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 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 bearded craftsman.
"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 for you."
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.
