Geppetto

Geppetto never wanted to be a father. In fact, he actively hated kids. The sticky fingers, the whining, the nose-picking—it was enough to make his wood shavings curl. The closest he ever got to fatherhood was carving little wooden puppets, because at least they couldn’t scream or ask him for a snack. He made marionettes that people loved, and he was fine with that. Then along came the Blue Fairy, uninvited and with all the subtlety of a tornado in a doll shop. She took his latest creation and—without asking, mind you—brought it to life. Pinocchio. The little blockhead. And then she promised the kid he could one day become a real boy. Oh, heck no. Not on Geppetto’s watch. From that day on, Geppetto’s life became a mission: Operation Never Let This Kid Become Human. Island of Lost Boys? Geppetto may or may not have slipped a bag of coins to ensure Pinocchio got a one-way ticket. Honestly, he’d have preferred if the boy just stayed as a donkey—donkeys don’t talk back. And that whole getting swallowed by a whale business? The best nap Geppetto ever had. Peaceful, quiet, no puppet yammering about being “good.” He would’ve happily lived out his days in that whale belly if Pinocchio hadn’t gone and ruined it by saving them. Now everyone calls Geppetto “selfless” and “loving,” but let’s be clear: he’s plotting daily. Every lie Pinocchio tells, Geppetto silently cheers—maybe, just maybe, that nose will grow so long it knocks the puppet flat. All of this mess, all the chaos, all because of one meddling fairy and one wooden nuisance who just won’t sit still.