by Angela Ahn
“What do you mean?” Mom asked.
“I google it,” Hammy replied.
“How do you know how to use Google?” Mom couldn’t hide her shock.
“Occupational therapist teach me to use it for memory games. I have many apps now. They have one spot left yesterday, so I took it,” Hammy said. She glanced at her watch. “It starts in thirty minutes.”
“I don’t know about this. L.B.’s schedule is far too busy for circus camp,” Mom replied. “It’s not exactly enriching either, is it, Mom?”
Hammy looked annoyed. She pointed to L.B.’s large calendar of extracurricular activities. “Her other class has break right now—it’s long weekend! She’s not busy! I paid already anyway. I take her!”
Mom looked over at L.B. and said, as if Hammy wasn’t even there, “Sorry, L.B., Hammy doesn’t know what you like. I’ll try to cancel it.”
Hammy looked angry. I felt angry too. It felt like Mom was treating Hammy like a child. I was offended for Hammy.
“Don’t you dare!” L.B. shouted, leaping to her feet. “I’m going to circus camp! Hammy knows me just fine, even better than you!”
“Circus camp is not important!” Mom said.
“Life not only textbooks, you know.” Hammy took a deep breath and stared Mom down. “You never see her. But I see her,” Hammy said seriously.
“Come, L.B.” Hammy stuck out her hand. “Let’s go.”
Hammy tapped Haji’s shoulder and motioned with her head that it was time for them to leave. He put down the newspaper and reached for his jacket. He dug around his pocket for his keys and turned to look at Mom. He shrugged his shoulders. “Thanks for the eggs.” Gently, he put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze as his keys jingled in his hand.
L.B. ran to the door with Trixie tucked under her arm, grabbed Hammy’s hand and didn’t look back.
Mom stood there with her mouth open. I pulled out my notebook from my pocket and quietly turned the pages. I wrote:
Hammy is having a really good day. =)
Chapter 39
THIS ASIAN WHIZ KID
Monday, November 11, late afternoon
Conditions: Cool start, but things are warming up
L.B. had been going off with Hammy and Haji to circus camp all weekend. The first night, she came home and spent the three hours before dinner flinging herself around the backyard, even though it was dark and the grass was wet and cold.
The camp lent her a unicycle to take home the next day, and in the late afternoon, you could hear her screaming, “Forward! Steady! Reverse!” as she practiced pedaling up and down the sidewalk. I had to put on headphones and watch YouTube videos featuring the greatest dunks in basketball history to block out the noise.
On the last day of the camp, when he picked L.B. up in the morning, Haji said to my mom, “I pick Peter up with L.B. at the end of the day. We have special grandparent and grandchild dinner, okay? You two have date-night time tonight!” Haji winked at her.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“No problem. Hammy and I take care of everything,” he said confidently. “She’s feeling very good today, lots of energy. You have helped a lot lately. You take a rest.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught L.B. giving him a thumbs-up and thought that that was a bit weird.
I looked back at Mom to see what she would say. She did need a break. She hadn’t asked me to do extra math for a really long time, so I knew she was very preoccupied.
“Sounds good,” she said as she smiled at Haji. I could see her relax.
“Peter, I come back here around three thirty, okay?” Haji said.
“Sure.” We had never had a special grandparent-grandchild night before.
3:45 p.m.
When they picked me up as planned, L.B. was already in the car, having just finished circus camp. She smelled like old gym socks and her hair stuck to her forehead from dried sweat. I scrunched my nose and tried to breathe through my mouth, but sometimes that made my throat dry. I patted my pocket for my inhaler and I opened the window for a bit of fresh air. I looked at the space between us and noticed Trixie was smashed into the cupholder of L.B.’s car seat.
As we approached Hammy and Haji’s house, L.B. started to giggle. I looked over at her.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
She put her hand up to her mouth to try to suppress her laughter, but she couldn’t. She just kept giggling. Her body started to shake and convulse, and it almost looked like she was having a seizure, but she looked too happy to be having a medical emergency.
Then Hammy and Haji started to laugh.
“What is so funny?” I asked again, louder.
L.B. picked up Trixie and shoved him in front of her mouth so she was laughing into him.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Haji said, trying to dismiss all the laughter. He wiped a tear from his eye, and Hammy fanned herself with her hand.
My face started to turn red. I felt like I was the only one who didn’t get the joke. We pulled up in front of Hammy and Haji’s house.
