Michael Helps

By Vilo Westwood

Dad was sitting on the front lawn, cleaning his bicycle. “Can I help you, Dad?” Michael asked.

“No thank you, Son—it’s too messy. Go ask your mother if you can help her.”

Mom was in back of the garage, painting a bookshelf.

“Can I help you, Mom?”

“No thank you, honey—this paint is sticky,” Mom said. “Go ask Mary if you can help her.”

His sister was in the kitchen, baking cookies.

“Can I help you, Mary?”

“No thank you, Michael—this oven is hot.”

Michael walked sadly out of the kitchen. “There’s no one I can help,” he said.

Just then the baby cried.

“The baby’s crying, and I can’t leave this to get her,” Dad called to Mom.

“I’m too messy to get the baby,” Mom called to Mary.

“I have to take the cookies out of the oven right now, or they’ll burn. I can’t get the baby either,” Mary called back to Mom and Dad.

Dad cleaned the bicycle grease off his hands and went to get the baby. Mom cleaned the paint off her hands and went to get the baby. Mary took the cookies out of the oven and went to get the baby. When they opened the door to the baby’s room, they saw her laughing and playing in her crib.

“I helped her,” Michael said proudly. “I sang a little song and shared my toys with her.”

The baby laughed, waving a toy car up and down.

Illustrated by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki