Excerpt from Siddhartha -- Herman Hesse

For a long time, for long months, Siddhartha waited for his son to
understand him, to accept his love, to perhaps reciprocate it. For
long months, Vasudeva waited, watching, waited and said nothing. One
day, when Siddhartha the younger had once again tormented his father
very much with spite and an unsteadiness in his wishes and had broken
both of his rice-bowls, Vasudeva took in the evening his friend aside
and talked to him.
"Pardon me." he said, "from a friendly heart, I'm talking to you. I'm
seeing that you are tormenting yourself, I'm seeing that you're in grief.

Your son, my dear, is worrying you, and he is also worrying me. That
young bird is accustomed to a different life, to a different nest. He
has not, like you, ran away from riches and the city, being disgusted
and fed up with it; against his will, he had to leave all this behind.
I asked the river, oh friend, many times I have asked it. But the river
laughs, it laughs at me, it laughs at you and me, and is shaking with
laughter at out foolishness. Water wants to join water, youth wants to
join youth, your son is not in the place where he can prosper. You too
should ask the river; you too should listen to it!"
Troubled, Siddhartha looked into his friendly face, in the many wrinkles
of which there was incessant cheerfulness.
"How could I part with him?" he said quietly, ashamed. "Give me some
more time, my dear! See, I'm fighting for him, I'm seeking to win his
heart, with love and with friendly patience I intent to capture it.

One day, the river shall also talk to him, he also is called upon."
Vasudeva's smile flourished more warmly. "Oh yes, he too is called
upon, he too is of the eternal life. But do we, you and me, know what
he is called upon to do, what path to take, what actions to perform,
what pain to endure? Not a small one, his pain will be; after all, his
heart is proud and hard, people like this have to suffer a lot, err a
lot, do much injustice, burden themselves with much sin. Tell me, my
dear: you're not taking control of your son's upbringing? You don't
force him? You don't beat him? You don't punish him?"
"No, Vasudeva, I don't do anything of this."
"I knew it. You don't force him, don't beat him, don't give him orders,
because you know that "soft" is stronger than "hard", Water stronger
than rocks, love stronger than force. Very good, I praise you. But
aren't you mistaken in thinking that you wouldn't force him, wouldn't
punish him? Don't you shackle him with your love? Don't you make him
feel inferior every day, and don't you make it even harder on him with
your kindness and patience? Don't you force him, the arrogant and
pampered boy, to live in a hut with two old banana-eaters, to whom even
rice is a delicacy, whose thoughts can't be his, whose hearts are old
and quiet and beats in a different pace than his? Isn't forced, isn't
he punished by all this?"
Troubled, Siddhartha looked to the ground. Quietly, he asked: "What
do you think should I do?"
Quoth Vasudeva: "Bring him into the city, bring him into his mother's

house, there'll still be servants around, give him to them. And when
there aren't any around any more, bring him to a teacher, not for the
teachings' sake, but so that he shall be among other boys, and among
girls, and in the world which is his own. Have you never thought of
this?"
"You're seeing into my heart," Siddhartha spoke sadly. "Often, I have
thought of this. But look, how shall I put him, who had no tender heart
anyhow, into this world? Won't he become exuberant, won't he lose
himself to pleasure and power, won't he repeat all of his father's
mistakes, won't he perhaps get entirely lost in Sansara?"
Brightly, the ferryman's smile lit up; softly, he touched Siddhartha's
arm and said: "Ask the river about it, my friend! Hear it laugh about
it! Would you actually believe that you had committed your foolish acts
in order to spare your son from committing them too? And could you in
any way protect your son from Sansara? How could you? By means of
teachings, prayer, admonition? My dear, have you entirely forgotten
that story, that story containing so many lessons, that story about
Siddhartha, a Brahman's son, which you once told me here on this very
spot? Who has kept the Samana Siddhartha safe from Sansara, from sin,
from greed, from foolishness? Were his father's religious devotion, his
teachers warnings, his own knowledge, his own search able to keep him
safe? Which father, which teacher had been able to protect him from
living his life for himself, from soiling himself with life, from
burdening himself with guilt, from drinking the bitter drink for
himself, from finding his path for himself? Would you think, my dear,
anybody might perhaps be spared from taking this path? That perhaps
your little son would be spared, because you love him, because you would
like to keep him from suffering and pain and disappointment? But even
if you would die ten times for him, you would not be able to take the
slightest part of his destiny upon yourself."