Dad always says, “If the Good Lord wanted us to be stupid, he wouldn’t have put brains in our heads.”
He really believes God’s telling him to save the planet. He says it’s his mission. I wonder if the Good Lord tells him anything about his T-shirt. I mean, I’m pretty sure the Good Lord doesn’t appreciate Dad calling everyone idiots.
I wish my dad didn’t wear this T-shirt. I wish he didn’t go to city council meetings. Or get so disgusted that no one cares about the planet the way he does. I wish my dad were one of the guys at the city council meeting wearing a suit. I wish he sat quietly. I wish he never got up to talk.
This is why I HATE my dad’s favorite T-shirt.
WRITING EXERCISE: Write a descriptive essay about where you live.
This year we moved. Again. We move every year. Not to a new town. Just to a different neighborhood.
We’ve lived in so many houses I can’t even remember them all. But I don’t really have to. They’re all pretty much the same. They’re called “Handyman Specials.”
This is how it works. Dad finds a house that’s vacant. One that looks like it should be bulldozed down. (Some look like they’d fall down without a bulldozer.) He finds out who owns it. Tells them he’ll fix up the house for nothing if we can live there for free.
It works every time. When the house looks good, Dad looks for another dump. And we start all over again.
Dad says, “The Good Lord blesses those who got the good sense to work with the hands he gave them.”
If that were really true, Dad and I should’ve been blessed with a mansion by now. One with a butler and a maid.
WRITING EXERCISE: Write a descriptive essay about where you live. (Part 2)
I don’t like living in broken-down houses. And moving over and over again means I never make any friends. Especially because I don’t go to school. Two houses ago, I almost made some friends. There were some other homeschooled kids who lived in the neighborhood. Their moms planned field trips for them. And the kids played at the park together sometimes. But by the time I found out about them, our house was fixed up. And it was time to move again.
The only kids I meet in the neighborhood are the ones who walk by our “Handyman Special” on the way to school or to their friends’ houses. They look at me on the driveway helping Dad put on a new muffler or flush a radiator, and I know they’re thinking I must be some sort of freak. To live in a house that’s falling down. To work on cars in the driveway. To have a dad who looks like my dad. What else could they think?
So I normally don’t even try to make friends. I pretend I’m invisible. And because of the way I look it usually works. Especially with girls. My old clothes, my greasy hands, my hair falling out of its ponytail. It’s almost as if they think looking at me might make my freakishness rub off on them.
Boys are different. They still see me even when I’m trying to be invisible. But not in the way girls want boys to see them. They see me as a target. A joke target. I’m a practice punching bag for their humor. The only person they love to make fun of more than me is Dad. He’s an even easier target than I am.
This boy Hunter lives on my block. His best friend Evan lives one block over. And they’ve been brutal. They can’t walk by without saying something.
“Look at the Grease Monkey and his little Monkey Girl.”
I don’t think they can help themselves.
Every neighborhood’s the same. Different kids. Same trash talk. And in the world’s largest dictionary, there isn’t one single word that comes close to describing what it feels like.
That’s why this year, I have to do something different. Something that will change what people notice about me.
WRITING EXERCISE: Choose a proverb and rewrite it to express two different personal truths.
Unknown Proverb:
“Laughter is the best medicine.”
Ratchet’s Proverb: (Part 1)
“Laughter is poison when you are the punch line.”
Ratchet’s Proverb: (Part 2)
“But laughter is a lifesaver when your dad’s in the attic fixing the air vent and his leg comes through the ceiling of the garage when he misses the two-by-four he was supposed to step on, and the next thing you know his other leg comes through the ceiling too, but you know he’s okay because he’s laughing so hard his legs are swinging; and you laugh even harder than he does and spit out the water you were trying to swallow. And the whole thing is like a lifeboat on the sinking Titanic because this kind of laughter takes the venom out of the poisonous laughter, and you know you’re going to be okay.”
WRITING EXERCISE: Write a review of a book, short story, or magazine article.
Writing Format—REVIEW: A way to express thoughts, feelings, and opinions about literature. Your response can be a journal entry, a poem, or an editorial letter.
Dear Editors of Stylin’ It,
Are you kidding? Those skinny jeans? Those cropped sweaters? Those long scarves looped and tied in just the right way? And those hairstyles? Really?
When I look at your magazine, I can’t help but wonder, who dresses like this? I wonder this until I look over to the Teen Junction section of the library and see four girls giggling as they all try to read from the same paperback book. They all look like they just stepped out of your magazine, and it makes me wonder what magazine it looks like I just stepped out of.
Yours truly,
Not a Cover Girl
WRITING EXERCISE: Write a process list.
Writing Format—PROCESS LIST: A list that shows steps or stages in a process.
1.Find a look in a magazine—one that might come close to being possible for me.
2.Go to Goodwill to buy clothes and accessories.
3.Put an outfit together.
4.Wear the outfit to the first “Get Charmed” class.
5.Introduce myself to the other girls in class.
6.Make my first real friend. (Hopefully.)
