The Mystery of the Weetle Dad

We make our own fate. We go around blaming others, or God, for our mistakes, but that’s because we can’t admit that everything happens to us because of consequences of our decisions. Until that day I cracked open that unfortunate fortune cookie and read what my fate had in store.

“The greatest danger could be your own stupidity”, read the fortune cookie. Enraged, I stood up and yelled at the waiter, “I didn’t come in here to be insulted!” I stormed out of the restaurant blinded by rage, and strode right into the busy street.

I was so upset that I didn't realize how vigorously I was swinging by bag of Chinese leftovers as I paced down the sidewalk. I was about to cross the street when I accidentally hit a child in the head with two full boxes of fried rice.

“Ow,” said the kid, and as I looked down, I saw my father’s eyes looking back at me. In a flash, he was lost in the crowd. That’s impossible, right? It should be. But I couldn’t shake the feeling. Suddenly I lost my appetite, and dropped the carry out.

I thought back to the last time those eyes had looked up at me. My father had been a troubled man, but more than that, a scary man, who even in the throes of death had stared at me with disapproving eyes. The little boy ran off. I picked up my take out. I had a mystery to solve.

Just then it occurred to me. The man. In the cloak. He’d been lurking outside the room when my father was on his deathbed. He must have heard my pleas to turn my dad into a little boy so that he could act in my production of Newsies. Miracles did, indeed, exist. I tipped my hat.