In a fairly large city, there was a very powerful man. This man was very old, and had a very large estate near the edge of the city. He owned much property and had a seemingly endless flow of money and resources. He was extremely wise, and was very extravagent in sharing in his pleasures. This man was never intimidated, and yet never tried to abuse the power he had. He simply was respected and gave loyalty to his people.
He was a trustworthy man, known for his utmost integrity. He had provided for all kinds of people, both in his neighborhood and abroad. The poor never went without, and the children were taken care by hired men or his family. Women were safe under his eyes. This powerful men had many men working for him, young and old, and they gave him his share of what they had earned. He had many contacts and used them accordingly to need. He made sure everyone in his care were taken care of, out of a sense of duty, as well as sincere compassion. He was loved by most who were fortunate to meet him. He was welcomingly open and incredibly honest.
But do not mistake kindness for weakness. He was a feared man. Only the foolish did not revere him, or give him his proper respect. The openly disrespctful were dealt with, sometimes harshly and publicly. Those who tried to wise against him, he'd bring them down to humiliating lowliness. Though there were other families ran by other sorts of powerful men, they knew in their hearts they were in no match against this particularly gentle man. They envied him, and attempted to make themselves appear like him in their manners, presents, and hired men. There was a silent war between the families, but each knew where their destination would take them: corruption and nonexistance. They will be buried like the others who had waged war, attempting to drag down this man's people and loyalists.
Though many knew whether they stood with or against him, there were some that weren't quite sure where they stood. These people assumed he at the very least pitied them, when he actually loved them, thus he'd lavish them with gifts of food, drink, shelter, and safety. His kindness and generosity often even caught these unaware folks off guard. Once they understood his love for those who lived near him, they enjoyed him and would eventually welcome him into their homes to share in celebrations and feasts, giving him back gifts bought by money that he had given them to feed their families.
This humble, wise man had a very large family, of whom he adored and cherished more than anything in the world. He had and would sacrifice anything and everything for his family. All he had was their's, in his mind. He didn't care. He loved them all, and knew each one intimately; all their dreams, faults, desires, and mistakes. They were a part of him, and each one had distinctive traits that they had acquired from being his sons and daughters.
Some of his children had left home, though most of the family lived within the gates of the estate, an estate that had everything to offer. Some left on good terms, coming back often to visit. Some left on not so good terms, but the kind man never let one leave without knowing they were welcomed back anytime. He'd even send to them gifts and presents for their homes, providing the rent about every other month. He didn't care. He loved them. Some married into other families, but he trusted that the morals and ethics that he had taught his children would remain intact, even amidst them living in enemy quarters. Once in a while, he'll have to bail one of his children out of trouble, but he knew that they were careless and would care for their emotional wounds none the less. He loved them.
One particular daughter of his was nearing three years old. He was an artist, and this was one of the qualities that she had obtained from him at birth. She loved to work with paints and crayons and paper. He encouraged her talent, and gave her items to help her utilize and develop her skills, thus also feeding into her desire to use this artistic ability.
Late in the afternoon, he noticed that she was missing for some time, and dinner was about to be served to many guests. He hoped that she was ready for some important people to come by, and that she would look like the princess he thought of her as.
Entering her room, there was a mess on the floor. Cut paper, painted carpet, some sloppy jars of dirty rinse water, and brushes of watercolor were spread out around her on the floor. He sighed and asked if she was ready for the big meal.
Ignoring the question, her face lit up and she grabbed one of the camuflaged papers and ran to her father. Presenting the colorful paper, she announced the scene she had painted for her father proudly, the paint blending in with the paint on her small hands and arms. Her painted face hid behind the dangling paper. "For you, Dad," she exclaimed, unaware that she spent hours in her room with the new watercolors that her father had bought her.
The man hugged and kissed his painted daughter, a few of his curious sons and daughters gathering in the doorway. They looked at the painting and discussed among themselves on what the painting could be of. Some thought it was cute, some were offended, as some of the man's children had artistic abilities as well, but more developed since they were older. One even mocked about the painted mess on the obtuse, cutted paper.
The father didn't care. He rubbed a few of the children's hair on the way out of the bedroom door and down the stairs, toward the kitchen. He knew that a few of his children had made fun of the painting--if not aloud, in their hearts--but he didn't care. Walking down the coridor, he looked at the mess of blues, reds and yellows. It was a mess, he thought to himself, but it was many hours of a mess. Hours of trying, hours of sweat, hours of cramped hands, hours of thought, hours of anticipation.
He walked into the kitchen and went to the fridge, moved some items of fine art done by the older children, and even a couple of photgraphs were removed. Covering up a couple of Straight-A report cards, he placed this messy construction paper dead center of his fridge door.
At this time, his guests started showing up with expensive adornments and fragrances, and the children began to gather in their finest clothing. They were hungry for the meal that awaited. But before they sat down to talk and eat, he was sure to sincerely and proudly bring every guest to the kitchen to view the new art. Every child in the house was offered a viewing of this new offering his daughter of many made for him. The daughter in her painted clothes and colored face was ushered then with her father to the dining area, oblivious to her appearance from the hours of labor in her room.
It looked like a mess, yes. But to this powerful, kind, humble, feared man, it looked beautiful. A beautiful mess.
And he was proud.