WRITING EXERCISE: Write a descriptive essay about the most important person in your life.
Dad would never win “Father of the Year,” but he’s still my “most important person.”
Dad is not normal. He’s a crazy environmentalist, who says things like, “Turning a blind eye to science is unethical,” and, “Our children should spit on our graves for the way we squander the goodness of the Good Lord.” And my personal favorite, “It’s a no-brainer that designing buildings with windows on the east and west is a colossal waste of energy. It should be a crime!”
Dad’s mission to save the world means:
*He doesn’t believe in buying anything new because he can fix everything.
*He doesn’t believe in using up the environment because he says it’s what the Good Lord gave us to take care of.
*And he really doesn’t believe in worrying about what people think because when you’re following orders from the Good Lord, why would you care what people think?
So most people think Dad’s nuts.
But Dad’s actually SMART. Not many people know the kind of stuff he does, like “miles above the Earth’s surface, our stratosphere’s ozone layer is thinning. This ozone hole is caused by chlorofluorocarbons which are created by man-made chemicals.”
The problem is most people don’t care about stuff like that, but Dad cares A LOT that “as our ozone layer gets thinner, more harmful UV radiation reaches the Earth’s surface every day.” This stuff is ALL he ever talks about, and it makes him sound like a real nut job.
I just wish he could at least look smart the way a normal dad looks smart, having a haircut like the dads you see on TV commercials and wearing the kind of clothes you see men wearing in the Sunday paper sale ads. But every day Dad looks the same—like a young Albert Einstein wearing a greasy T-shirt and ripped jeans.
Dad’s friends call him “Raccoon Dog.” (RD for short.) “Ra
ccoon” because he’s so good with his hands. And “Dog” because anyone who can fix your car is man’s best friend. I just call him “Dad.” And no matter what he says, or what he does, or how un-normal he makes our life, he’ll always be my “most important person.”
WRITING EXERCISE: Poetry
Sum Poetry 1
A trip to Goodwill is
= to
Five racks of shirts
(Only two tops even cool enough to try on),
Six shelves of shorts
(Only three pairs in my size),
Three bins of shoes
(Only one pair even comes close).
WRITING EXERCISE: Poetry
Sum Poetry 2
One dark blue tank top
(With only a small snag in it),
One pair of tan shorts
(Which are only a little too baggy),
One light blue scarf
(Only frayed a little bit on one end),
One pair of shiny, silver flip-flops
(Only slightly ripped on one side)
Almost =
One cool look
From
Stylin’ It.
WRITING EXERCISE: Write minutes to record a class or a meeting.
Writing Format—MINUTES: A summary of things discussed and decided on and also what action will be taken.
Blainesfield Recreation Center “Get Charmed” Class
Present: Ms. Charlize (the teacher), Ratchet, and four girls who already look charmed.
3:50 I enter the classroom. No one else is there. I sit at the second table in the middle row.
3:54 Four girls enter, giggling and laughing. I recognize them from the library. They were the ones reading the paperback book together. They already look photo-shoot ready for a cover story in Stylin’ It.
3:57 They finally notice me, but don’t say hi. They squeeze closer together in a group, whisper a little too loud, “What’s she doing here?” and then laugh.
3:58 Looking like one of the designers on a makeover show carrying her black leather portfolio in one hand, a dark-haired twenty-something click-clacks into the room in superhigh heels, tight black jeans, and a black sequined tank top with a sparkly black and green scarf draped and looped in just the right way around her neck. (It looks so much better than my slightly frayed blue one, which is twisted around my neck looking like someone’s trying to strangle me.) “Hi, girls! I’m Charlize!” she says, and smiles with teeth that sparkle more than her scarf.
3:59 I stare at her—sort of mesmerized by the sparkles, the sequins, and her smile.
4:00 She plops her portfolio on the front table and flips it open. “How would you like to see my head shots?”
4:01 The Stylin’ It cover girls rush the front table like it’s half-price day at the Dollar Store and gather around Charlize and her photos.
4:02 “I love your hair in this one,” cover girl #1 says.
4:03 “Look at those shoes!” says cover girl #2. “I want them!”
4:04 “These aren’t even my best shots,” Charlize explains as she flips to another page in her portfolio with one hand and flips her shoulder-length hair with the other. “My agent keeps the really good ones,” she says.
4:05 I’m still stuck in my seat at the second table in the middle row. I can’t see the photos from here, but I don’t want to. I’ve seen enough already. Seen enough to know that no matter how many racks and bins I go through at Goodwill, I will never be “charmed.” This class isn’t for people who want to “get charmed.” It’s for people who already “are charmed.” And I’m not one of them.
4:10 I get up and head for the door, hoping to sneak out without being seen. But just my luck that Ms. Charlize picks this moment to notice me. “Sorry we haven’t made room for you. Come on up and take a look.” I feel everyone staring at me. And at that moment I wish I could be like Dad—not caring what anyone thinks. Not being afraid of what people say about me. Not worrying if I look like a fool in the Goodwill outfit I worked so hard to put together. But I do care. I came to this class because I care, and because I had hoped to make a friend, but I could tell that wasn’t going to happen, so I just shrug and say, “I’m in the wrong room. This isn’t the class I signed up for,” which isn’t even a lie.
