Steve sat on the porch, his face buried in his hands. Earlier that day in the market, he had proudly tried to read a sign for a traveling merchant, but he mispronounced a difficult word. The merchant's son had laughed loudly, pointing at him in front of everyone.
Now, Steve was certain the entire village thought he was foolish. He replayed the laughter in his head endlessly. He couldn't eat Mother's fresh bread. He couldn't sleep.
Grandfather watched him all evening but said nothing.
The next morning, before the sun even crested the horizon, Grandfather woke Steve. "Come. We are walking."
They hiked in silence for hours, climbing higher and higher up the steep, rocky ridge that overlooked the entire valley. When they finally reached the peak, the sun was bright, painting the world below in gold and green.
The village looked like a handful of tiny pebbles scattered in the dirt. The great river was just a silver thread.
"Point to the market," Grandfather said, breathing heavily from the climb.
Steve squinted. He searched for the square, but the buildings were so small they all blended together. "I can't see it."
"Point to the merchant's son," Grandfather said gently.
Steve looked at him. "Grandfather, I can't even see the houses."
"From up here," Grandfather said softly, "can you see your shame?"
Steve shook his head.
"That is because it was always that small," Grandfather explained, placing a heavy hand on Steve's shoulder. "When we are trapped inside our own heads, our pride makes every embarrassment feel like a mountain. But you have been carrying a pebble and calling it a boulder."
They sat together on the high ridge, watching the wind sweep over the vast, beautiful world, and Steve realized how little a single laugh truly mattered.
