With a timid voice and idolizing eyes, the little boy greeted his father as he returned from work, “Daddy, how much do you make an hour?”
Greatly surprised, but giving his boy a glaring look, the father said, “Look, son, not even your mother knows that. Don't bother me now, I'm tired.”
“But Daddy, just tell me please! How much do you make an hour?” the boy insisted.
The father finally gave up and replied, “Twenty dollars per hour.”
“Okay, Daddy. Could you loan me ten dollars?” the boy asked.
Showing restlessness and positively disturbed, the father yelled—
“So that was the reason you asked how much I earn, right? Go to sleep and don't bother me anymore!”
It was already dark and the father felt guilty as he meditated on what he had said. Maybe, he thought, his son wanted to buy something. So the father went to his son's room.
“Are you asleep, son?” asked the father.
“No, Daddy. Why?” replied the boy, partially asleep.
“Here's the money you asked for earlier,” the father said.
“Thanks, Daddy!” rejoiced the son, putting his hand under his pillow and pulling out some money.
“Now I have twenty dollars!” the boy said to his father, who was gazing at his son, confused at what his son just said. “Daddy, could you sell me one hour of your time?”