This Journal Belongs to Ratchet (2 page)

Unknown Proverb:

“Like mother, like daughter.”

Ratchet's Proverb:

“Finding out about Mom, means finding out about me.”

My problem is: my life is not normal.

People say there's a solution to every problem. I'm not so sure.

One solution is for me to stop working on cars. But Dad would never get all the cars fixed on time without my help. And we wouldn't have any money.

Another solution is for me to go to school, but I'd have a better chance of becoming Miss America than that ever happening. Dad says, “The Good Lord gave me the good sense to know you're better off learning from me than some half-witted college graduate who doesn't know a gol' darn thing about the real world.”

The Good Lord has given me the good sense to know I'll never see the inside of a school, but lately, I've been thinking, maybe Dad would agree to a class at the rec center. That might give me a chance at making a friend, and that would be a huge step toward normal.

My last solution is to find out more about Mom so that I can finally become who I'm really supposed to be.

Moms are the ones

Who make sure of a lot of things.

Like that their kids

Wear nice clothes,

Comb their hair,

Brush their teeth.

And Moms teach their kids

How to fold laundry

So their clothes aren't wrinkled,

How to make scrambled eggs

Without turning them brown,

How to make a girl feel like a girl.

How can a girl feel like a girl

Without a mom to make her

Feel that way?

Subject
: Ratchet

Project Description
: Turn my old, recycled, freakish, friendless, homeschooled, motherless life into something new.

Project Goals
:

1.
Make a friend.

*
Use magazine makeover tips to improve my look.

*
Sign up for “Get Charmed” class at the rec center.

*
Cross my fingers and hope to make a friend.

2.
Be more like Mom.

*
Ask Dad questions about Mom.

*
Search for things that are Mom's to help me remember her.

*
Find things I might have in common with Mom.

Outcome
: To be a girl who fits in
—
hopefully one with a friend.

“Dad, you know how you always say people should get involved in their communities?”

“Yeah,” Dad said as he hunched over the open hood of an SUV.

“Well, there's this class at the rec center that I think might help me get involved.”

“Oh, yeah?”

I didn't tell him the class was called “Get Charmed” and that the only community I'd
hopefully
be getting involved in would be a bunch of girls learning about manners and makeovers. I knew that wasn't really the community Dad was talking about.

“Yeah, it sounds interesting,” I said.

Thankfully, Dad was having a hard time with the gasket he was trying to replace, so he didn't ask for any details.

“I guess it's all right,” he said, without even looking up.

“It costs twenty dollars,” I said, holding my breath.

“You can take money out of the coffee can in the kitchen.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I said.
(yes!)

“Now, c'mere and help me stretch this so I can get this doggone thing on.”

While I helped Dad, I thought about how the rubber gasket wasn't the only thing I was stretching.
$

Things I'll Learn in the “Get Charmed” Class

Latest fashion trends,

Helpful skin care,

Plus cool and funky hair tips,

And

Important social manners;

But

I'm hoping for what's not listed

In the rec center brochure.

A chance

To make

A friend.

Thoughtfulness is

Dad buying sugar twist doughnuts

Every Saturday

Because I like them,

Even though he doesn't.

Kindness is

Dad pumping up

My bike tires for me,

Even though I could do it for myself.

Goodness is

Dad getting Disney movies

From the library

Even though he only watches documentaries.

Patience is

Dad letting me change my first flat tire

When I was only eight

All by myself,

Even though it took me an hour and a half.

Gentleness is

Dad staying up all night

And giving me ice chips

When I had strep throat,

Even though he was sick too.

“I think I found it!” I yelled as I felt a few drops on my cheek.

“Are you sure?” Dad asked.

He was standing over the engine of an old pickup truck we were working on, and I was underneath it. We were looking for an oil leak.

I wiped my cheek with a rag.

“Yeah, I'm sure. This has to be it,” I said. I felt a few more drips. This time on my forehead. “Oh, wait! There must be another leak.”

“A second leak?” Dad asked. “Are you sure?”

Just then brown liquid poured down on me, covering my safety glasses.

“Oh, man!” I yelled.

I couldn't figure out what was going on until I heard Dad laughing, and then I smelled chocolate.

“Dad!” I yelled.

I wiggled out from under the truck and took off my safety glasses, which were dripping with chocolate sauce. I wiped my forehead with my rag.

“Got ya!” Dad said, laughing some more. “Want some?” he asked, holding up a plastic bottle of chocolate sauce.

“No thanks. I already had some.”

Dad tipped his head back and squirted chocolate sauce into his mouth right out of the bottle.

“You can find the leak yourself,” I said, trying to sound mad.

“I found the leak this morning before you got up,” Dad explained. “Just thought I'd have a little fun. Sure you don't want some?” He squeezed another big squirt of sauce into his mouth, then grabbed my rag and flicked me in the arm with it.

I snatched the chocolate sauce from him and squirted some in my own mouth.