.jpg)[Photo credit](https://pixabay.com/photos/silhouette-father-and-son-sundown-1082129/#_=_)
##### You can read the first part [here](https://hive.blog/hive-161155/@razeiv/father-my-patriot-or-part-1-my-maynia-1-or-or-maynia-day-eight-prompt-shattered-glass)
"Why you have not memorized it?" The teacher raged.
Ahh! It hurts, I was telling the truth, the made truth at least after all we have an electricity problem every other day. Vicky sitting next to me replied," You should have given some other excuse".
I looked at him with a deep sigh. The sixth bell ranged and it was the final period of the day on English. "Father", I heard my classmates calling from the back, mostly Riku, he always calls it intentionally knowing Mr Mehta was coming to our class. The whole class would burst into laughter after that, all they need to hear was Riku's leading voice. Mr Mehta who was our English teacher and my father for the rest of the period outside school. An elegant man of pride wearing white kurtas and pyjamas with *leather satchel* hanging around his shoulder. I remember calling him there by the slip of the tongue, once, twice or probably uncountable times and my classmates would never leaved the chance to show their teeth.
It was not easy to avoid this mistake although we came together only in our English class, or at rare moments when we crossed path on the corridors of our school building. My classmates never understand that he was my Sir for merely seven hours, and precisely not even seven but just the English class. The rest of the day he was my father, my storyteller. When the whole class enjoyed cherishing those laughing strokes father would join them standing by the edge of the teacher's table. He never reacted against his jolly behaviour even when he hears Riku teasing me from behind, " O' father, carry me in your lap" or "Buy me a candy, father". I am eleven years old and I wasn't a child anymore, despite growing in his lap I am now merely three inches shorter than him and could also buy my candies all by myself if my parents would permit me to.
"Riku, do you need candy too, I can give you one" Smilingly he would say to keep the class on track. That's the everyday routine and I never recalled him being furious on any matter in the school. He was our favourite teacher not because he was my father but for his jolly attitude.
"Pronounce correctly," He said.
"Pay - Triet, not Pat - Triot",
Enthusiastically giving examples and saying "Give money to someone like pay and then Triet. Come", on! try once again". We repeat after him Pay - Triet waiting eagerly for the bell to ring after all who loves to learn pronunciation and grammar in the last period.
But then, he starts a story of a patriot in the revision of the whole thing taught as if he knew the kids were eager to listen to it. A patriot story would follow another one within and he continues how Icarus ignored his father's Daedalus advice and went too far near the sun just to melt down his wings of wax to meet his death. A moral follows immediately, " It's important in your life that you listen to your elder's advice and always walk on their footsteps, and should never cross your limit".
"Tring..." The bell ranged and we rushed towards the corridor for the session end assembly.
(To be continued..)
###### Words count: 553 (only)
###### I am very happy to participate in Maynia, I was nervous about it but finally decide to move and complete this story, let's see how far I go. Also, I am not a native English speaker, so please forgive me if you find some grammatical mistakes :).
##### <center>Maynia Day Eleven link can be found [here](https://hive.blog/hive-161155/@freewritehouse/maynia-day-eleven)
***<center>I am razeiv,
Short stories writer, an art lover
from NorthEast, India.</center>***
<center></center>