The Knife and the Little Children in the Yard

The afternoon sun poured gold through the mango branches, and the sound of children running pitter-patter across the dirt yard raised clouds of dust. On the porch, the mother carried a basket of fresh green cucumbers just picked from the garden and set it down on the windowsill. She held a gleaming sharp knife, turning its wooden handle in her hands, her eyes sweeping over her little ones squabbling over a rubber ball.

"My arms are tired. Who will cut these cucumbers for me?"

She called out loudly, then fell silent and watched. The children turned around; several rushed forward, one raising a hand and demanding the knife at once, another bouncing up and down with excitement.

She had four young children, the oldest only eight years old. Today she wanted to teach them a small lesson about being careful. A few days earlier, her second child had taken scissors to cut a doll's hair and stabbed his own hand until it bled. The third child often swung toys around wildly and had once hit a playmate until the child sobbed. Only the eldest, whenever given a task, always finished it properly and never misbehaved. She remembered her grandmother's words: sharp things must be given to one who knows fear, one who knows how to be careful.

The second child pushed forward, eyes shining, voice shrill:

"Me, me! I cut really fast, give it here!"

The mother stepped back, hiding the knife behind her back, her brow furrowing.

"You? Last week you stabbed your hand with scissors and it hasn't healed yet, and you hit your little brother on the head with a toy. I don't dare."

The third child also jumped forward, waving an arm as if holding a sword:

"I want to do it too, I love cutting!"

The mother shook her head, her voice deepening:

"You're so wild. If you waved a knife around carelessly, who would suffer for it? I'll give it to your big brother only."

The eldest child came over from the corner of the yard and calmly took the knife, nodding:

"Don't worry, Mother. I'll cut slowly and carefully, and I won't cut myself."

This was the turning point: she realized she could not give the knife to a child who did not yet know caution, no matter how much she loved them all equally, because doing so would harm the whole group. She breathed a soft sigh, her heart feeling lighter, as if a weight of worry had lifted.

She handed over the first cucumber. The eldest set it on the cutting board, holding it firmly with the left hand while guiding the knife gently with the right, each slice thin and even. The second and third children stood watching, at first sulking, then delighting in getting to eat the slices. The mother smiled and stroked the eldest child's head.

Afterward, whenever a task required something sharp, she called only the eldest; the others gradually learned to be more careful, seeing the trust their brother had earned. There were fewer scenes of crying in the yard over toy accidents. This small lesson from a knife helped the children understand: only one who can govern oneself is entrusted with dangerous things.

The Meaning of the Story

In life, even in something as small as handing over a knife, we can clearly see that only a person of virtue and care is worthy of being given freedom and authority. Freedom goes hand in hand with responsibility and moral integrity; it can never be handed out freely to those who lack self-control.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thích Chân Quang