WRITING EXERCISE: Poetry
Normal might be good
For some people
But I must not be one of them.
I go to the ceremony
With Hunter and his mom.
I look the most normal
I’ve looked in my whole life.
My clothes are just right.
My hair looks good.
So how come I feel out of place?
I fan myself with a program
While I turn around in my seat
Looking for Dad.
He’s always easy to spot,
But I don’t see him anywhere.
The microphone buzzes with feedback,
And Mayor Prindle heads for the stage.
I look at Hunter and his mom
Sitting on either side of me.
I’m with normal-looking people.
But I still don’t feel like I fit in
Until I turn around in my seat
One last time
And see my dad
Standing way in the back
At the edge of the park.
I could tell
He had tried to comb his hair.
(But he still looked like Albert Einstein.)
He had tried to shave.
(But he must have used a very dull razor.)
He had tried to wear something nice.
(But his sports jacket was way out of style
And didn’t fit at all.)
But it’s the T-shirt he has on
Under the sports jacket that makes me smile
And makes me feel like I fit in right where I’m supposed to.
The T-shirt says, “Everybody needs a Ratchet.”
I had given it to him for Christmas
When I was eight.
I didn’t even know he still had it.
Dad did not look normal,
But he was there.
And he had come for me.
He was my normal,
So I give the speech
I wrote for him.
Thank you for choosing my essay.
And thank you for saving Moss Tree Park.
Today our little Blainesfield world has changed,
And we should all be proud.
I learned about changing the world from a very important person.
He’s not important the way most people are important—
He doesn’t drive a fancy car.
He doesn’t make a lot of money.
He doesn’t have a big important job.
But he’s MY most important person
Because he’s taught me about what’s important.
He’s taught me how things work.
He’s taught me to work hard.
He’s taught me that the Good Lord values the Earth.
And because he does, we should too.
He’s showed me how to love
By always being there for me.
And he made sure I felt loved.
To show him how well I learned his lessons,
I dedicate my award and Moss Tree Park
To my dad.
WRITING EXERCISE: Respond personally to a famous quote.
Louisa May Alcott:
“What do girls do who haven’t any mothers to help them through their troubles?”
Ratchet:
The Good Lord gives them a dad who loves them like my dad loves me.
WRITING EXERCISE: Life Events Journal
A week later at the Moss Tree Park Go-Cart Races, Dad was the guest of honor.
Not only because he had been the first one to really care about saving the park, but also because he was the reason all the boys in his class had the coolest go-carts the race had ever seen.
They were all made out of recycled materials: two-liter soda bottles, old crates, hubcaps, bicycle seats. You name it, you could find it somewhere on some car. Jason had made his entire car out of wood from an old dresser. He actually sat in a drawer to drive the thing.
It made me proud to have a recycle-crazy guy for a dad.
The cover girls were there admiring the boys’ go-carts and trying to get the boys to admire them. I was thankful Hunter wasn’t paying attention to any of the girls, and I was glad I had ended up creating my own style instead of “getting charmed.” I felt comfortable and thought I looked sort of cute in the capris and fitted T-shirt Hunter’s mom had helped me pick out when we went back to the mall for a second shopping trip. I guess I wasn’t completely like Dad. I still cared about what people thought of me. Especially Hunter.
That day at Moss Tree Park was one of the best days of my life for lots of reasons.
One of the funniest things was Evan’s go-cart. His brother wanted to make sure Evan’s car was better than anyone else’s because he was even more of a show-off than Evan, but his plan backfired in more ways than one.
His car looked ridiculous next to all the recycled cars because it was all shiny and new. It looked like a toy model that a little kid put together. The other cars were creative and had personality.
But the way Evan’s car looked was only part of the problem. Evan’s go-cart literally did backfire at the starting line because just after the beginning of the race, he blew a gasket. The car didn’t get more than ten feet down the track. The recycled cars left him in the dust. It was great!
Even though Dad was the guest of honor, most of the people there watching the race still thought he was a little nuts. He was dressed in a T-shirt the boys had given him that said “Genius at Work” on the front and “Real Men Recycle” on the back. Dad cheered his head off as the boys’ go-carts circled the track. Every time one of the boys finished, he jumped up and down like a five-year-old at the circus, and after all the boys crossed the finish line, they surrounded Dad, slapping him on the back and saying things like, “You’re the best, Mr. Vance!” and “We couldn’t have done it without you!” Hunter had been right. I was lucky to have a dad like Dad. The Good Lord had given me a break after all.
Before Dad even stopped jumping up and down, Hunter and the other boys came over and handed me a big, flat box.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Just open it,” Jason said.
So I did. Inside was a long, skinny sugar cookie with squiggles of frosting all over it. It looked like a sword or a dagger or something, but I knew what it was supposed to look like—a ratchet.
“My mom helped us make it,” Hunter said.
“And we all signed it,” Jason added.
“We just wanted to say thanks,” Hunter said.
I didn’t care what the cookie looked like. I didn’t care what it tasted like. I didn’t care that I couldn’t read one single name written on it. None of that mattered when you finally have real friends.
