Steve had a list of daily chores. Every morning, he was to clear the rocks from the far garden and practice his letters on his wax tablet.
Usually, Grandfather sat under the olive tree nearby, watching him. On those days, Steve worked hard. He cleared every rock. He formed every letter perfectly.
But today, Grandfather had to go into the village early.
"Your tasks remain the same," Grandfather said before leaving. "I trust you to complete them."
Steve nodded confidently.
For the first few minutes, Steve worked steadily. But then, a colorful butterfly landed on the garden wall.
Steve stopped to watch it. When it flew away, he realized how hot the sun was. He sat down in the shade, just for a moment.
He told himself he would do his letters later.
He ended up spending the entire morning building a small fort out of twigs for a beetle he had found.
When the sun began to dip lower in the sky, Grandfather returned.
He walked over to the garden. It was still full of rocks. He looked at Steve's wax tablet. It was completely blank.
"Have you finished your tasks, Steve?" Grandfather asked.
Steve looked down at his feet, his cheeks burning red with shame.
"No, Grandfather."
"When I am standing here, you do your work perfectly. You are an excellent worker when managed," Grandfather noted.
Steve kicked a loose stone.
"It's just hard to focus when you aren't here to make me."
Grandfather sighed softly.
"Doing what you are supposed to do only because someone is forcing you is not virtue. It is merely obedience."
He handed Steve the wax tablet.
"Discipline is the ability to manage yourself. It is trading the immediate pleasure of play for the long-term benefit of a clear garden and an educated mind. If you require a master to stand over you to be productive, you will never truly be a free man."