4:11 I push open the double doors of the rec center and unlock my bike. I hop on and pedal away wondering where to go from here.
WRITING EXERCISE: Write a short monologue.
Writing Format—MONOLOGUE: A short entertaining piece that could be used as an expository reading.
No Style Required
I get back to my room and look at myself in the mirror. I could see why they’d been staring. What had I been thinking? I looked like a little kid playing dress-up with that scarf draped around my neck. And the makeup I had put on made me look more like a clown than a supermodel. I had followed the step-by-step instructions in the copy of Stylin’ It that I’d checked out from the library.
*Begin with Bayberry Blush and add Daylight Dusting Powder.
*Continue with Keep-Yourself-Covered Concealer.
*Add Elegant Eyeliner, Sure Shades Eye Shadow, and Midnight Moonlight Mascara.
*Paint on Periwinkle Nail Polish and spritz your neck and wrist with Seaside Sunshine Perfume.
*Accessorize your outfit with a scarf, belt, or hat and step out in style.
I had followed the instructions carefully, but instead of “stepping” out in style, I had just tripped. Actually, who was I kidding? I had just fallen flat on my face.
I pick up the magazine, and even though I feel like throwing it across the room like a Frisbee, I open it. Maybe there is some advice for a style misstep, but I find something better. An article titled “Create Your Own Style.” So I unwrap the scarf. (It never really was me.) I change into a white, cotton tank top. (Well, a tank top that used to be white.) Then I pull on a light blue, short-sleeved, button-down shirt and leave it unbuttoned. I kick off the shiny, silver flip-flops, and I slip my bare feet into my worn-out Keds.
I look at myself in the mirror again and wonder if anyone would ever call an outfit like mine a “style.” The thing is: it doesn’t really matter because any minute, my dad will be yelling from the garage, “Ratchet! C’mere and hold this exhaust while I put a clamp on it, would ya?” And even though my plan for this afternoon had been to “get charmed,” I’m thankful that Dad needs my help and that no style will be required.
WRITING EXERCISE: Write a descriptive essay about a person you dislike.
Edward J. Johnson. AKA Eddie J. or Pretty Boy Eddie. He walks around town acting like he owns the place, and actually, he kind of does because he’s so rich. He owns one restaurant, one gas station, three grocery stores, and one hardware store.
If this town were a kingdom, he’d be the king. If it were a country, he’d be the president. If it were the world, he’d think he was God. But it’s only Blainesfield, so he’s just a big shot. Dad says thankfully enough people still use the common sense the Good Lord gave them, so he’s hasn’t been elected mayor; not yet anyway, but he might as well be the mayor because skinny, squirrely Benson Prindle who really did get elected mayor, doesn’t make a move without Eddie J.’s approval.
But these are not the reasons I dislike Eddie Johnson. I don’t like him because of what he says to Dad.
“Why thank you for enlightening us with your highly scientific and most definitely accurate opinion about everything, Mr. Vance. We will take it all into careful consideration.”
He says it as if he’s talking to a stupid kid with crazy ideas, and he says it as if not one word of what Dad says is worth listening to, let alone worth “careful consideration.” He’s sarcastic and snotty. And he says the same thing to Dad every time Dad speaks at the c
ity council meetings because Eddie J., of course, is the city council spokesman. That’s why I dislike Edward J. Johnson.
WRITING EXERCISE: Write a narrative essay about your most embarrassing moment.
Writing Format—NARRATIVE ESSAY: A factual piece of writing in which you express your ideas by telling a story.
ONE of My Most Embarrassing Moments
Dad makes me read the newspaper every day for social studies. So this morning I went outside to get the paper from the driveway, and when I did, Hunter and Evan came up the street on their bikes. When they saw me, Evan said really loud, “Hey, Hunter, I wonder if Ratchet’s dad can use his tools to break out of the slammer. I bet he’s not so handy in handcuffs.”
I didn’t know what he was talking about until I picked up the newspaper and unrolled it. The blood drained from my head to my toes. I lost all feeling in my arms. Why? Because there on the front page I stared at a huge photo of my “most important person” in handcuffs. He was wearing another one of the T-shirts I hate.
This one says, “If idiots were trees, this place would be an orchard.”
Now, on top of my dad being the most un-normal dad in the world, he’s a convict too.
Yesterday I thought Dad was out at the junkyard looking for parts.
“Why buy a new starter, when you might be able to find an old one?”
How about because it’s easier, Dad?
But Dad hadn’t really been out hunting for a starter. No wonder he’d gotten home so late. At breakfast he’d told me some story about running into some old friends and stopping for dinner. (Unless he’s friends with the Chase County Police Department, and they serve dinner down at the station in a holding cell, Dad had lied to me.) It wasn’t the first time.
This Journal Belongs to Ratchet Page 2