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Small Wooden People

The Wemmicks were small wooden people.
Each of the wooden people was carved
by a woodworker named Eli.
His workshop sat on a hill
overlooking their village.
Every Wemmick was different.
Some had big noses, others had large eyes.
Some were tall and others were short.
Some wore hats, others wore coats. But all were
made by the same carver
and all lived in the village. And all day, every day, the
Wemmicks did the same thing:
They gave each other stickers. Each Wemmick had a box
of golden star stickers and a box of on a hill
gray dot stickers. Up and down the streets
all over the city, people could be seen
sticking stars or dots on one another. The pretty ones, those
with smooth wood and fine paint, always
got stars. But if the wood was rough or the
paint chipped, the Wemmicks gave dots. The
talented ones got stars, too. Some could lift
big sticks high above their heads or jump over tall
boxes. Still others knew big words or
could sing very pretty songs. Everyone gave them
stars. Some Wemmicks had stars all
over them!
Every time they got a star it made them feel
so good that they did something
else and got another star. Others, though,
could do little. They got dots. Punchinello was
one of these. He tried to jump high like the others,
but he always fell. And when he fell,
the others would gather around and give him dots.
Sometimes when he fell, it would scar
his wood, so the people would give him more dots. He
would try to explain why he fell
and say something silly, and the Wemmicks would give
him more dots. After a while he
had so many dots that he didn't want to go outside.
He was afraid he would do something
dumb such as forget his hat or step in the water,
and then people would give him another
dot. In fact, he had so many gray dots that
some people would come up and give him one
without reason. "He deserves lots of dots,"
the wooden people would agree with one
another. "He's not a good wooden person."
After a while Punchinello believed them.
"I'm not a good Wemmick," he would say. The few times
he went outside, he hung around
other Wemmicks who had a lot of dots. He felt
better around them. One day he met a
Wemmick who was unlike any he'd ever met. She had
no dots or stars. She was just
wooden. Her name was Lulia. It wasn't that people
didn't try to give her stickers;
it's just
that the stickers didn't stick. Some admired Lulia
for having no dots, so they would run
up and give her a star. But it would fall off.
Some
would look down on her for having no
stars, so they would give her a dot. But it wouldn't
stay either. "That's the way I want to
be,"thought Punchinello. "I don't want anyone's marks."
So he asked the stickerless
Wemmick how she did it. "It's easy," Lulia
replied. "every day I go see Eli."
"Eli?" "Yes, Eli. The woodcarver. I sit in the workshop with
him." "Why?" "Why don't you find out
for yourself? Go up the hill. He's there." And with
that the Wemmick with no marks
turned and skipped away. "But he won't want to
see me!" Punchinello cried out. Lulia
didn't hear. So Punchinello went home. He sat
near a window and watched the wooden
people as they scurried around giving each other
stars and dots. "It's not right," he
muttered to himself. And he resolved to go see Eli.
He walked up the narrow path to the
top of the hill and stepped into the big shop.
His wooden eyes widened at the size of
everything. The stool was as tall as he was.
He had to stretch on his tiptoes to see the top
of the workbench. A hammer was as long as his arm.
Punchinello swallowed hard. "I'm
not staying here!" and he turned to leave. Then he
heard his name. "Punchinello?" The
voice was deep and strong. Punchinello
stopped. "Punchinello! How good to see you.
Come and let me have a look at you." Punchinello
turned slowly and looked at the large
beardedcraftsman. "You know my name?" the little
Wemmick asked. "Of course I do. I
made you." Eli stooped down and picked him up and set

him on the bench. "Hmm," the
maker spoke thoughtfully as he inspected the gray
circles. "Looks like you've been given
some bad marks." "I didn't mean to, Eli. I really
tried hard." "Oh, you don't have to defend
yourself to me, child. I don't care what the
other Wemmicks think." "You don't?" "No,
and you shouldn't either. Who are they to give
stars or dots? They're Wemmicks just like
you. What they think doesn't matter, Punchinello.
All that matters is what I think. And I
think you are pretty special." Punchinello
laughed. "Me, special? Why? I can't walk fast.
I can't jump. My paint is peeling. Why do I matter
to you?" Eli looked at Punchinello, put
his hands on those small wooden shoulders, and
spoke very slowly. "Because you're
mine. That's why you matter to me." Punchinello
had never had anyone look at him like
this--much less his maker. He didn't know what to
say. "Every day I've been hoping you'd
come," Eli explained. "I came because I met someone
who had no marks." "I know. She
told me about you." "Why don't the stickers stay on
her?" "Because she has decided that
what I think is more important than what they think.
The stickers only stick if you let
them." "What?" "The stickers only stick if
they matter to you. The more you trust my
love, the less you care about the stickers."
"I'm not sure I understand." "You will, but it
will take time. You've got a lot of marks. For now,
just come to see me every day and let
me remind you how much I care." Eli lifted
Punchinello off the bench and set him on the
ground. "Remember," Eli said as the Wemmick
walked out the door. "You are special
because I made you. And I don't make mistakes."
Punchinello didn't stop, but in his heart
he thought, "I think he really means it." And
when he did, a dot fell to the ground.