We’re All Wonderfully Made - A Children's Story

We’re All Wonderfully Made

By Bill Conley

Moral of the Story:
We all look different, and we all grow in different ways.
Some walk, some roll, some hear with their hands or talk without words.
But every child is filled with beauty, purpose, and promise.
We’re all wonderfully made—just as we are.

In the little town of Harmony Hill, there was a special school called Sunbeam Academy.

It wasn’t the biggest or the fanciest, but it had the warmest hearts of any school around.

Because at Sunbeam Academy, every student was different, and that made every day an adventure.

Some kids wore glasses, some had wheelchairs.
Some used sign language.
Some didn’t talk much but could sing like the wind.
Some ran fast. Some liked to draw. Some needed a little more help, and some helped a lot.

And everyone was welcome.

One morning, a new student named Ellie joined the class.

Ellie had bright eyes and bouncy curls, but she also walked slowly with a crutch and wore a brace on her leg.

When she entered the room, some kids stared. Some didn’t know what to say.
But then a boy named Milo, who used a wheelchair, rolled up to her and smiled.

“Cool crutch,” he said.
“Thanks,” Ellie smiled back. “Wanna race?”

Everyone laughed.

Just like that, Ellie had a friend.

In music class, Jasmine, who was deaf, taught the class how to sing a song using their hands.

She signed each word with graceful movements, and when they finished, everyone clapped—using silent applause with their hands in the air, waving.

“Your hands are like music!” Ellie told her.

Jasmine beamed.

At lunch, Ollie, who had Down syndrome, shared his jelly sandwich and told the funniest joke anyone had ever heard.
He laughed so hard, he snorted.
And then everyone snorted.
It was the loudest, silliest lunchtime of the week.

One afternoon, their teacher, Mrs. Lark, wrote on the board:

“What makes you special?”

Hands shot up.

“I can draw dinosaurs from memory!”
“I know all the names of the planets—backwards!”
“I helped my sister tie her shoes this morning!”
“I can count to 100 in Spanish!”
“I can make anyone smile!”

Mrs. Lark nodded and said,
“See? Every one of you is wonderfully made.
Your bodies may be different. Your minds may work in unique ways.
But you all shine with something that no one else has.”

Ellie raised her hand.

“I used to wish I didn’t need a crutch,” she said.
“But now I know it helps me stand tall.
And standing tall feels… wonderful.”

Everyone cheered.

And from that day on, no one at Sunbeam Academy ever wondered if they belonged.
They just celebrated how they belonged.

Because in their school…
Different was beautiful.

🌟 A Poem to End the Tale 🌟

Short or tall or in between,
Fast or slow or somewhere seen
As quiet, loud, or differently made—
Each one shines, no need to trade.

We don’t all walk or learn the same,
But every heart holds a glowing flame.
So celebrate what’s deep inside—
With love, not fear, and arms open wide.

Thought-Provoking Questions:

1.     What makes you special that no one else has?

2.     How can we help someone feel included when they seem different?

3.     Have you ever learned something amazing from someone who does things in a different way?

 

Betty the Brave Butterfly: From Tiny Egg to Hero of the Sky - A Children's Story

Betty the Brave Butterfly: From Tiny Egg to Hero of the Sky

By Bill Conley

Moral of the Story

A tiny beginning can grow into a mighty purpose.
Even the smallest life can do great things for many.
True courage is standing up when others hide.
Kindness can change fear into hope and enemies into friends.
A grateful heart always finds a way to help.
Every stage of life prepares us to be a hero when the world needs us most.

In a sunny corner of a bright, blooming meadow, under the wide blue sky, a tiny egg clung gently to the underside of a milkweed leaf. This egg was no bigger than the head of a pin, but inside it was a promise—a promise that one day something beautiful would dance through the air because of it.

Inside that egg, life stirred. The warmth of the sun, the softness of the breeze, and the safety of the leaf made it the perfect cradle. After a few days, the egg cracked open, and out came the tiniest, hungriest caterpillar you ever did see.

