Newman the New Year's Bunny
A Children's Story & My New Year's Gift to You
The name’s Newman.
You’ve probably never heard of me, but I’m the New Year’s Bunny.
Or, at least I was.
You’ve heard of the Easter Bunny, right? Of course you have. Everyone’s heard of him.
You see, the Easter Bunny’s real name is Edward. I would know because I’m his brother.
His little brother.
I come from a pretty big family. My parents taught us all to work hard and strive for success. Well, Edward took “success” to a whole new level. He worked real hard and got elected Easter Bunny for Life.
To bunnies, becoming the Easter Bunny is basically as important as becoming the President of the United States. Or the Prime Minister of Bangladesh. Or the Queen of England. It’s about as successful as a Bunny can be.
So, yeah, Edward is kind of a big deal in the family. He brings delicious candy and sparkly eggs to all the good little boys and girls at Easter time. To top it off, he also gave all my other brothers and sisters jobs at the Easter factory.
Now, don’t get me wrong. He offered me a job too. It’s just that I don’t really care for candy all too much—gets stuck in my front teeth. And the glitter from painting eggs stays in your fur for weeks.
No, I wanted to do something different, to make a real difference. So, I got to thinking about all the holidays. Easter’s got the Bunny. Christmas has Santa. St. Patrick’s Day has that leprechaun guy. And they all bring some sort of gift—candy or toys or luck.
But what does New Year’s have? A bunch of people staying up way past their bedtimes and counting? I decided the world needed a change. I mean, it’s the new YEAR for crying out loud. The beginning, a fresh start, a turning point, when people make resolutions. You know, plans to change for the better.
Kids decide to keep their room clean or to wake up on time or to get good grades or to travel the world. They want to become the best versions of themselves.
But, the thing is, most people give up or forget about their resolutions after a couple months. By the time Easter rolls around, their room’s a mess, they’re failing school, they’re stuck in the same old town. How’s a bunch of candy going to help them get their lives together?
So, I thought I could bring people something they really need on New Year’s. Something way better than candy…
Gumption.
Gumption is that special ingredient that makes you decide to do something and stick with it. It’s like courage mixed with determination with a dash of cleverness. It’s what makes a bunny—or, well, anyone—a success.
And where do you find gumption?
In my special carrot cake, of course.
I’ve been eating my special carrot cake for years, and I know it’s where I got my gumption because it’s what gave me the idea to be the New Year’s Bunny. It’s what gave me the determination to make it happen.
So, the day before the day before the New Year, I set to work whipping up batch upon batch of my special carrot cake. The sweet, carroty aroma filled my rabbit hole, and when I took a little bite, I knew this stuff had more gumption in it than any batch I’d ever made before. I could feel the gumption-y energy rushing through my little paws. I frosted the cakes and tied each one with a great big golden New Year ribbon. And on New Year’s Eve, I put them all carefully in my great big carrot cake sack and set out to deliver them to all the boys and girls making resolutions.
But, you see, I made one fatal mistake. I’d forgotten that Santa and the Easter Bunny and even that leprechaun guy tend to work while everyone is asleep. But people don’t go to bed on New Year’s Eve.
No, people stay up late, really late. In fact, most people stay up until the stroke of midnight. They shout “Happy New Year!” really loudly, with confetti and streamers and music! They dance and celebrate and set off giant explosions from rooftops!
And if you’re not expecting all that commotion as you carry a heavy bag of carrot cake up the side of a building, it can be pretty startling. Terrifying, even.
I lost my balance, toppling off that thin, slippery windowsill, twisting and kicking and flailing as carrot cakes flew from my bag. We landed right in the gutter, a big kerplop into the sad, brown, melty Christmas snow.
So, there I was, a soggy bunny with what was left of my soggy carrot cakes, and all of my gumption flowing downstream. The New Year’s Bunny. Was I a joke or what? How could I ever face my family again?
“Pssst!!” came a sneaky voice.
“What? Who’s there?” I raised both ears high and tried to put on my bravest face.
“Pssst, over here,” the voice said again. “In the trashcan.”
Two yellow eyes peered at me above the rim of a dumpster. I had the instinct to scoot on out of there, but then the rest of him emerged. Sure, he looked a bit rough around the edges, even for a raccoon, but he didn’t seem like the type to hurt an innocent bunny.
“Oh. Hi. I didn’t see you there,” I said.
“Hi. I’m Phil,” he said. “Phil of New Dumpstershire.”
“I’m Newman,” I replied. “Of…of…the New Year.”
“Newman of the New Year? That’s catchy.”
“You really think so?” I asked, trying to keep my whiskers from twitching with eagerness. But Phil just shrugged, and then pointed at the mounds of cake and frosting behind me.
“I couldn’t help but notice that you’re not going to eat that cake.”
“Oh, this? I mean, you can have it if you want.”
“YASSSS!” shouted Phil, and he landed with a sticky plop in the pile of cake. “Mmmm delicious. Did you make it?” he asked, licking his fingers.
“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure all the gumption’s washed away,” I sighed. I stared up at the house I’d fallen from, where you could see people dancing and shouting and already forgetting their resolutions.
“All the what?”
“The gumption…You know, courage, determination, cleverness. The stuff of success…”
I turned back as Phil laughed, his frosting-coated teeth bared wide with amusement.
“Why are you laughing??” I demanded.
“Because you don’t get gump…gump—whatever you call it—from a cake.”
I blinked at Phil. “Well, where do you get it from?”
“I don’t know. But it’s not something that gets washed out or thrown out. At least, I’ve never seen any in these trashcans or in this drain. Pretty sure it’s something you already have in you.”
My pink nose tickled, the way it did when it sensed something interesting. “Huh,” I said. “I’d never thought of it that way.”
“Well, sure. Take me for instance,” began Phil, strolling back toward his trashcan. “I’m known as a pretty successful raccoon in these parts—I’ve got a reputation for finding the best trashcan burgers and dumpster milkshakes this side of the interstate. And nobody came along and gave me my success. I got here because I just kept trying.”
“But didn’t people help you sometimes?” I asked, crossing my front paws.
Phil thought for a minute. “I guess they did. My cousin Stan’s got a nose for French fries.”
“See! Everyone needs help sometimes.”
“Well, of course!” Phil laughed. “But I just don’t think carrot cake is the answer. Don’t get me wrong: it was delicious.” And with a loud burp, Phil disappeared back into his trashcan.
So maybe people don’t need gumption cake on New Year’s. If only there were easier ways to package words of encouragement or helping paws. But I have a whole year to figure it out, and I know I’ve got the gumption to make it happen.
THE END
PS. My deepest apologies to all the real artists for all the AI generated images—I decided to post this last minute and did not have time to try my hand at illustrations.
PPS. Happy New Year! Thank you for reading and subscribing!