![]() Or how sometimes, even after finding your True Love, you may still not get a Happily Ever After. Sometimes, not everyone can find their True Love like in the stories. When we got home she took me aside and explained to me how adults can be lonely too sometimes. ![]() It was the first time I saw the look of pity on someone. And though I knew that my mother was very much annoyed at me inside, she looked different as we left. I saw the same sadness in Pinocchio’s father as we did. They did their business and me and my mother went home. ![]() And you must always take responsibility.” I was confused by his answer, but my mother had jumped in and took control of the conversation to the clocks he had available. He said, “Because I am not just creating a body, I am creating a life. And when he spoke there was a twinge of sadness. He paused, like he knew the answer immediately but couldn’t find the right words to express it. But then I asked why he was careful in carving the puppets. I think it made him happy, knowing I took an interest. His eyes never stopped twinkling as I kept up my questions. He gave the warmest smile as he gently explained to me how the parts are made, how the strings are attached, and how he was able to make them so realistically. It must have exasperated my mother but he took it in stride. My mother had wanted to ask about the prices or some other adult things, but I was louder and must have asked him a hundred questions about who the new marionette was and how they were made. I must have been six or seven at the time, and saw him working on the head of a puppet as we walked in. Once, I was lucky enough to be taken by my mother to get a new clock. It was the most magical thing I had ever seen, watching him breathe life into those puppets. We watched as he made the marionettes move and dance across the stage, telling stories of knightly princes and clever princesses. About twice a month he would take his marionettes into the square in the little portable stage he had, and put on a show for the children. It would take him a while to carve them, putting in extra care to their body and shape, perfecting them in ways that I would never even think about. But my favorite things were the puppets he made. He worked as a wood carver, always tinkering away at his shop making clocks and toys to sell. And Pinocchio’s father was the most magical person I had ever known to that point. I had a habit of assuming anyone with remotely graying hair as old or ancient, because only old or ancient people ever had magic to them. Though looking back, he probably wasn’t older at fifty at most. He was an old man, with polished circle glasses and silvery gray hair.
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