Her name was Betty.

Betty the caterpillar was no ordinary bug—she was a bundle of curiosity and courage wrapped up in stripes of black, white, and yellow. She wiggled along the leaf, nibbling carefully, growing stronger with every bite.

Day after day, Betty munched and munched. She shed her skin not once but four times—each time a bit bigger, each time a bit braver. She loved the feel of the sun on her back and the cool shade under the leaves. But she knew, deep inside her little caterpillar heart, that this wasn’t the end of her story. She was meant for something more.

One morning, when Betty felt bigger than she’d ever felt before, she crawled to a strong branch. She found the perfect spot, turned upside down, and made herself into a “J” shape—holding on tight, trusting what nature whispered inside her. Slowly, gently, she spun a silky thread around herself, wrapping up her old caterpillar life into a safe green blanket called a chrysalis.

Inside the chrysalis, a quiet miracle happened. Betty was still, but she was busy. Her tiny caterpillar body was changing. Little legs turned into long ones. Her chewing mouth changed into a sipping straw. Tiny wings formed, folded like a secret waiting to be shared with the world.

Weeks passed. The sun rose and set. Rain fell and the wind blew. Inside her green shell, Betty dreamed of the sky. And then, one morning, when the time was right, the chrysalis turned clear—and out came Betty, no longer a crawling caterpillar but a brand-new butterfly with wings like stained glass windows.

Her wings were orange and black, with tiny white spots like shining stars. She rested in the sun, letting her wings dry, flapping them slowly until they were strong enough to lift her into the breeze. And when she took her first flight, Betty felt like the sky had been waiting just for her.

Betty flew high and low, fluttering from flower to flower, sipping nectar through her new straw-like mouth called a proboscis. She wasn’t alone — the meadow was alive with hundreds of other butterflies, all dancing and drifting in the warm air.

The Butterfly Meadow, as the bugs called it, was a peaceful place filled with blossoms of every color—purple clover, yellow daisies, blue cornflowers, and red poppies. Butterflies of all shapes and sizes lived there, floating gently, gathering pollen, and helping flowers grow by carrying their tiny dust from one blossom to another.

Betty quickly made friends—there was Benny with the bright blue wings, Clara with the delicate pink pattern, and old Grandpa Gus whose wings were ragged but whose stories were strong and proud. They showed Betty where to find the sweetest nectar and how to ride the wind so she wouldn’t tire her wings too soon.

Days passed and Betty felt like she’d always belonged. She loved her butterfly family, and she knew they loved her too. But deep inside, that same feeling she had as a caterpillar returned—that she was meant for something more.

One afternoon, as the butterflies danced among the flowers, a dark shadow crept across the meadow. Betty looked up and saw dark storm clouds gathering quickly. The wind howled and petals flew like confetti. The butterflies clung to flowers and leaves, trying not to be blown away.

Then, out of the shadows, trouble came crawling—an army of hungry, spiky caterpillars. They had eaten every leaf in the forest beyond and now they marched toward Butterfly Meadow, ready to strip every green leaf bare. Without the milkweed and flowers, the butterfly community wouldn’t survive.

Panic filled the air. Grandpa Gus flapped his tired wings. Benny and Clara shivered under the leaves. The butterflies were delicate and gentle—they didn’t know how to fight an army.

But Betty did not hide. She remembered when she was small and hungry—how important every leaf was, how precious each flower. She knew they had to protect their home.

With her wings bright in the gray sky, Betty flew to the front of the meadow. She flapped so fast and so strong that she caught the attention of every butterfly and even the hungry caterpillars. She called out to her friends, “Follow me! We can do this together!”

One by one, the butterflies rose from their hiding spots, joining Betty. They flapped their wings as hard as they could, creating a gentle, powerful windstorm of their own. Petals and seeds blew into the marching caterpillars’ path, confusing and distracting them. Some caterpillars turned back. Others were gently swept aside by the flower storm the butterflies made together.

