It was a sunny morning in the small village where Bin lived with his parents. The roosters had already crowed, the cows were munching on fresh grass, and the gentle breeze carried the smell of rice porridge from the kitchen. Bin, a playful and curious little boy, was still lying in bed with his favorite stuffed monkey clutched tightly in his arms. He didn’t want to wake up yet, but his father’s voice was already calling from outside.
“Bin! Come on, wake up, the sun is up already. We have to help Mom feed the chickens!”
Bin groaned, buried his face deeper in the blanket, and shouted back, “Nooo, I’m still sleepy, Dad!”
His father chuckled, but he was firm. “Bin, if you don’t get up now, the chickens will eat all their food without you, and you’ll miss the fun!”
At that, Bin slowly peeked out from under his blanket. He loved feeding the chickens. Still, he didn’t want to admit that his father was right. With a little pout, he finally rolled out of bed, dragged his feet across the floor, and stepped outside.
The morning chores started quickly. Bin held a small basket of grain, tossing handfuls onto the ground as the chickens clucked happily around him. His father carried a bigger basket, laughing at the way the hens chased one another for the food.
But then, something happened. Bin wanted to throw the grain by himself, without his father’s help. He puffed out his cheeks and declared, “Dad, I can do it! I’m big already.”
His father smiled warmly. “Of course you’re big, Bin, but let me show you how to spread it evenly.”
Bin didn’t like that. He thought his father was treating him like a baby. “No, I can do it alone!” he shouted, stomping his foot.
His father, still calm, replied, “Alright, then you try by yourself.”
Excited, Bin grabbed the basket, but in his rush, he tipped it too far and spilled almost all the grain onto one side of the yard. The chickens went wild, piling on top of each other, while the other side of the yard remained empty.
His father chuckled softly, “See? That’s why I said to spread it evenly.”
But Bin’s cheeks turned red. He hated making mistakes in front of his father. Crossing his arms, he turned away and muttered, “Hmph! I don’t like you anymore!”
That was the beginning of Bin sulking with his father.
For the rest of the morning, Bin refused to speak to him. Whenever his father asked him a question, Bin looked away. When his father tried to pat his head, Bin ducked and pretended to be busy with something else. Even when his father offered him a piece of sweet mango, Bin pouted and shook his head.
His mother couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh dear, look at you two. Bin is sulking like a little prince, and Dad doesn’t even know what crime he committed.”
“I do know,” his father said with a grin, “he’s mad because I corrected him.”
Bin stomped his little foot again and shouted, “I’m not mad! I just… don’t want to talk to you!”
Everyone burst out laughing—even his grandmother, who was sitting on the porch weaving a basket.
The day went on, but Bin kept his sulky face. When they sat down for lunch, Bin refused to sit next to his father. Instead, he squeezed in between his mother and grandmother, pushing his bowl closer to them.
“Bin, come sit here beside me,” his father invited gently.
“No!” Bin shouted, stuffing rice into his mouth quickly.
His father pretended to be sad, sighing dramatically. “Oh no, my son doesn’t love me anymore. Maybe I should go eat alone under the tree.” He picked up his bowl and started walking outside.
Bin peeked at him out of the corner of his eye, still chewing. Deep down, he wanted to follow, but his pride told him to stay still. His little heart felt torn—he wanted to forgive his dad but also wanted his dad to realize how upset he was.
After lunch, Bin’s father had an idea. He went to the garden and began making funny faces at the scarecrow they had built together. He whispered loudly, “Oh, Scarecrow, do you know? My son Bin doesn’t want to play with me anymore. What should I do? Should I tickle him until he laughs?”
Bin, who was nearby pretending to draw in the dirt with a stick, heard this. He tried to keep a straight face, but a giggle escaped him. His father noticed and exaggerated even more, making the scarecrow “talk” back.
“Tickle him, yes, tickle him! That will make him smile!”
Finally, Bin couldn’t resist. He burst into laughter, dropped his stick, and ran toward his father. But when he reached him, he quickly crossed his arms again and said, “I’m still sulking with you!”
His father swooped him up in his arms anyway and tickled him until he laughed so hard his sulky face disappeared.
In the evening, the two sat together watching the sunset. The sky turned orange and pink, and the birds flew home to their nests. Bin rested his head against his father’s shoulder, still pretending to pout a little, but his eyes were soft now.
“Dad,” Bin whispered, “I wasn’t really mad… I just wanted to show you I can do things on my own.”
His father hugged him tightly and said, “I know, Bin. And I’m proud of you for wanting to try. But even when you make mistakes, I’ll always be here to help you. That’s what fathers do.”
Bin finally smiled, his sulky mood gone completely. “Okay, Dad. But next time, let me try first, okay?”
“Deal,” his father said, holding out his pinky finger. Bin giggled and wrapped his tiny finger around his father’s.
That night, as the stars filled the sky, Bin lay in bed with his stuffed monkey again. He thought about the day and how silly it was to sulk for so long. He promised himself that the next time he got upset, he would try to talk instead of just pouting.
But he also knew one thing for sure—no matter how much he sulked, his father would always find a way to make him laugh again.
And with that comforting thought, Bin drifted off to sleep, dreaming of more adventures with his dad.
