Now, I may be small, but I’ve got big eyes for what matters. And let me tell you, no one shows respect like Junior the frog down in Paddington Town. You can’t cross the lily pond without hearing his croak of courtesy, and you can’t meet him without feeling taller when you leave.
One afternoon, a bunch of young tadpoles splashed mud on the baker’s clean porch. Junior didn’t scold or stomp—he hopped right in and cleaned up, humming all the while. “Respect,” he said, “isn’t what you demand—it’s what you demonstrate.” He offered the broom first, like a handshake, and the giggles turned into effort.
The tadpoles stopped joking and picked up brooms, following his lead. By sunset, the porch was spotless, and the baker brought them cookies as thanks. Junior just winked and said, “Respect bounces back, just like a frog.” Then he thanked the tadpoles for pitching in and thanked the baker for trusting them to do it right.
I’ve carried that line with me ever since. In my anthill, we treat each other fair and square, even when we’re in a hurry. Respect, I’ve learned, makes even the smallest voices heard—and when it echoes, everyone stands a little straighter.
