July/August 2015

By Jack Zimmerman Illustrated by Thomas Buchanan My grandpa has always loved to build and is a very handy man. He retired from his job as an electrician a few years ago. He has really big muscles and really big hands, so he can always lift something heavy. However, he still loves to build and continues to do it, but now only with those he loves. He has built a garage, a barn, and a trellis, and when I’m around I work with him. I always thought to myself that one day I would build a project with him and I would show him how much fun I have doing them. The problem is he lives in California and I’m in New York, so I’m not around that much. My grandpa is always calling, saying how he is in the middle of a project that he is doing with my cousin Logan, who lives very close to him. I’m always jealous when I hear that and want to go over there and help. I didn’t think he knew how much I loved to build and I didn’t think he cared. One time I was in the middle of doing my homework in third grade and my grandpa called. “Hi son,” he said in his deep voice. “Hi Grandpa,” I said in reply. “Guess what!” he said in excitement. “What?” I said, excited to know. “Logan and I are building a barn. It’s so exciting,” he said. Everything went silent. I slowly turned to look out the window. I was so upset and disappointed, but all I said was, “Cool. It must be a lot of fun.” Then I said goodbye and hung up. We just sat there looking at our final piece of art and didn’t say much I tried not to think about it and tried to finish my homework as the light in my room slowly started to dim as the sun went down. I did finish my homework, but the whole time I was thinking about our conversation. I just wanted to be alone. I didn’t know what to do. The thing is, there was nothing I could do about it. My grandpa is so great and does everything I like to do, and for that reason I love him so much. All I needed was just one project. Building is just very fun for me. The summer after third grade I went back out to California. Grandpa and I were on our way to the store to get some supplies. We were going to build a chicken coop. We went through the store getting one thing after another. I didn’t do much because he was better when it came to getting supplies and he was also paying, so I let him do what he had to do. When we got back we started planning and putting the first steps together. “Do you want to put the first few boards together or do you want to read the blueprint we just made?” I said. “How about this? I will start to put the coop together as you read me the blueprint. You watch what I’m doing and when you think you can do it you tell me and we will switch,” Grandpa said. “Sounds good,” I said. We started to work on the coop and not long after I understood what he was doing and we switched. I started doing it myself until I made a mistake. “Wait a sec, son. That’s not how you do it. You have to hold the hammer like this and hit it on the nail like this.” “Oh, I get it now, Grandpa. Sorry.” “There is no need for a sorry, son. Mistakes are the only way to learn and the world would be so boring if there was no such thing as mistakes.” Each time I would make a mistake he would correct me and teach me how to do it right. That was what I loved most about him during that project. At the end of the day I couldn’t believe how much I had learned in just a few hours. I soon started to think that this project was more of a learning experience than just to build a coop with Grandpa. I felt like his goal was not by the end of the day to have a chicken coop, but to teach me the skill of building and to make sure I was having a fun day. A few hours later we were done building the chicken coop. I went and got a bucket to sit on next to Grandpa. The coop looked so shiny, like a brand new car. I could still smell the fresh paint emanating from the coop. The windows were so clean and the roof was on the most perfect slant I have ever seen. The bedding of hay for the chickens smelled like it was just cut a second ago. Grandpa and I had built the coop together. We just sat there looking at our final piece of art and didn’t say much. One thing was for sure though, I was thinking how great this project was to me and it reminded me how much I love my grandpa and how much I need him, even though I don’t get to see him often. He doesn’t realize it and I didn’t until now how much I have actually learned from him from just one simple project. I love him. We sat there looking at the coop, just him and me. I couldn’t believe what I saw. I had just built a chicken coop with my grandpa. One of my goals was done. Now, there I was looking at something I had finally got to do with my grandpa. I was so happy. “Thank you, son,” he said to me. “Thank me for what? You’re the one who has been teaching me. So thank you so much for everything.” “Thank you as well.

