微美克人是一群小木头人。他们都是木匠伊莱雕刻成的。他的工作室坐落在一个山丘上，从那儿可以俯瞰整个微美克村。
每一个微美克人都长得不一样。有的大鼻子，有的大眼睛；有的个子高，有的个子矮；有人戴帽子，有人穿外套。但是他们全都是同一个人刻出来的，也都住在同一个村子里。
微美克人整天只做一件事，而且每天都一样：他们互相贴贴纸。每一个微美克人都有一盒金星星贴纸和一盒灰点点贴纸。他们每天在大街小巷里，给遇到的人贴贴纸。
木质光滑、漆色好的漂亮木头人总是被贴上金星星。木质粗糙或油漆脱落的就会被贴灰点点。
有才能的人当然也会被贴金星星。例如，有些人可以把大木棍举过头顶，或是可以跳过堆高的箱子。另外，有些人学问好，还有些很会唱歌。大家都会给这些人贴金星星。
有些微美克人全身都贴满了金星星！每得到一个金星星，他们就好高兴！他们会想要再做点什么，好再多得一个金星星。
然而，那些什么都不会的人，就只有得灰点点的份了。
胖哥就是其中之一。他想要跟别人一样跳得很高，却总是摔得四脚朝天。一旦他摔下来，其他人就会围过来，给他贴上灰点点。
有时候，他摔下来时刮伤了他的身体，别人又会给他再贴上灰点点。
然后，他为了解释他什么会摔倒，讲了一些可笑的理由，别人又会给他再多贴一些灰点点。
不久之后，他因为灰点点太多，就不想出门了。他怕又做出什么傻事，像是忘了帽子或是踩进水里，那样别人就会再给他贴灰点点。其实，有些人只因为看到他身上有很多灰点点贴纸，就会跑过来再给他多加一个，根本没有其他理由。
“他本来就该被贴很多灰点点的。”大家都这么说，“因为他不是个好木头人。”
听多了这样的话，胖哥也这么认为了。他会说：“是啊，我不是个好微美克人。”
他很少出门，每次他出去就会去跟有很多灰点点的人在一起，这样他才不会自卑。
有一天，他遇见一个很不一样的微美克人。她的身上既没有灰点点，也没有金星星，就只是木头。她的名字叫露西亚。
可不是别人不给她贴贴纸哦，是因为贴纸根本就贴不住。
有些人很钦佩露西亚没有得到任何灰点点，所以他们便想为她贴上金星星，但是一贴，贴纸就掉下来了。有些人因为露西亚没有金星星，所以瞧不起她，他们想给她贴灰点点，但是也贴不住。
胖哥心里想：我就是想这样——我不想要任何记号。所以，他问那个身上没有贴纸的微美克人，怎么做才可以跟她一样。
“很简单啊，”露西亚说，“我每天都去找伊莱。”
“伊莱？”
“对呀！就是木匠伊莱。我会跟他一起坐在他的工作室里。”
“为什么？”
“你自己去看看不就知道了吗？去吧！他就在山丘上。”
那个没有贴纸的微美克人一说完，就转身，踏着轻快的步伐离开了。
“但是，他肯见我吗？”胖哥大喊。
不过露西亚没有听到。
所以胖哥还是回家了。他坐在窗边，看着外面的微美克人彼此追逐，争相为别人贴贴纸。
“这是不对的。”他对自己说。
他决定去见伊莱。
他走上通往山顶的小路，然后走进那间大大的工作室。这里的东西都好大，让他不禁睁大了他的木头眼睛。
连凳子都跟他一样高。他得踮起脚尖才看得见工作台的台面。而铁锤跟他的手臂一样长。胖哥惊讶地咽了咽口水。
“我不要待在这里。”
他转身想走。这时他听到有人叫他。
“胖哥？”那个声音低沉又有力。
胖哥停住脚步。
“胖哥！真高兴看到你。过来让我瞧瞧。”
胖哥慢慢转过身，看着那位高大、满脸胡子的木匠。
他问木匠：“你知道我的名字？”
“当然喽。你是我造的呀。”
伊莱弯下腰，把胖哥抱到工作台上。
“嗯.…”这位创造者看见他身上的灰点点，若有所思地说：“看来，别人给了你一些不好的记号。”
“我不是故意的，伊莱。我真的很努力了。”“喔，孩子，你不用在我面前自己辩护。我不在乎别的微美克人怎么想。”
“你不在乎？”
“我不在乎，你也不应该在乎。给你金星星或灰点点的是谁？他们和你一样，都只是微美克人。他们怎么想并不重要，胖哥。重要的是我怎么想。我觉得你很特别。”胖哥笑了。
“我？很特别？为什么？我走不快，跳不高。我的漆也开始剥落。你为什么在乎我？”
伊莱看着胖哥，他把手放在胖哥的小木头肩膀上，缓缓地说：“因为你是我的。所以我在乎你。”
胖哥从来没有被人这样盯着看，更不要说是他的创造者。他不知道该说什么才好。
“我天天都盼着你来。”伊莱说。
“我来是因为我碰到一个没有被贴贴纸的人。”胖哥说。
“我知道。她提起过你。”
“为什么贴纸在她的身上都贴不住呢？”
创造者温柔地说：“因她决定要把我的想法看得比别人的想法更重要。只有当你让贴纸贴到你身上的时候，贴纸才会贴得住。”
“什么？”
“当你在乎贴纸的时候，贴纸才会贴得住。你愈相信我的爱，就愈不会在乎他们的贴纸了。”
“我不太懂。”
伊莱微笑着说：“你会懂的，不过得花点儿时间，因为你有很多贴纸。从现在开始，你只要每天来见我，让我来提醒你我有多爱你。”
伊莱把胖哥从工作台上捧起，放到地上。
当胖哥走出门时，伊莱对他说：“记得，你很特别，因为我创造了你。我从不失误的。”
胖哥并没有停下脚步，但他在心里想：“我想他说的是真的。”
就在他这么想的时候，一个灰点点掉了下来。
The Wernicks were small wanden perple carved by a woodworker named fi, His workshop sat on a hill overlooking their village.
Each 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 spent their days 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 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! It made them want to do something else and get 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, his wood got scratched, so the people would give him more dots.
Then, when he would try to explain why he fell, he would 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 for no reason at all.
"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 Punchinello met a Wemmick who was unlike any he'd ever met. She had no dots or stars.
She was just wooden. Her name was Lucia.
It wasn't that people didn't try to give her stickers; it's just that the stickers didn't stick. Some of the Wemmicks admired Lucia for having no dots, so they would run up and give her a star. But it would fall off.
Others 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," Lucia 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 who had no stickers turned and skipped away.
"But will he want to see me?" Punchinello cried out. Lucia 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.
Punchinello 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 looked at the gray dots. "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," said Punchinello.
"I know. She told me about you."
"Why don't the stickers stay on her?"
The Maker spoke softly. "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 their stickers."
"I'm not sure I understand."
Eli smiled. "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."
Eli lifted Punchinello off the bench and set him on the floor.
"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.