Then, Betty led the butterflies to drop flower seeds in the path of the caterpillars. The caterpillars, hungry and tired, turned to nibble the new leaves sprouting from the seeds. The Butterfly Meadow was saved because Betty was brave enough to stand up and lead and kind enough to share what the hungry caterpillars needed most—fresh green leaves.

When the storm cleared, the meadow glowed with sunshine again. Flowers lifted their bright heads. New leaves unfurled. And the butterflies, with Betty at their head, danced above it all in a swirl of color and gratitude.

The other butterflies lifted Betty high above the meadow in a spiral of fluttering wings. Grandpa Gus said proudly, “This brave little butterfly turned her tiny egg into a gift for us all.”

Betty the Brave Butterfly had found her purpose—not just to fly and sip nectar but to protect, to share, to lead, and to love.

Moral of the Story Poem

Tiny egg upon a leaf,
Holds a dream beyond belief.
Crawling low then soaring high,
Brave enough to guard the sky.

Kindness sown in times of need,
Turns a hero’s thought to deed.
Wings of courage, hearts that care —
Butterflies bring hope to share.

May every child remember: inside every small beginning is the courage to become something truly beautiful, just like Betty the Brave Butterfly!

  

Freddy the Fearless Frog: From Tiny Tadpole to Hero of the Pond - A Children's Story

Freddy the Fearless Frog: From Tiny Tadpole to Hero of the Pond

By Bill Conley

Moral of the Story

Every small beginning can grow into great courage.
Even the littlest voice can lead when others stay silent.
Bravery isn’t about size but about heart.
Working together makes the impossible possible.
Helping others is the truest leap of all.
True heroes bring peace to their community through love and action.

Deep in the heart of Willow Pond, where lily pads float like green boats and dragonflies dance on the breeze, a cluster of jelly-like eggs shimmered in the shallow water. Inside each clear bubble was a tiny promise—a little life waiting for the right moment to wiggle free.

One of these tiny lives was Freddy.

Freddy was only a speck at first, so small you could barely see him through the pond’s ripples. But inside his tiny egg, Freddy was strong and eager. He felt the warmth of the sun above the water and the gentle push of the pond’s currents.

When the time came, Freddy burst from his egg as a wriggly black tadpole. He had no legs yet, only a long tail that helped him zip through the water like a tiny fish. Freddy loved to swim in circles around the reeds and hide in the shadows under the lily pads.

As days passed, Freddy grew and changed. Little bumps formed near his tail—his back legs! He kicked and kicked, learning to leap under the water. Soon, tiny front legs sprouted near his round belly. Freddy’s tail got shorter as his legs got stronger, and before long, Freddy wasn’t a tadpole anymore—he was a little frog, ready for adventure.

Freddy hopped out of the pond for the first time one bright morning. The world above the water was bigger and brighter than he had ever dreamed. He felt the sun on his smooth green skin and the cool squish of mud under his toes. He could hear the croak of other frogs calling from the cattails, the hum of bees, and the cheerful splash of fish below.

Freddy loved his pond—the safe, shady places, the buzzing insects, and the soft mud banks where frogs gathered to sing at night. He quickly made friends with the other young frogs—Sally with her speckled belly, Ricky who could leap the farthest, and wise old Grandpa Hopper, whose deep voice rumbled like thunder.

Freddy was smaller than most, but no frog was braver. He practiced his croak until it was loud enough to echo across the whole pond. He hopped higher, swam deeper, and always encouraged the other young frogs to do the same. “One more leap!” he’d say. “One more try!” Freddy believed that every frog could be strong if they didn’t give up.

One warm evening, as the frogs gathered on the lily pads to sing to the moon, a dark shadow moved through the water. Freddy peered through the reeds and saw a group of big, hungry snakes slithering toward the pond. They had come from the dry fields, looking for water and food. If they found the frog families huddled together, they’d have no chance to escape.

The frogs froze with fear. They were gentle singers, not fighters. Some hid under lily pads. Others trembled in the mud. Freddy felt his heart pound, but he remembered all the times he had told his friends, “One more leap. One more try.”

Freddy knew they couldn’t outfight the snakes—but maybe they could outsmart them.

He gathered Sally, Ricky, and a few brave young frogs. “Follow me,” Freddy whispered. “We’ll lead them away from the pond.”

With a final deep croak, Freddy hopped high into the moonlight and splashed on the far side of the pond. He leaped and slapped the water with his strong back legs. The snakes turned toward the splashes, slithering hungrily after Freddy and his brave team.

Freddy and the others hopped in and out of the water, leading the snakes away from the nests and lily pads, through the reeds, and toward the old swampy woods beyond Willow Pond. There, the snakes would find enough food to keep them busy, and the frogs would be safe.

When the snakes were far enough away, Freddy signaled with a quiet croak, and the little team slipped back to the pond under the cover of night.

At dawn, when the sun peeked over the cattails, the frogs gathered on the biggest lily pad. Grandpa Hopper puffed out his wide belly and boomed, “Last night, Freddy saved us all.”

The frogs croaked in chorus, filling Willow Pond with songs of thanks. Freddy blushed under his smooth green skin, but his eyes shone with pride and peace.

He knew in that moment that being small didn’t matter if your heart was big, and one brave frog could keep an entire pond safe.

Moral of the Story Poem

Tiny tadpole in the sun,
Swims and dreams of leaps to come.
Legs grow strong, his croak rings clear,
Fearless heart that knows no fear.

One brave leap to guard the pond,
Leads his friends to grow stronger.
Heroes rise from humble start —
Freddy shows a hero’s heart.

May every child remember: from tiny tadpole to fearless frog, courage and kindness can turn any leap into a hero’s song—just like Freddy the Fearless Frog!

 

 

Sammy the Salmon’s Great Journey: From Tiny Hatchery Egg to Hero of the River - A Children's Story

Sammy the Salmon’s Great Journey: From Tiny Hatchery Egg to Hero of the River

By Bill Conley

Moral of the Story

Every journey begins with one small step — or one tiny egg.
With courage and care, we can face any challenge along the way.
Working together makes us strong when we feel small.
True heroes protect others, even when the currents are rough.
Home is where our story begins and where our best memories live.
When we give back to where we started, we leave a gift for those who follow.

In a quiet, shaded valley where the river ran cold and clear, there sat a small fish hatchery tucked behind tall pines and mossy rocks. Inside this hatchery, thousands of tiny orange eggs glowed like tiny beads of sunlight resting in clear, bubbling water.

Among those eggs was one special little salmon named Sammy.

He didn’t know he was special yet. At first, Sammy was only a speck inside his shell, gently rocking with the flow of the water. He could feel the tickle of the current and hear the soft splash of the river beyond the hatchery walls. Inside his tiny world, he dreamed of the wide waters waiting for him.

One day, when the time was just right, Sammy’s egg cracked open. Out he wiggled — a tiny alevin with a round belly full of yolk that gave him the strength to grow. He wasn’t alone; hundreds of his brothers and sisters wriggled beside him, their small tails flicking as they explored the pebbles and shadows of their hatchery tank.

The days passed, and Sammy’s yolk sac shrank as he grew bigger and stronger. Soon he looked like a tiny fish — a fry — silver and sleek, always curious about what lay beyond the hatchery gate.

Then the day came when the gate was opened. With one strong flick of his tail, Sammy darted forward, slipping from the safety of the hatchery into the cold rush of the river that had sung to him since he was an egg.

