Inspirational story: How much is an hour of your time

There once was a hardworking man who spent long hours at his job, providing for his family. Every morning, he left home early, before the sun had fully risen, and every evening, he returned late, exhausted from a long day of work. He told himself that everything he did was for his family, to give them a comfortable life, a warm home, and all the things they needed. But in doing so, he barely had time to spend with them. One evening, after another long and tiring day, the man trudged up the front steps of his house. His shoulders ached, his mind was clouded with thoughts of work, and all he wanted was a quiet meal and some rest. As he opened the door, he found his five-year-old son waiting for him in the hallway, his little face lighting up with excitement. “Daddy, may I ask you a question?” the boy said eagerly. The man sighed and rubbed his temples. “Yes, what is it?” he replied, trying not to sound impatient. “Daddy, how much money do you make an hour?” the boy asked. The father frowned. “That’s none of your business! Why do you ask such a thing?” His voice was sharper than he intended. The little boy hesitated but then said softly, “I just want to know. Please, Daddy, how much do you make an hour?” The man sighed again, tired of the endless questions. “If you must know, I make twenty dollars an hour,” he answered.

The boy’s face lit up for a moment, but then he looked down at the floor, thinking. After a few seconds, he looked up again and asked, “Daddy, can I borrow ten dollars, please?” At that moment, something inside the father snapped. He had worked tirelessly all day, dealing with problems, making difficult decisions, and now, after all that, his son wanted money? “If the only reason you wanted to know how much I make is just so you can beg for money to buy some silly toy or nonsense, then go straight to your room!” the father scolded. “Think about why you’re being so selfish! I work long, hard hours every day, and I don’t have time for this.” Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes as he quietly turned and walked away. The door to his room clicked shut behind him. The father, still frustrated, collapsed onto the couch, rubbing his face with his hands. He replayed the conversation in his head, feeling justified in his anger. Why did his son want the money? Was he being spoiled? Was he learning bad habits? But as the minutes passed, his anger slowly faded. He began to feel guilty. His son rarely asked for anything. What if he had truly needed that money for something important? What if he had been too harsh? With a deep sigh, the father stood up and walked toward his son’s room. He gently opened the door. The boy was lying in bed, awake but silent. “Son, are you asleep?” the father whispered. 

The boy turned toward him. “No, Daddy. I’m awake.” The father sat on the edge of the bed and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a ten-dollar bill and placed it in the boy’s small hands. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, his voice softer now. “Maybe I was too hard on you earlier. It’s been a long day, and I was upset. Here’s the ten dollars you asked for.” The boy’s face lit up with joy. “Oh, thank you, Daddy!” he exclaimed. 

 Then, to the father’s surprise, the boy reached under his pillow and pulled out a small pile of crumpled bills. He carefully smoothed them out and began counting. The father watched in confusion. “Why did you want more money if you already had some?” he asked, his irritation starting to rise again. The little boy looked up with innocent eyes. “Because I didn’t have enough, but now I do,” he said with a smile. The father furrowed his brow. “Enough for what?” The boy carefully counted out twenty dollars, then held the money out to his father with both hands. “Daddy,” he said softly, “I want to buy an hour of your time. Can you come home early tomorrow and play with me?” The room fell silent. The father felt his chest tighten. He stared at his son, realizing, in that moment, what he had failed to see before. He had been so busy working, so caught up in making a living, that he had forgotten to truly live with the people he loved. Tears welled up in his eyes as he pulled his son into a tight embrace. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “Of course, I’ll come home early tomorrow.” That night, as the father lay in bed, he couldn’t stop thinking about what had just happened. He had always believed that working hard and providing for his family was the most important thing. But now, he understood something much deeper. Time was the most valuable thing he could ever give to his son. And from that day forward, he made sure to never let work steal away the moments that truly mattered.