Fiction: The Hero of My Father. “Inspiring Kids Story.”

Malek Sherif

Legal Disclaimer for a Fiction: This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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As a person, you're fortunate if you have the right role models. Decide on a few heroes as best you can. You can't go wrong when you find the proper people. "Which time is it?" Mansa had a question. She was waiting for her father to pick her up from school as she sat in the car.

Hitesh remarked, "It's time to go." Repetitively, he threw the ball into the air with his racket. "Yes, I am aware of it." What time is it on the watch, please? " She indignantly enquired. Keeping his gaze fixed on the bouncing ball and his hands poised to grab it as soon as it hit the ground, he questioned, "How does that matter?"

She exclaimed, "Oh Hitesh, you are so annoying!" He smiled and replied, "Thank you." Mansa had already become impatient. He hadn't shown up yet, and she'd been waiting an hour. He had an hour after her, and he'd just completed playing tennis. Having run out of options, he decided to play a little prank on her. She became enraged at him.

You should go and get some water or something, please. So she said, "I'm thirsty too," to quench her own. "( Hmmm. He said, "Your brain could use some ice cubes." He removed a little figurine from his backpack's front pocket with his free hand.

He made his way up to Mansa. To hide her shock, Mansa claimed she hadn't seen him approach. His conversation with her was a no-go. In addition to being agitated, she was also hungry, irritated, and exhausted.

She yanked Hitesh's ponytail. "Mansa, look at this. Let me share something I've been working on with you. " Pushing him away, she said, "What now?" He shouted, "Look!" and put the statue right in front of her. To be sure, Mansa demanded to see what he was carrying. The statue was a little white one. It seemed like a little statuette of Gautam Buddha if I'm not incorrect. When she was in eighth grade, she had seen photos of him and read about him in her textbook.

It was taken from him by her. "Many thanks! Is it Gautam Buddha? " She inquired, perplexed. " Why do you call him by his whole name?" Hitesh joked. He's just known as the Buddha,' he explains. Inquiringly, "How do you know?" When Mansa saw what was happening, she snapped her fingers vehemently in response.

Hitesh stated that his father had given him a statue of him to keep by his bedside when he was six years old. A little bit about him, please. " "Oh, can you tell me something?" Mansa had a question. "I have no idea who he is." Let me tell you something my father told me once. That's what he stated about him and the Buddha. "

The question was meant as a sarcastic jab at his religious beliefs. I don't know how to meet him. More than 2,000 years ago, the Buddha was alive. "Varun's uncle, a friend of Dad's, gave him a Buddha statue," Hitesh said. "Oh, I see," he replies. Mansa had a question.

The narrative is lengthy, but I'll tell you anyhow. My father and Varun's uncle would often take city buses throughout the neighborhood. My father was a mischievous child. To terrify the bus drivers, he would play pranks on them. Before Varun's uncle began traveling with him, he used to take the bus with Sujit's uncle. ("Please teach me more!")Mansa said. "What were they thinking?" Perplexed, I said

My father's next-door neighbor was Sujit Uncle. He was older than my father, but he was also a talented hockey player. My father was always impressed by his goal-scoring prowess, even though he could never match him. He would chuckle as the conductors scrambled to catch the moving buses after he had shoved them out of the way.

Passengers would become annoyed with him when they heard him singing and drumming in the bus windows so loudly that they could hardly hear each other. My dad was amused by Sujit's tricks, so he started pranking the city's bus drivers.

If someone was bothering him, he was more than happy to infuriate them. At times, "he'd laugh at them when they were upset," Hitesh remembered. Maybe your dad was trying to make a joke. " Mansa was perplexed. He indeed liked to make similar jokes about other people.

Anyway, when his parents relocated, Sujit's uncle departed and moved to a larger colony. My uncle Varun then accompanied my father on the bus trip. My father's buddy at school, Varun, introduced us. As Varun's uncle got close to my father, he began meeting him after school.

As a result, Dad accompanied him on his pranks. Every weekend, when traveling from Kalyan to Thane, he would annoy the driver of one particular bus. They used to go on vacation to have fun.

When my father boarded the bus, the driver and conductor would cringe because they knew him and Varun Uncle. My father would be pleased with the attention he'd receive on the bus. It seemed as though everyone was asking him to quit causing trouble. His behavior will only worsen as they continue to inform him. "

"Then what?" Mansa inquired. "Dad had a lizard in his bag one day, and I was curious to see what he was carrying." While he went to say hello to the bus driver, he requested his uncle, Varun, to keep his bag. Varun's uncle was introverted and quiet compared to my father.