Sammy joined his siblings, swimming downstream together. The current carried them past mossy rocks, dancing reeds, and the roots of towering old trees that dipped their branches into the water. For weeks, they traveled by day and hid by night, darting away from hungry birds and bigger fish. Sammy’s heart pounded with excitement — every mile was new, every twist in the river a promise.

At last, the fresh river waters grew salty and wide. Sammy could taste the change — the river met the sea, and the sea greeted Sammy with a swirl of waves and the pull of powerful tides.

Sammy the river fry had become Sammy the young salmon — a smolt ready to explore the big, blue ocean.

At first, the ocean was overwhelming. Huge schools of herring shimmered like silver storms beneath him. Giant kelp forests waved and whispered secrets. Sammy learned to swim with the tides, ride ocean currents, and leap above the waves for a breath of fresh air.

He made friends in the deep — Milo the mackerel, Lila the lanternfish who glowed like a little star, and Olivia the wise old orca who taught Sammy where to find the richest waters for feeding.

Sammy grew bigger and stronger every season. His scales turned bright and sleek. He chased shrimp and darted through clouds of plankton. He even escaped a hungry sea lion by flipping and spinning through a maze of seaweed faster than he ever thought possible.

But Sammy never forgot the river’s song that echoed deep inside him. The river that had rocked him to life, cradled him as an egg, and carried him to the sea was always calling him home.

One day, while hunting near the shore with a small band of salmon friends, Sammy noticed something strange — a huge net drifting quietly beneath the waves, hidden where the current funneled salmon together.

Sammy’s keen eyes spotted the glimmer of scales trapped behind the mesh — dozens of young salmon were caught, unable to swim free.

Fear flashed through the school — no one dared approach. But Sammy remembered how he’d escaped danger before — by staying calm, thinking fast, and using his strength and speed.

He gathered his friends — big, strong salmon who’d grown up alongside him in the ocean. “We can’t leave them!” Sammy said. “We’re salmon — we swim upstream, we leap waterfalls — we can outsmart this net!”

Working together, they darted and pushed at the edges of the net. Sammy used his nose and tail to nudge the mesh loose from the rocks that pinned it down. Milo the mackerel joined in, nibbling at the ropes. Lila the lanternfish lit the darkest spots so the trapped salmon could see the opening Sammy made.

With one mighty surge, the trapped salmon burst through the gap — free to swim again.

Sammy didn’t stop there. He led the young salmon far from the net and showed them a safer path through the shallows. His courage and quick thinking saved dozens that day.

Seasons changed. Sammy grew older and wiser. His bright scales darkened, his back curved strong — it was time. The pull inside him grew too strong to ignore: it was time to return home.

With powerful strokes, Sammy turned away from the endless ocean and pointed his nose toward the river he had left behind years before.

He wasn’t alone. Thousands of other salmon joined him, each one guided by the same ancient memory — the smell, the taste, the sound of their birth river flowing through their veins.

They swam together through storms and waves, past seals and whales, through narrow channels and estuaries, until at last, the salty sea turned sweet again. Sammy had come home.

The river greeted him with cold, familiar currents and leafy shadows. He leapt waterfalls that looked impossible from below. He wriggled through shallow rapids that tested every muscle he’d built on his ocean journey.

Sometimes he felt tired — so tired he thought of resting forever in a quiet eddy. But then he remembered the hatchery where he began, the tiny egg that dreamed of the sea, and the friends he had saved. He pushed on.

At last, Sammy returned to the exact stretch of river where the hatchery once cradled him. Around him, thousands of other salmon circled, ready to lay the eggs that would begin the great journey all over again.

In the shallow water, Sammy found a quiet place among smooth pebbles and soft silt. He rested, peaceful and proud. The river he saved salmon for was safe and full of new life—life that would swim to the sea and return one day, just as he had.

Other salmon gathered close, crooning the river’s song together. Sammy’s bravery, wisdom, and loyalty to his home would be remembered for generations.

Because Sammy the Salmon knew what every child should remember — the greatest adventures start small, grow big, and come home again with stories that live on forever.

