s unfinished and no use to you. “Remember, you and your family have to be all right if you’re going to be able to help others. Never take so much from yourself to satisfy someone else that you’re left with nothing.” Today we are all struggling and fighting for the freedom of our homeland. But we must look after ourselves and our families, too. We need to be well enough to stand together until the end. To free Iran, we must first build our own house. Long live Iran. Long live the Shah.