The Story.

Keanoto opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was a beard, followed by a smile, which was followed by a pair of eyes.

“Hello, my child,” said the smile from beneath the beard. “Welcome to Life.”

Keanoto leaned up on his hands and stared around the room. He was sitting on a table, covered with wood-shavings. Large, silver tools lined the walls of the small and cozy room.

“Where am I?” Keanoto asked, standing up. His legs were wobbly and he soon fell back onto the table.

“Careful now,” the old man said, helping Keanoto to his feet. “You just might break yourself.”

Keanoto brushed himself off and stared up at the man. “Break myself?”

The old man smiled. “Yes, my son. You are very fragile. Hickory is strong, but you still have to be careful.”

Keanoto thought for a moment. “How do you know so much about me?”

To Keanoto’s surprise, the old man laughed. “I know,” he said with a smile, “because I made you.”

“You made me?” Keanoto asked in surprise.

“Yes,” the man answered, “I carved and fashioned you perfectly. Here,” the old man pulled a large round mirror from somewhere under the wood shavings, “have a look.”

Keanoto looked. He was small and thin. His face was round and his clothes were painted a fair shade of blue. Keanoto turned sideways to get a better look.

“Do you like it?” The carpenter asked.

Keanoto smiled, “Oh, yes.”

Suddenly Keanoto became very curious. “Are there more like me?”

The carpenter pulled a large red book from the table and opened it up in front of Keanoto’s little body. The carpenter turned the pages, one at a time.

The book was filled with drawings. Each drawing was of a different carving, a different figure. Keanoto cried out with joy when he saw a familiar figure.

“It’s me!”

The carpenter laughed. “It certainly is you.”

Then Keanoto stopped, noticing the drawing next to his. It was a figure unlike any he had ever seen. The figure had long curly, woodshaving-gold hair. A beautiful orange dress was carved and painted on her tall slender body.

Keanoto starred at the book. “What is this?”

The carpenter spoke in a soft voice. “I am a carpenter. These are figures I have made and will someday make.” The carpenter pointed to the drawing that Keanoto had been studying. “Do you like this one?”

Keanoto nodded. He liked her very much.

“Then I shall make her next,” the carpenter stated, turning the pages of the book.

Keanoto liked the drawings. He liked them very much. Each figure was so different and so unique that it made each picture worth looking at. And yet, as Keanoto watched, he noticed something. These figures were different from him. They were tall and strong, or gentile and beautiful. None of them looked quite like he did.

Keanoto looked down, sad at what he was seeing.

The carpenter stopped turning the pages and looked at his newest carving. “What is it? What is wrong, my little one?”

Keanoto shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t look like these drawings. I am small. My face is round. I am not like the others. I am not perfect.”

The carpenter shut the book and pushed it aside.

He rested his hand around Keanoto’s shoulders and looked him in the eyes. “I made you, Keanoto. I carved and fashioned you myself. I do not make mistakes. I do not make things that are not perfect.”

Keanoto nodded. “I am sorry.”

Just then the door opened.

Keanoto starred as a new figure walked into the room. It wasn’t like the figures he had seen in the book. This figure was tall and there was something about him that reminded Keanoto of the carpenter.

They were not carvings Keanoto noticed. They did not have nails or hinges. They were not made of wood.

“I am your creator and this is my son.”

The boy leaned forward on the table, resting his chin on his folded arms. He smiled at Keanoto.

Keanoto studied the boy’s face. He saw the way his eyes moved in swift soft strokes. His body did not click and clank when he moved. He could breathe and feel and smell things that Keanoto was sure he alone could never imagine.

Keanoto walked over to the boy. A sudden desire swept through Kenaoto’s small wooden body. The desire was so strong that it made him shake. He wanted to have a body, like his maker and the maker’s son. He wanted to breathe. He wanted to smell. He wanted to feel things. He wanted to be real.

“How?” Keanoto asked. “How can I become like you?”

The carpenter smiled warmly. “Here, my child, let me show you something.”

The carpenter stood up from his chair and held out his hand. Keanoto walked onto his palm, bracing himself. The carpenter carried the little wooden boy to a long and wide window. The carpenter set Keanoto down on the sill of the window.

Keanoto’s eyes opened wider. What he saw was magnificent. The world stretched out before him, green and beautiful. He longed to be a part of it.

“To become like me,” the carpenter explained, “you must go out there into the world and find yourself. There is a place where you can be made human.”

Keanoto rested his little wooden hands on the glass of the window, longing to be outside. “What must I do?”

“Find this place,” the carpenter instructed. “Go to the Builders. They will make you a body.”

Keanoto smiled with hope. He could have a body all of his own!

“My child, I must tell you,” the carpenter said intently. Keanoto looked at the carpenter, listening carefully. “In order to make this change permanent, you must come back to me so that I may seal the two together. You and your body.”

Keanoto looked concerned. “But why would I not come back to you?”

The carpenter leaned down and looked Keanoto in the eyes. “When you are out there in the world, things will happen. You will become distracted. You will want to stay. You will think things are quite other than what they really are. You will forget me.”

If Keanoto could have cried, he would have. “I won’t,” he said in a shaky voice. “I won’t forget you.”

The carpenter sighed. “You will. You will my child. But I promise you that I will not forget you. I will look out for you. I will wait for you to return.”

Keanoto glanced out the window thinking. “But how will I know the way back?

“I will send my son. He will go and make a path for you. He will show you the way.”

Keanoto looked down at the wood carvings on the table. His eyes trailed over to the open book and a thought entered his wooden head. “What about the others?”

The carpenter smiled. “He will show everyone the way.”

Now it did not occur to Keanoto, nor did it really matter, that he had not been with the carpenter for very long. He knew that his maker was very special and that they shared a deep connection to one another. It seemed that it did not matter that he had spent only a matter of minutes with the carpenter; Keanoto loved his creator as if he had known him for a thousand years.

A few quiet mimutes later, Keanoto found himself slippping his arms around the carpenter's neck as best he could and, speaking into the thick white beard, saying, "I will miss you."

He did not want to go. Not really. Not after what the carpenter had said about forgetting. But more than anything, more than staying, more than leaving, Keanoto wanted to obey. He wanted to prove himself, to prove his love. He wanted his creator to be proud of him. And so, all too soon, Keanoto waved goodbye and set off on his quest.