the Saturday-morning story
Walk With Me
Every Saturday morning, they walk. Same route. Same pace. Same hand. Somewhere between the front door and the corner shop, your child starts to understand why Dad walks the way he walks. By the last page, they're not following any more. They're walking beside him — and asking HIM to walk with THEM.
it moves — so will they ↺
after this book, they…
✶ walks taller
✶ reaches for Dad's hand first
✶ leads the way home
scroll — the book turns its own pages
Every Saturday morning, Ayo and Dad walked.
Not to anywhere special. Just because that's what Saturdays were for.
Dad would open the front door, and the morning would come in — cool and bright, like the day had only just woken up.
He'd look down at Ayo. Hold out his hand.
“Walk with me.”
And they'd go.
page one
They turned the corner by the old mural. Painted hands reached upward.
For a second, the shadows changed. Behind Dad's, more — other men, same level chin.
Ayo blinked. The street wasn't theirs anymore. New ground, new voices.
A market — vast. A man walked through, shoulders back, head high. Dad's nod.
“Watch his feet,” said a voice. “Every step is a word.”
the world between
Ayo stopped.
Turned around.
Dad was standing where she'd left him. Hands in his pockets. That look on his face.
Ayo held out her hand.
Small. Open. Waiting.
“Walk with me, Daddy.”
Dad looked like he might laugh and cry at the same time.
Then he took Ayo's hand.
And they walked the last bit together.
the turn
Every page after this one has your child in it.
Put your child in it
drawn from your photo →
made theirs, page by page
The hero looks like your child — because it is your child
their name
on the cover, in the story, said out loud
their face & hair
skin tone, hairstyle, the lot — from your photo
their people
who walks beside them: Dad, Mum, Grandma…
their heritage
the food, the fabric, the world between