I have brought Dastan, my little boy, who is almost four years old, to a park. Near the playground we see several boys and girls playing who are mostly twice his age. Dastan, a gregarious and enthusiastic soul, immediately gets into the game and makes friends with them. As they play for a while, their game takes the shape of a running race around a long path among the trees. Some of the parents, watching the match, start cheering and encouraging their children to run faster. Every time the bigger and the faster ones get to the starting point first.
My little boy, getting to the starting point later than everybody else, comes to me at the fourth round, panting and with tears in his eyes, and says, "Baba, Baba, I want to race alone."
It takes me a few moments to understand his request. Finally I get it. After the other kids are half way gone down the path, I get him ready at the starting point, count one, two, three, and he starts running by himself. He is racing alone.
This time he comes around, even later than usual, but he is happy and gives me a yellow leaf he has found on the way. He has enjoyed his race, has had enough time to find a leaf, and above all he has come out first. He races again and again, finds a new path, and every time he comes out first. Yes, I think to myself, it is a joy to race alone.