HIS MISTAKES BEHIND FORGIVENESS by Alejandra Garcia

A new day, the same boy was there, in front of his little desk, the same but different child among his classmates.

White skin, slightly brown-haired and that pair of beautiful brown eyes is how we can describe him. Meantime, his classmates had skin as white as snow, blond-haired, sometimes curly-haired, other times straight-haired with blue or even green eyes.

The little boy was considered unique in that classroom and not exactly due to his physical, but for speaking two languages at that short age. With his family, he spoke in Spanish and by his surroundings; he made himself understand in English.

Everything in his life seemed to be perfect; his mother loved him, her aunt was willing to give her life for him, his grandmother (who wasn't exactly his grandmother by blood), was the typical grandma who pampered him even when he was wrong; and finally, he had his second aunt (who was not his aunt by blood either) who he played with after school. Whoever who met that beautiful angel would say his life was perfect and of course, he was happy with the life he had. However, there was a little issue he couldn't deal with.

“Joseph!” His teacher called him out at seeing him playing with his classmates, making them get distracted.

“Yes, Ms. Smith?” He responded well-educated. That beautiful pair of brown eyes went wide.

“Did you finish your craft?” The teacher asked while smoothing her voice tone. The least she would've wanted was to scare him.

“Yes, Ms. Smith,” affirmed Joseph, politely making his teacher smile. Whoever met Joseph would fall for his cuteness.

“Well done, honey. But remember; not because you have finished the activity your classmates have too.”

“I'm sorry, Ms. Smith.” He looked down.

“Come here, honey. “ She asked, feeling guilty. It was impossible not to feel guilty when he acted like that. Such an angel!

The little boy came to her. His teacher smiled, extending to him a pack of colored sheets. “Choose one, whichever you want.”

The boy looked at her and then, he took a blue one. His favorite among all the colors he was seeing. Ms. Smith smiled reaching out a pen which fell on the little boy's hand.

“Go to your desk and write a letter to your father. Go!” She encouraged.

And once again, his little issue was there. Was it so difficult to write a letter to his father? Yes. It was. After all, he didn’t have that perfect life that everyone could’ve imagined he owned.

He walked back to his desk thinking about the task he was asked to do.

He sat down thinking about all he wanted to say. He really wanted to write so much but didn't know how to start.

With a shaky hand, he took the pen over the sheet. Second by second, the pen started slipping on the page, creating words that could come into anyone’s heart.