[NEW] Marcus and the Rusty Robot
Hi! My name is Marcus and this is my story.
Here are two things you should know about me:
I LOVE robots.
Every Saturday, I go to the flea market with my dad.
One Saturday morning, I set out to find the perfect robot. More than anything, I wanted to find the best one: shiny, silver, and all mine.
I walked up and down the crowded aisles with my dad, scanning each and every vendor’s stand, trying to find a glimmer of perfect silver. I saw toy dinosaurs, old board games, and stacks of comic books, but no robots. Then, I finally spotted a robot on a table nearby.
I ran straight toward it, but my heart sank a little when I neared it. Its red paint was chipped. One of its antennae was bent sideways. There was a dent in its belly, like it had been dropped a hundred times.
That thing is a piece of junk, I thought.
“Do you have any other robots?” I asked the man at the table. “Anything… newer?”
He reached under the table and set down a gleaming silver robot with bright blue lights. My eyes widened. “Five dollars,” said the man.
I reached into my pocket. I had exactly five dollars! I gave it to the man without thinking twice and headed home, feeling great. It was everything I wanted.
When I got back home, I set the robot on my desk and pressed the button on its back, excited to see what it could do. However, no matter how many times I pressed it, nothing happened. All the robot could do was look cool.
I slumped back onto my bed, feeling disappointed. My mind went back to the other robot I saw: Could it have done something different?
The next Saturday, I returned to the flea market. I passed the same table where I’d bought my robot from the weekend before. The beat-up little robot was still there, sitting in its cardboard box, looking like no one had touched it since last weekend. Its handwritten tag read: “25 cents”.
My dad nudged me. “Why don’t you give that one a try?”
“Dad, seriously? It's all beat up.” I said.
He insisted that I at least try it out, so I picked it up, figuring I had nothing to lose.
I pressed the button on its back, prepared for disappointment, but I was shocked when the little robot lit up. Its chest opened like a tiny door, revealing a secret compartment. Then, it started to dance: a silly, wobbly dance that made me laugh. At the end of the routine, its crackly little voice said, “Best friends forever!”
My jaw dropped. I dug a quarter out of my pocket so fast I almost dropped it.
That night, I sent the rusty little robot on my desk, right next to the shiny one. Looking at it then, I no longer minded its small flaws. My robot had been on adventures.
I never forgot that feeling, realizing I had almost missed out on something great just because of how it looked at a glance.
From then on, whenever I met someone new—a kid with messy hair, a teacher with a grumpy face, a student alone at lunch—I thought about my rusty little robot.
The best things don’t always look like it at first. All you have to do is give them a chance.
THE END
