Geppetto's Lesson

To make a child...

We all know the popular story of Pinocchio and his many grand adventures.  We know how he was a wooden puppet without strings that wanted very badly to be a real boy.  The tricks he played on his father, the trouble he got into, the faerie, and all the rest.

But do you know about Geppetto?  Let’s take a look. How does that saying go? Oh yes…

Once upon a time there was a man that wanted to craft for himself a fantastically beautiful marionette boy to seek his fortune. 

Ok, enough of that.  Fact is there was a sled maker named Geppetto that was getting on in his years.  He was a confirmed bachelor living in Livigno, Italy.  At 37 years of age, Mastro Geppetto was beyond his eligibility years, and now he was feeling a true sense of what that meant for him in the long run.  You see, Mastro Geppetto was a very lonely man.  He would often wander the snowy mountain sides and search out quiet places to think while at the same time seeking beautiful wood with which to craft his wondrous sleds.  But occasionally he would find an exceptional piece of wood and he would tuck it aside for the purpose to make a beautiful little wooden boy.   Geppetto may have been a lonely man more at home with his mountains than with people, but he was the best sled maker in all of Italy, and it brought him great joy to make each sled a work of art.  What a wonderful challenge to be able to create a boy? -Even a little wooden one.  

The brilliance of a sun-set would light on a fair log and emblazon it with such a blush of rosy color that Geppetto would cry out that such a face would be very beautiful indeed.  ‘Such expression in the wood’ he would say.  The moon’s beams resting on the branch of a tree one evening when Geppetto had stayed out later than usual was cause for Geppetto to dance about with excitement proclaiming, “See his hand, how graceful, how fair!”  In short, Geppetto’s loneliness was making him certifiably crazy.

Mastro Geppetto gathered beautiful samples of the mountains’ best wood as his vision took shape in his mind’s eye. Each day he looked for yet something else. Every piece had to be absolutely perfect.  He would spend the ENTIRE day looking for what would be his boy’s hand.  -The next day for a wonderful knob of wood that would become the boy’s knee. And so on and so on until at last, the man had all that he needed for his boy. –Each perfect piece.  He had even found the different plants and things to create beautiful colors with which to give the boy an impression of being truly alive.

Geppetto had seen much of God’s creation as he had searched the mountains faithfully.  He thought of everything that he would want his boy to be if he were a real boy and not a little pine bough boy.  Rugged and strong, like the mountains that Geppetto spent so much of his life exploring.  Bright as the sun that would shine on the snow in winter.  Flexible, like the spring shoots that grew in the fertile soils of the snow-melt so that he wouldn’t break from the fierce blowing wind.  Geppetto imagined that his son would have a kind heart and good manners; handsome from head to toe, but of a modest heart.  -A boy that would love him as much as he would love the boy.  A boy that Geppetto could teach and to watch grow into a man.

Of course, he wouldn’t have a real son; but he WOULD craft the most beautiful wooden boy anyone had ever seen; and everyone that saw the boy would proclaim it a shame that he were not alive, for he would have such a lovely face that they would all have to fall in love with him.

So piece by piece Mastro Geppetto carved and whittled and scraped and buffed and painted and…. Well, you get the idea don’t you?  He was, after all, creating his master-piece.  It wasn’t to be a sleigh (for after-all, it could be expected for a sleigh maker’s master-piece to be a sleigh) but it would be the finest woodworking Geppetto had ever done.

And it was.

Or, rather, he was. -The boy.  Geppetto even fashioned the most beautiful clothing for the little wooden boy. 

Stepping away from his little wooden masterpiece, Geppetto squinted quizzically at the doll.  “So lovely,” he said, “he should have a name.  I think I will call him Pinocchio.  I once knew a Pinocchio and he was a successful man, my doll could not want for a better namesake.”

And Pinocchio it was.

Geppetto looked at the rosy cheeks of the dear little wooden boy and his heart sank in his chest.  “How I wish you could be a real boy, Pinocchio.  -A son.  What I wouldn’t give to have a real son,” Geppetto whispered as a tear trailed down his cheek.