Moral of the Story Poem

From hatchery stream to ocean wide,
Sammy braved the changing tide.
He leapt through storms, he saved his friends,
He proved true courage never ends.

He swam back home through rivers deep,
Where new young salmon wake from sleep.
A hero’s journey, brave and long —
One small fish can make us strong.

May every child remember: no matter how far you roam, the heart always knows the way back — just like Sammy the Salmon, hero of the river!

The Story with No Pictures? No Way! - A Children's Story

The Story with No Pictures? No Way!

By Bill Conley

Moral of the Story:
Every story doesn’t need pictures on a page—some of the best pictures are the ones painted in your mind.
Imagination is your superpower, and the more you use it, the stronger it becomes.
When you close your eyes and listen closely, you become the illustrator.
That’s when the magic really begins.

There once was a little boy named Miles who had a favorite bedtime tradition.

Every night after dinner, bath, and brushing his teeth, he would climb into his bed, pull up his blanket, and wait for his mother to come in with a storybook.

But not just any storybook.

“It has to have pictures!” Miles would shout. “Big, bright, funny pictures!”

And every night, his mother smiled, picked one of his favorites, and read it aloud while Miles giggled at the drawings.

But one night, something strange happened.

His mother sat on the edge of the bed holding a book with a plain brown cover.

Miles squinted.

“Where are the pictures?”

“There aren’t any,” she said with a grin. “Tonight, we’re going to use your imagination.”

Miles crossed his arms.
“No thanks. I want to see the story.”

His mother leaned closer.

“But what if you could see even more? What if you could see things nobody else can see—things only your imagination can show you?”

Miles raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

She opened the book and began to read.

“There once was a flying elephant named Edgar who wore red sneakers and delivered bubblegum balloons to children around the world…”

Miles blinked. Then blinked again.

“Wait. The elephant flew?”

His mother smiled.
“Use your imagination. What color is Edgar’s skin? What do his sneakers look like? Where is he flying right now?”

Miles slowly closed his eyes.

“I see him!” he said. “He’s blue. With big purple ears! And his sneakers light up when he flies!”

His mother kept reading.

“On Wednesdays, Edgar flew to a jungle made of jellybeans, where he met a zebra who played the xylophone and a bear who bounced on a trampoline.”

Miles laughed.
“This is silly!”

“Can you picture it?” his mom asked.

“I see everything,” he said. “Even the jellybeans. They’re all my favorite flavors!”

Then came the next part.

“On Saturdays, Edgar liked to visit the tallest mountain in the world. But instead of snow on top, it had… spaghetti! Yes, spaghetti, with meatballs rolling down the slopes!”

Miles covered his mouth and giggled.

“I’d bring a fork and climb up!” he shouted. “I’d eat my way to the top!”

“What color is the spaghetti?” his mother asked.

“Rainbow,” he said without hesitation. “Red for strawberry, green for lime, blue for blueberry! And the meatballs bounce like rubber balls!”

Next came the most curious tale of all.

“Edgar once flew to a city under the sea, where octopuses wore top hats and jellyfish twirled like ballerinas at a birthday ball.”

Miles leaned in, eyes wide.

“Do you see it?” his mother asked.

“I do! I see the jellyfish spinning, and the octopuses dancing. There are bubbles everywhere, and the walls are made of seashells!”

Then his mother read:

“One day, Edgar visited the Desert of Dreams. But it wasn’t made of sand—it was made of pillows! Giant soft pillows that stretched for miles. Whenever someone told a bedtime story, the pillows fluffed themselves and sang lullabies.”

Miles sat straight up.
“I’d jump from pillow to pillow! I’d never stop bouncing!”

His mother nodded.
“And what do the pillows look like?”

“They’re cloud-white, with golden buttons. And they smell like vanilla!”

By the end of the story, Miles had forgotten all about pictures.

