Leo frowned. “How am I supposed to reach them all?”
“Three minutes, forty seconds,” Grandpa said. “Slow. But every candle stands.” discipline4 boys
Leo grinned. This was his kind of challenge. His fast hands struck the match, and he touched the flame to the first wick. Fssst. He moved to the second, but the match went out. He grabbed another. Struck it too hard—it snapped. Third match. Lit the second candle. Rushed to the third. The flame wobbled. He knocked over candle number four. By the time he lit the seventh, the first candle had already burned a puddle of wax onto the wood. Leo frowned
Leo was twelve and had the fastest hands in his grade. He could snatch a cookie from the jar without a creak, flick a paper football across the cafeteria before the teacher turned around, and unlace his sneakers under the desk without looking. His hands, he believed, were born for motion, not stillness. But every candle stands
“Light them,” Grandpa said. “All seven. Fast as you can.”
And for the first time, Leo learned that discipline wasn’t a cage for his energy. It was the flame that kept it from burning out.
Leo tried. He lit the first candle and waited. Counted to ten in his head. The flame grew tall and calm. Then he lit the second. Then the third. He wanted to rush. His hands tingled. But his feet stayed planted. He reached, paused, breathed. By the time he lit the seventh candle, the first was still burning brightly.