The Kite Runner

by Khaled Hosseini

For you, a thousand times over. Hassan the harelipped kite runner.

People say that eyes are windows to the soul. Never was that more true than with Ali, who could only reveal himself through his eyes.

even in birth, Hassan was true to his nature: He was incapable of hurting anyone. A few grunts, a couple of pushes, and out came Hassan. Out he came smiling.

“Now, no matter what the mullah teaches, there is only one sin, only one. And that is theft. Every other sin is a variation of theft. Do you understand that?”

“When you kill a man, you steal a life,” Baba said. “You steal his wife’s right to a husband, rob his children of a father. When you tell a lie, you steal someone’s right to the truth. When you cheat, you steal the right to fairness. Do you see?”

The generation of Afghan children whose ears would know nothing but the sounds of bombs and gunfire was not yet born.

And maybe, just maybe, I would finally be pardoned for killing my mother.

And that right there was the single greatest moment of my twelve years of life, seeing Baba on that roof, proud of me at last.

And that, I believe, is what true redemption is, Amir jan, when guilt leads to good.

There are a lot of children in Afghanistan, but little childhood.

I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded, not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night.