shakiba went out and closed the door behind him. But a few seconds later, he opened the door and jumped in to the middle of the principal’s office.

_ where is that poem? My son supposed to read that in front of other students. He said you got it from him.

School master, Mr. Lak, who was biting his lip and blinking rapidly, said: “which poem?”

_ That poem I have wrote on the occasion of the presence of the Iranian national team in France.  

Lak repeated: “the presence of the Iranian national team in France.” Then look around and said: “I do not know where I left it.”

Mr Shakiba got angry and said: “I want to take that poem. I do not want it to be here.”

Lak said: “ I do not know where that damned piece of paper is.”

Shakiba said: do not play dumb whit me, you dong. My innocent child wanted to read the poem at the welcoming ceremony of Ali Daei. But you did not allow it out of jealousy.   

Mr. Lak growled: “that story was a nonsense rumor. Children made it up. Why did you believe it?

Shakiba was shocked. After a few moments of pause, he said: “Mr. Daei never supposed to come here?”

_ did you really believe that shit?

Shakiba felt stupid that he was influenced by such a rumor and wrote that long poem with a great effort for his son to read at the welcoming ceremony. He advised several times his son to say that poem was written by my father. He always told his son that one day he would like to read poetry in a place where all football players are. One day, Ali tells his father that there is such a ceremony at school, but the parents are not going to tell. I read your poem there.  Even though Shakiba was depressed, he thought to himself that there is no problem. Ali read it. When Ali read it, as if I read it.