My Son, The Little Monk

Thun is a monk! We say he is a nen: a novice monk. His head and eyebrows are shaved.

I love that boy so much. 6 years ago he came into my life. I was the boyfriend of his mother. Not two weeks later he asked me: "Can I call you Daddy?"

What a simple, beautiful and very brave question. I have learned so much from him. I have learned about love and trust.

Since then he has studied me closely. He knows that I love books and that I love Buddha. He looked at my pictures from Lumbhini very carefully. Now, as a 10-year-old, he reads a lot. But this was completely out of the blue.

When he told us he wanted to be a monk, Poo and I looked at each other:

"Is this your idea?"

"No! is this your idea?"

No, it was his idea! I think he wants to make his parents happy. Now he is in the wat (temple) battling the mosquitoes and extreme heat for 15 days. We went to visit him yesterday. Of course, his orange robes kept slipping off his shoulder. Fortunately, there are 10 other boys, about his age, for Thun to play with. He said that waking up at 3 AM is OK, and he does meditation, but one time he fell asleep during meditation.

They eat only once per day. Poor Thun is too skinny already. After 15 days, he will look like a child from Darfur. The parents bring drinks, so the boys have an unlimited supply of milk, Coke and Fanta Orange, which they love.

"Can we bring you anything," I asked Thun, "some milk, or some orange juice, or a blanket?"

"Daddy, I need only one thing, . . . . . , a water gun."

I was shocked: "You are a MONK, you cannot ask for a GUN!"

"It's not for killing," he pointed out, "just for playing! If I stay the whole 15 days, I will be here for Songkran (Thai Water Festival), and Daddy, we all want to play Songkran!"

His logic was hard to refute, so I looked to Poo for support.

"Don't look at me," she laughed, "he is your son!"