The Wind-Up Penguin

A story about repair, patience and passing skills from one generation to the next.

In the back of his grandfather’s shed, Theo found a dusty box. Inside it was a little tin penguin with a key in its back. It was rusty and dented, and one flipper was bent. “What is this?” he asked.

His grandfather picked it up and smiled. “That was mine when I was your age,” he said. “It used to waddle across the kitchen table. I thought it was lost forever.” He turned the key, but it only clicked.

“Can we fix it?” asked Theo. “We can try,” said his grandfather. He laid a cloth on the workbench, and brought out a set of tiny screwdrivers. Theo’s job was to hold the parts steady, and put them in a tray in the right order.

They took the back off the penguin. Inside was a little spring, and a handful of tiny gears. One of the gears had a broken tooth. “That is the problem,” said his grandfather. “It cannot turn properly.”

They searched the shed for a spare. In a jar of odd bits, Theo found a gear of exactly the right size. His grandfather put a drop of oil on it, and fitted it into place. “Now, the moment of truth,” he said.

Theo carefully put the back on, and wound the key. The little penguin gave a whirr. Then, one flipper at a time, it began to waddle across the bench. Theo laughed. “It works!” he shouted.

His grandfather’s eyes were shining. “Thank you for helping,” he said. “It is much better to fix a thing than to throw it away.” Theo nodded. He felt proud of his hands and his patience.

Together, they painted a little blue ribbon on the penguin’s neck. It sat on a shelf in the kitchen. Every Sunday, Theo wound it up, and watched it waddle, and thought of the afternoon when they had given it a second life.

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