I could see the silvery clouds roll in. I was headed out of our summer rental in the town of Saignon, France, to buy a baguette. As I walked down the narrow lane I saw the leaves blowing briskly and those marvelous clouds were moving faster all of a sudden. I knew that a storm was on its way. As I ran across the cracked brick stones I could hear the wind start to howl. It just started raining ample raindrops when I returned to our townhouse with the crusty baguette. I walked in the door and up the helicoid staircase and reached Mom’s bedroom. I could now hear the thunder bellowing in the distance. Mom was sitting on her bed, writing in her journal about our trip. “Where is Quin?” I said curiously. “He’s up in the loft, playing with the train he got at the antique market yesterday,” Mom said. I turned and continued to walk the spiral staircase until I made it to the loft. As I reached the top I could now see hail raining down out the balcony glass doors. Quin gets frightened easily, so I had an idea to turn the storm into something bigger that would really scare him. I couldn’t help myself from laughing. I guess I like to annoy my little brother. “Quin,” I said. “Yes?” Quin said. Can you believe that it’s raining hail?” “Yeah,” Quin replied. “But be careful,” I said. “Why?” Quin said nervously. “It is very dangerous, and it’s big and…” “Just tell me,” Quin interrupted. “It is the beginning of a tornado,” I yelled, trying to make myself not laugh. Suddenly there was a big crack of thunder. Hail was raining down. The hail was now the size of a golf ball! The storm was much more severe than I thought. The wind was howling, the ample raindrops were mixed with the hail so you couldn’t tell what was hail and what was rain. “I don’t want to die!” Quin kept repeating and repeating. I couldn’t help myself from laughing. I guess I like to annoy my little brother. Quin gets very dramatic very quickly and I find it funny to see that, but this time it quickly became bothersome. I walked down the creaky old wooden steps into the kitchen and left Quin alone, scared. As I looked through the kitchen window, I could see rushing water careening through the streets. It wasn’t a flood or anything like that, it was not even deep, but the darkness of the clouds made it look like it was deep. I could hear Mom speaking over the wind howling. In the distance I could also hear Quin screaming in terror. I had lost my patience because I realized Quin still can’t take a joke. He can never seem to let things go. What surprised me was I could still hear Quin screaming two floors below. I felt the cold handle of the refrigerator as I looked for a drink. Mom said in her sweetest voice, “Quin gets scared, you know. Quin is a really sensitive little boy. Do you remember when we adopted him he was considerably more scared than any other child in his orphanage? He didn’t want to be alone in the kitchen, the bathroom, or even his own room. Every time you make a simple joke, like the time when you said there was a monster in the closet, he feels scared and unsafe. Quin feels things in a more sensitive way than maybe you do.” “Yeah, but I can’t deal with it,” I snapped back. “We all have something that scares us. Like you, Logan, you have a fear of bees, hornets, and wasps. How would you feel if no one understood you? Why don’t you try and help Quin?” Mom said in a positive voice. “But he is scared of everything, Mom,” I said. Mom’s right eye went up. Mom just looked at me with this look that I call the really look. I walked to the couch and flung myself on the soft cushions. I started to think about what Mom said and I remembered that a year ago when we went to France I had been stung by a wasp. We were walking up to Château de Saumur. I could smell the strong aroma of grapes in the air. I went to sniff the voluminous grapes and was instantly attacked by a wasp. Ever since that day I find it hard to trust any type of buzzing bug. The buzzing noise haunts me. Every time I hear that noise I am terrified. Sometimes Quin says I am overreacting, but he still seems to understand me. I can see that I am overreacting. I keep my hood on when I am near a flower patch and I jump when I see a bee go near me. I wish I could stop this fear, but I can’t seem to get over it. When I was screaming “BEES!” Quin did not complain or walk away. He helped me and understood my fear. He is my little brother. I am his big brother. I should be helping him, I thought, and I was a jerk for making him more scared than he might have been. As I heard Quin continue to scream I felt bad, I felt really bad. I should have helped Quin when he really needed me. It was wrong of me to manipulate his fear to frighten him more. I felt myself running up the wooden stairs to Quin. As I headed up the staircase I could see Quin crying. I needed to fix what I had done. I suddenly came up with a good idea that would take his mind off this crazy storm. “Quin,” I said, trying to be cheerful. “What?” Quin said through his tears. “It’s just a storm, let’s play survivor. We have to use things in the house to protect ourselves against the storm and survive,”