Mother said, "Let's have a harvest festival tonight and invite your father t
o taste your fresh peanuts."
We all agreed. Mother made a variety of dishes using our peanuts and instruc
ted that the festival should be held in the thatched pavilion in the garden.
The weather was not very good that evening, but even Father put in an appear
ance, which was a rare event.
"Do you all like peanuts?" asked Father.
"Yes!" we all clamored to reply.
"Who can tell me what's good about peanuts?"
"They taste good," said older sister.
"They can be made into oil," said older brother.
"Everybody can afford to buy them, whoever they might be, and everyone likes
them. That's what's good about peanuts," said I.
Father said, "In fact the peanut has many uses, but the most valuable thing
about this little nut is this: it's not like the apple, peach or pomegranate
, flaunting their bright, beautiful fruits on their branches for all to see
and admire. The peanut lies buried in the soil, waiting until it is ripe bef
ore letting people dig it up. If ever you come across a shy peanut plant you
cannot immediately tell whether or not it has any nuts. You have to find th
em to be certain."
We all agreed with this and Mother nodded her head too. Father continued, "S
o you should all try to be like the peanut, because it is neither grand nor
beautiful, but useful."
"Does that mean that people should try to be useful rather than famous or gr
eat?" I asked.
"That is what I hope of you all," Father replied.
We talked late into the night before dispersing. Although we ate all the pea
nuts that evening, Father's words still remain embedded in my mind.