He didn’t miss the drawings.
He didn’t miss the illustrations.
Because he had made his own.

That night, as she tucked him in, his mother whispered,
“So… what do you think?”

Miles smiled.
“Tomorrow… can we read a story with no pictures again?”

His mother beamed.
“I was hoping you’d say that.”

🖍️ A Poem to End the Tale

You don’t need pages filled with art,
To see the story in your heart.
Just close your eyes and take a peek—
Your mind can travel every week.

To castles, clouds, or candy seas,
To dragons, ducks, or talking trees.
Imagination is the key,
To picture all you want to see.

Thought-Provoking Questions:

1.     What did your Edgar the Elephant look like?

2.     Which silly place from the story would you want to visit most?

3.     Can you draw your own imaginary scene from what you pictured today?

 

Take Care of Your Things, They’ll Take Care of You - A Children's Story

Take Care of Your Things, They’ll Take Care of You

By Bill Conley

Moral of the Story:
Everything you own deserves a little love and care.
When you respect your things—your toys, your shoes, your books—they last longer and work better.
Taking care of your stuff shows responsibility, gratitude, and pride.
Because when you take care of your things… they really do take care of you.

There once was a little raccoon named Riley who had a lot of stuff.

Toys, games, books, a backpack, art supplies, shoes with lights, a scooter, and even a red wagon named Ruby.

But Riley had one teeny-tiny problem.

He was messy.
Really messy.
Super duper, jungle-explosion messy.

His room looked like a storm had hit it.
Markers without caps. Toys are buried under the laundry. Books with bent covers. Crayons in the sock drawer.

“Riley!” his dad called.
“You left your scooter out in the rain again!”

Riley shrugged.
“It’ll dry.”

Later that day…

“Riley! Your favorite book has jelly all over it!”

Riley sighed.
“Oops. I was hungry.”

Then came the final straw.

Riley tugged on the handle of Ruby the Red Wagon, and the wheel fell off.

“Whaaaaat?” Riley shouted. “Why’d it break?”

His mom knelt beside him.
“Because, sweetheart, even wagons need a little care.”

Riley crossed his arms.
“I don’t mean to ruin stuff.”

His mom smiled.
“I know. But if you don’t take care of the things you love, they stop working the way they should.”

Riley looked around.
His broken wagon. His soggy scooter. His sticky book. His scattered toys.

“Wow,” he whispered. “My stuff looks… sad.”

His mom ruffled his fur.
“Let’s give your things a second chance.”

That afternoon, Riley went to work.

He wiped jelly off his books, page by page.
He matched marker caps with their colors.
He organized his crayons into a rainbow.
He carefully cleaned his scooter, dried the wheels, and tucked it safely in the garage.

Even Ruby got a tune-up, with her wheel screwed back on tight and her handle polished.

The next morning, something amazing happened.

His scooter rolled like new.
His markers worked perfectly.
His wagon? Smooth as butter.

And best of all, his toys didn’t get lost anymore.
His room felt cozy.
He could find things!

Riley smiled so big, he almost burst.

From that day on, Riley became the most responsible raccoon in the neighborhood.

He zipped his backpack every day.
He stacked his books on the shelf.
He wiped mud off his shoes.
And he never left Ruby out in the rain again.

Whenever his friends visited and said, “Whoa! Your stuff is awesome!”
Riley beamed.

“Yep. I take care of it—and it takes care of me.”

A Poem to End the Tale 🎒

Your toys and books, your shoes and games,
Aren’t just things—they have names!
Treat them well, put them away,
They’ll stick around another day.

If you care for what you use,
You won’t lose socks or scuff your shoes.
A tidy room and a polished toy,
It can bring you peace and spark your joy.

---

Thought-Provoking Questions:

1.     What’s one item you love that you can take better care of today?

2.     How do you feel when your room is neat and your things are clean?

3.     Can you think of a time when something broke because it wasn’t cared for?