He used to be afraid of my father, but now he respects and obeys him. So, when my father approached him, he sat calmly in the seat just behind the bus driver. As he approached the driver, he begged Varun's uncle to give him the glass jar from his rucksack. When Varun's uncle opened the rucksack, he handed the jar over to my father without even glancing at it. My father placed the lizard on the driver's shoulder after removing it from the container.

"What? Hahahahaha! That seems like a lot of fun, doesn't it? Mansa inquired about it. "It was terrifying, for sure," Hitesh said. He let go of the steering wheel in fright. The conductor was ejected from the driving bus as it veered off the road. "Everyone on the bus was thrown to the side."

"Oh my God! What have I done? " "Were they okay?" I asked. Mansa inquired in a shaky voice. Not at all. When the driver understood what had occurred, he quickly regained control of the vehicle. However, the conductor who had fallen out had already fractured his arm and was unable to return to duty at the time.

There were also multiple cuts and bruises on Varun's face, including one on his nose. Every single one of the passengers was injured as well. "And your father?" Mansa had a question.

Surprisingly, my father walked away from the bus unharmed. He sat down, as if nothing had occurred, and glanced around him in disbelief. He completely forgot about his best buddy, Varun, being on the bus. " ( The question is, "How did he manage to achieve that?" Mansa had a question.

When I asked my father about it, he said he didn't know what to say. He did not react. He had no choice but to get off the bus and return home. At home, he didn't mention anything to anybody. The next weekend, he phoned Varun's uncle's house and asked him to meet him at the bus stop for the second time. When he called, Varun's uncle was not at home.

As a result, he waited for a call from him. My Dad contacted Varun's uncle again when he didn't return his phone call till the evening. My father's phone rang, and Varun's uncle's mother answered and warned him not to call again. "Why?" Mansa had a question.

Well, my Dad didn't find out about it and was quite upset with Varun's uncle for not contacting him. He asked about what was wrong, so he went to visit him at his home and inquired about it. When Varun's uncle saw him, he didn't say anything.

A Buddha statue was given to him instead... and he returned to the home from the garden where they had been seated. Is it a statue of a Buddhist deity? " Inquiringly, "What was the point of this?" Mansa had a question.

My father recalled that as soon as he arrived at my father's house, he told my father that Buddha was his idol. And he wanted to give my father a piece of his hero's statue. It was a parting gift from him. After that, he never saw my father again. "Till now," he said.

But why was Buddha Varun the hero of my uncle's? Mansa inquired about it. This is a tale Varun's uncle learned about Buddha and Varun's dad from Varun's uncle's father. His father informed him that Buddha was a kind guy, but I'm not going to tell you that tale right now.

As well as the fact that he forgave himself and others without difficulty. Consequently, his father respected the Buddha and picked him to be his idol. As long as it provided him and others pleasure and tranquility, he advised Varun's uncle to find his reason for adoring someone. Part of what he said was, "Find your significance in Buddha."

"Okay. To be quite honest, I have no idea why you're sending me a Buddha statue. For some reason, Mansa was both afraid and excited as she posed the question. Hitesh said, "Oh, I'm not giving it to you as a farewell present." This was a gift from my uncle, Varun. The one I have is yours for the taking.

It turns out that, like you, I have a hero in Buddha. I'd like to show you the statue I made in honor of my idol. Mansa was at a loss for words. Hitesh thanked her, and she rushed off to meet her father, who had finally arrived to pick her up from school.

She held the statue in her hands with a firm grasp. She couldn't understand why she was smiling. On the car's dashboard was a statue of her. Afterward, she recounted to her father the tales of Hitesh's father and Varun's uncle, who had saved his life. As chance would have it, Mansa found one of her few heroes by way of this method. The same goes for you.

Individuals say that we are representative of the five people with whom we spend the most time. Our heroes, too, are a good example of this. We all desire to emulate our idols in one way or another. To put it another way, if you idolize the wrong individuals, you're setting yourself up to be just like them. You're more likely to become a better person if the individuals who inspire you are decent ones. As a result, you should be wary of the role models you choose to follow in your own life.

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With over a decade of writing stories for the local paper, Malek Sherif has a uniquely friendly voice that shines through in his newest collection of children's stories, which explores the importance we place on the legacy.

New York, NY

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