The Toymaker and the Son

[Haroshia]

The Toymaker and the Son.  By Sparrow.

Once, in a land far away, there was a wise toymaker. He had a long dark beard, and tended to wear a simple brown robe.  Despite only being of middle age, his back was hunched from many nights spent over a workbench. 
His eyesight had been failing from keeping his face close to his work to tend to every detail, and his hands were always covered in small cuts and he had clay under his nails.  His shop was a small humble shop, and it smelled of sawdust and earth and wool most days.  It was kept cool from the sun by great trees that made a canopy of shade overtop of it.  There was a long list of people waiting to get a toy from this toymaker, and he loved his work.  The toymaker was content. 

This toymaker was known far and wide for one thing.  Every piece he made was unique.  He could look at a person and know right away what toy they would like, with his wise gaze, and he would craft the perfect gift every time.  Every gift he made though was rife with imperfections and flaws.  He'd make clay soldiers, but some would lean just a bit, or have eyes that were different colors, or had a small chip out of one of the ears.  He'd make stuffed dolls, but one button eye would be a bit larger than the other, or the dress would have a slight tear, or four fingers on one hand and five on another.  Despite these imperfections though, every gift was loved for what it was, for to have such a precious gift from this toymaker was highly coveted.

This toymaker had a son, who looked very much like him.  You would think the son would be proud of his father, but he was not.  You see, this ambitious son had ideas of his own. 
"Father, why do you make every piece to order?  You could just make a bunch of pieces at once, and we could sell them all at once and make a bunch of dinar!"
"Father, why aren't you more careful with your work?  If you made every piece perfect they'd surely be more beautiful, and your fame would grow!"
"Father, why don't you bring on more help?  If we had more help, we could make even more toys, and then we could be rich!"
The toymaker, answered every protestation of the son with the same answer..."And then what?"

One day, it came to be that the toymaker heard his elderly parents were fallen ill, and he needed to go back home on the other end of the world to tend to his affairs.  He closed his store, and left...and the son saw an opportunity.

He crafted himself a false beard, and pair of glasses to match his father's, and set about doing things his way to /prove/ to his father he was right.  First, he stopped making pieces to order, as he did not have the same wise eyes as his father.  Instead her offered a selection, and made people pick.  Then, he worked very carefully to make each piece as perfectly as possible.  He found it rather easy, having studied his father, and simply had to make slight adjustments.  Finally, he brought on help of his own, teaching them the techniques he had gained from observing his father, with his own methods to make every piece exactly the same.  Perfect.

And this did indeed cause the toymaker's business to grow.  The son used the good name of the toymaker to bring in more and more people, and since he was much more efficient he could make more and more toys.  To make every piece perfect, the son used the extra wealth gained to purchase machines, as their accuracy would be greater than any human hand.  He brought on more and more help, and soon the work was overflowing out of the small humble shop, so the son expanded it out further and further.  He chopped down the great trees that provided shade to the shop to make room, and rather than smelling like sawdust and earth and wool, the shop smelled of oil, and metal, as it joylessly churned out toys.

The son looked proudly upon what he had made now, as his workers toiled below him.  He didn't even bother with the false beard or glasses anymore, shining his bright, practiced smile to all who he saw.  His toys were traded around the world, and he had great wealth.  More wealth than he could ever afford to spend.  He had achieved his goal...but when the night fell, and the son went to bed, the words of the toymaker rung in his head...taunting him. 

"And then what?"

This question drove the son to push further and further.  It was not enough that his toys should be the best, but that /all/ toys should be bought from him.  He aggressively chased after competitor after competitor, copying their works but using his own techniques to make them more efficiently, and more perfectly.  He cut his prices far below theirs, until one by one these competitors were driven out of business.  They fell under the son's gaze, and he smiled as his empire grew.  It grew and grew, and grew, until it reached from one side of the world to the other, with great factories churning out sulfur smelling smoke into the air, with an army of joyless workers slaving away in their heat.

And then it came to be, as the son looked over this empire, that he was told there was one store that for whatever reason he couldn't drive out of business, on the other side of the world.  In fact, this store it seemed was taking business /away/ from him, with many of his customers seeming to prefer it over his own.  He had his spies look into it, and discovered this store was run by a man with a long beard and spectacles.  The spy had walked into the store to see what made it so special, and when he did the toymaker there had looked him in the eye.  And gave him a letter to take back to the son.

"My son" the letter began, "I am glad to hear of your success in expanding the business.  I decided it best if I kept my distance here, and did what I love to do.  Although I may not be wealthy, or powerful, I am happy.  I hope you can say the same".  The son fell to his knees and wept...for he was not happy.  He longed for the times when it was him and his father, in the humble shop, but he knew those days would never return for him.

So I ask you, dear readers, to take this story to heart, and ask yourself a simple question.  Would you prefer to receive a gift from the toymaker, or from the son?