I hate to say it, and am not truly comfortable making a parallel between the Republican front-runner Donald Trump and a character in my novel, The King of Average, but after hearing Trump boast his awesome prowess as the leader of the most powerful country on earth, I can’t stand by without comment.

Ironically, I realize  this is shameless promotion (something Trump would heartily approve), but the lesson voters could learn from chapter 14 of my book might be worth it.

So here, without any further comment, is a preview of my book The King of Average, a children’s novel that entertains while helping children understand issues with self-esteem.

Chapter 14:  The Ninnies and Their Fabulous King

With a barely visible path before them, James and company pressed on as the sky turned to blue, then purple. Night was upon them.

“It’s no use. We’re wandering around like a bunch of ninnies,” groused Kiljoy.

“Ho, there! Did someone say Ninnies?” A voice came across the field.

James and Roget turned to see a small tribe of little men very much like the Nervous Nellies. They even wore similar loincloths but their skin was pale lavender, their loincloths blue. James counted a dozen. The tiny pale men advanced toward them, marching two abreast. Their movements were slow and methodical. They wore dull expressions on their faces; mouths slack-jawed, their eyes round and vacant. They stared in awe, stupefied at everything around them.

Kiljoy emerged from Roget’s pocket. “They don’t look too bright, do they?”

A second phalanx brought up the rear, carrying a sedan chair painted blue with gold stars haphazardly emblazoned on the sides. Inside was a man wearing a white cape trimmed with gold braid. He wore a very intricately woven straw cowboy hat with red trim around the brim and a peacock feather poking out of it. He was the same size as the other men but didn’t share their dull expression. On the contrary: he was lordly, smiling and alert.

He hopped out and strutted up to James, Culpa, and Roget. Looking them up and down, he declared, “You’re not Ninnies.”

“No, we’re not,” said James.

“I heard someone say you were! I’m sure of it.” The man scrutinized them suspiciously. “Are you sure you’re not Ninnies?”

Kiljoy had enough. “Of course we’re not ninnies, you Ninny!”

“No offense. It is a manner of speech,” said Roget. “Forgive ’im.”

“Because if you were ninnies, I’d be your master and you would be sworn to obey me, for I am King of the Ninnies.” He drew himself up to his full height (which came to James’s knee). “Right, everybody?” he called.

“RIGHT!” they called back.

“I am Alastair the Vainglorious!” he announced resoundingly.

The crowd cheered as if on cue. “All hail the king!” They began a monotonous chant, “All hail the king! All hail the king! All hail the king! All hail—”

“That’s quite enough!” Alistair cut them off with a gesture. Obediently, they stopped mid-chant.

“Don’t mind them. They’re Ninnies,” he said.

“Ah, another king! Merveilleux!” said Roget. “My friend James ’ere is soon to be a king ’imself.”

“Is that so?” said Alistair with a cocked eyebrow.

“Oui!” said Roget.

“Oui. Er, yes,” said James, “I am. My name is James and this is Mayor Culpa and Monsieur Roget and that’s Kiljoy.” He indicated toward the squirming bulge in the optimist’s pocket.

“You’re not my enemies, are you?” said Alistair warily. “Because I’ve led my army of Ninnies to victory in every major war against great odds and you wouldn’t stand a chance!” He tilted his chin into the air.

“We’re not your enemies,” said James. “I’m on a quest to become King of Average.”

“King of Average, eh?” said Alistair, stroking his chin, satisfied. He put his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest and boasted, “That’s nothing. Me? I’m sovereign ruler of every territory there is around here except for Average.” King Alistair turned to his followers. “Isn’t that right?”

“Whatever you say!” the Ninnies rejoined.

“See that?” he said gallantly, placing his fists on his waist.

Kiljoy popped up to glare at the little man. “You? A general, a fighter, and the king of everywhere else? I find that hard to believe.”

Alistair’s smile dropped. His eyebrows knotted with worry and his lip quivered.

“It’s true, I’m the greatest king ever!” he said. “I’ve done practically anything you can think of! Look! I even made this hat!”

He showed them his hat, which to James was obviously machine made and store bought.

“I made it all by myself. And . . . and I spun this cloth to make this cape. You name it and I’ve probably done it! Isn’t that right, my Ninnies?”

The Ninnies all reassured Kiljoy that King Alistair was the nicest, bravest, most resourceful king they’d ever known and that he was greatest king who had ever lived.

Kiljoy responded, “What do they know? They’re Ninnies!”

Alistair frowned and bit his lip. “It’s all true . . . every word.”

“It’s all right. You don’t have to make things up to impress us,” said James.

“I don’t? Er, I mean, I don’t! I’m not!” the king said. “But, be honest. You’d like me a lot more if I was the greatest king who had ever lived, right?”

“Not really,” said James.

“What? You mean, you’d like me even if,”—he lowered his voice to barely a whisper—“if I wasn’t a king?”

“Sure,” said James.

Alistair was astonished. “Why?!”

“I’d like you just because.”

“Just because?” Alistair thought for a moment. “Impossible! Nobody likes anybody just because. You have to impress everyone and make them think you do great things! Things to be admired! ‘Just because’?!” he scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”

“No, it’s not,” James insisted.

“Shhh!” said King Alistair. “Don’t tell my Ninnies,” he pleaded. “If they found out I—er, ah wasn’t . . . that I didn’t . . . and I couldn’t . . . they’d hate me. Or worse! They wouldn’t let me be their king anymore. Promise you won’t say anything!” The little man was frantic. “I’ll give you anything, ANYTHING! Only please, please say you won’t tell! Please, don’t tell!”

This poor man, thought James.

Kiljoy popped up. “I for one would like you better if you got us out of here and told us where we can find the old King of Average. I want to get this ridiculous quest over with.”

Alistair’s eyes lit up. “Done!” He clapped his hands. “Ninnies! My chair! Prepare to march on the double!”

The Ninnies sprang into action. They brought out another litter and scooped James, Culpa, and Roget into it in front of Alistair’s sedan chair and marched through the night, huffing and puffing. The rhythmic swaying of the chair on the shoulders of the Ninnies lulled them to sleep. At dawn, Alistair and the Ninnies deposited the group back on the middle-of-the-road, refreshed and ready for the day.

“Follow the road south to an old resort called Disappointment Bay.”

“Do you know for sure he’s there?” asked James.

“He has to be there,” Alistair predicted. “It’s the last resort.” He grabbed hold of James’s shirt and pulled him down and whispered, “Remember—you promised!” Alistair hopped onto his chair and called, “Ninnies! Away!”

Alistair the Vainglorious, King of the Ninnies, waved good-bye, looking every tiny inch a departing hero.