My life really wasn’t all that different than it had always been, but somehow it sure felt like something had changed. It felt like my new style wasn’t just about the way I looked on the outside. It had more to do with how I felt on the inside. Finding out the truth about Mom wasn’t easy, and it sure didn’t make me feel more normal, but I would never have known how much Dad loved me if I hadn’t found out Mom left.
After the race, we planted trees to replace the ones that had been cut down, and we celebrated as if it were Herman Moss’s birthday with a great big cake. The best part was that thanks to Ms. Wilkerson, the trees we planted had been donated by Eddie J. She had shamed him into donating them by telling him it was the least he could do after being such a big bully.
Then we all ate burgers compliments of the owners at Mama Mack’s, who had set up a booth in the park. Marty from Gas Gulp had frozen candy bars available, not for free, but for a very cheap price, of course. Hunter’s dad was even there, and Hunter
had more fun showing his dad how the engine in his ’57 Chevy go-cart worked than he did driving his go-cart in the race. His dad seemed really impressed with everything Hunter knew about his engine, and I had a feeling the two of them might just get around to rebuilding a car after all.
Ms. Wilkerson and I sat in the shade at a picnic table and ate lunch. Her son Adam had hired a van from her nursing home to bring her out to the park. He thought she should be there since she was the one who put her teacher’s voice to work one last time to try and help save the park, and even though it took a little more than a stern teacher’s voice to do it, she deserved some credit.
While Ms. Wilkerson and I finished our burgers and sat licking our melting candy bars, I watched Dad, who was too busy to eat. He was following the mayor around and telling him about a new solar-powered air-conditioning system. He wanted the mayor to put it in all the town’s public buildings.
Ms. Wilkerson saw me watching Dad and said, “You know, your daddy reminds me so much of Herman Moss, and you remind me a little bit of myself. Don’t be like me and let the world fool you into thinking your daddy’s not a good man. He may never be the mayor or have the kind of job you think makes him look good, but I can tell you, his heart’s in the right place, and that’s what really matters.”
The thing is, I didn’t need Ms. Wilkerson to tell me that. My heart already knew it.
Turns out I didn’t really need a new life—I already had a pretty good one—not a perfect one—but one that I could feel all right about.
WRITING EXERCISE: Poetry
If only seeing your own life
The way you should
Were easy,
But it’s not.
I wouldn’t have spent
So much time
Wishing
Things were different.
I wouldn’t have spent
So much time
Worrying
About not being normal.
I wouldn’t have spent
So much time
Writing
About wanting something new.
I wanted the
White pages
And the cool, cardboard cover
To somehow change
“Something,”
But the only thing
That really needed to change
Was
The way
I thought
About
Me
And
My
Weird,
Wonderful
Life
With
Dad.
Acknowledgments
Authors are not supposed to use cliches, but I’m going to use one anyway: this book is my dream come true. My dream to publish a children’s book began many years ago, and it would never have happened without some very important people.
To Esther Hershenhorn and Sharon Darrow, my very first writing teachers and friends who welcomed me into SCBWI and always willingly shared their knowledge and expertise, as well as their friendship.
To Patty Toht, Greg Daigle, Ruth VanderZee, Ellen Carroll, Darcy Zoells, and Michelle Schaub, my first critique group—wonderful writers and fantastic friends.
To Karen Palumbo, Sue LaNeve, Greg Neri, Mickey Davis, Madeleine Kuderick, Molli Nickell, and Karleen Tauszik, who were the first to see Ratchet and believe in her. Thank you for helping me figure out how to write this book and for becoming my new writing family in Florida.
To Holly Root, my agent, thank you for believing in me and my writing and not giving up when the going got long.
To Aubrey Poole, my editor, who always shared my excitement for Ratchet. Thank you for loving my book and working so hard with me to make it better.
To all the people at Sourcebooks, thank you for paying attention to every detail so that my book became something even better than what I had ever imagined it could be.
To Martha Alderson, whom I’ve never met, but whose books and DVDs about plot were invaluable. Thank you for all you taught me!
To my family and friends who supported me along the way and gave their encouragement even when they may have thought I was crazy to have kept trying for so long—thank you!
This book would not have happened without Ron and Chaylee, who cheered me on all the way. Thank you for being so proud!
Lastly, and most importantly, I thank the Good Lord for His unending grace and faithful blessings along the way.
About the Author
Photo credit: Janet Nelson
Nancy J. Cavanaugh lives in Florida with her husband and her daughter. She spends her summers eating pizza in her former hometown of Chicago. This Journal Belongs to Ratchet is her first book, but she has been writing for almost twenty years.
Like her main character, Nancy is pretty handy with a ratchet and is able to take apart a small engine and put it back together. In addition to her mechanic’s hat, Nancy has been an elementary and middle school teacher, as well as a school library media specialist. One of her favorite parts of writing for children is being able to say “I’m working” when reading middle grade novels. She hasn’t read an adult book in years.
Visit her at www.nancyjcavanaugh.com.
This Journal Belongs to Ratchet Page 13