“Go!” L.B. said, motioning with her hand for Hammy and Haji to exit the car.
When she got out of the car, L.B. started to do little stationary hops, shifting from one foot to the other like an excited penguin.
They walked toward the front door. I lagged behind, still wondering what everybody had thought was so funny. They all seemed so weird. Haji looked over his shoulder before unlocking the front door. He pushed it open, but nobody went inside.
“Go first,” Hammy said to me.
“Why?” I asked suspiciously.
“Just do what Hammy says!” She waved me inside.
I stepped inside cautiously, wondering if they had a big practical joke planned, and then I kicked off my shoes. I let them all come in behind me, but they seemed to want to huddle near the door. I looked around, waiting for an evil clown or a Star Wars stormtrooper to jump out and scare me. Haji finally closed the front door.
Automatically I reached over to the wall, ready to straighten the Time “Asian-American Whiz Kids” picture. But something was different. It wasn’t there anymore. There was something new there instead. My arm fell to my side and I took a step toward the new picture to have a good hard look.
It was the cover of a Royal Tyrrell newsletter that I had never seen before. On the cover was my picture. One of the ones I had forgotten about and assumed was in the pile I’d thrown into the recycling bin. But here it was, right there in the frame, on the cover of the newsletter. In the bottom-right corner it said, “K-Pop Dino by Peter Lee, age eleven, Vancouver, B.C.” I unexpectedly realized that it kind of looked like Samuel, but as a dinosaur, wearing his diamond earring, athleisure clothes and with a head of streaked hair.
I looked at Haji, Hammy and L.B. They all had big smiles. “How? What? But!” I couldn’t get out words as I pointed dumbly to the newsletter.
“Your little sister very tricky, Peter!” Haji said. “She told me about contest. L.B. showed me newsletter. It was her idea to send in picture. We all like this one.”
I was stunned into silence.
“Who knew you could draw dinosaur looking so Korean? Very impressive!” Haji said as he put his hand on my shoulder.
I looked at L.B., who was smiling nervously.
“She gave me envelope with picture and told me, ‘Haji, you must do overnight express shipping or we don’t make the deadline!’ ” Haji continued.
“I included a note to Kendra,” L.B. said. “I hope you’re not mad that I misrepresented myself as you.”
“When did you find this picture?”
“I noticed things. I observed.”
I stared at her skeptically.
“Okay, I rummaged around your desk,” she admitted. “I selected this one because it was by far the most origi
nal. I was worried you were just going to let the deadline pass. The dinosaur herd trampling a young boy playing soccer was an excellent drawing, but far too violent. Here’s an extra copy of the newsletter. They’re not out yet. Kendra sent it to us early. Are you mad?” She looked worried.
I reached for the newsletter. My fingers touched my drawing. I needed to check the articles. I needed to know.
I flipped through it, quickly but thoroughly.
“What are you looking for, Peter?” L.B. asked.
My eyes and fingers raced through the pages of the newsletter until the last page. Then I flipped the last page shut and declared, “That barf-bag Ryan’s article did not make the issue! Hammy! It’s ice cream time! Do you have ice cream?”
“Better,” she said. “I bought red bean buns!”
“That’s not what I had in mind, but I don’t care! Red bean buns for everyone!” I yelled.
Hammy went to the kitchen to get the celebratory dessert.
I looked over at L.B. and, as softly and as gently as I could, I said, “Thank you, L.B. I’d given up on the idea. I didn’t think anything I drew was good enough.”
She whispered, “Sometimes you need others to believe in you before you can believe in yourself. I’ve always known you had long, talented limbs. Maybe now you know it too.”
I held the copy of the newsletter in my hands and brought it up to my chest. I was shaking. I patted my pocket and felt my inhaler.
“Here you go!” Hammy said as she brought out a plate of buns. “My famous grandson gets to pick first!”
I felt my cheeks flush. As I ate my red bean bun, I looked around their living room and kitchen and saw all the work that Haji and I had done labeling their house. I was ready to accept the fact that I was good at organizing and planning. I could draw maps and be methodical when I wanted to be. Look at the results! It had really helped Hammy out. As she’d prepared to bring our desserts out, I’d seen her reading the labels on the cabinets, so I knew they were helping her.
I don’t know, maybe paleontology and I weren’t quite done with each other yet. At first, I thought paleontology was studying dinosaur taxonomy and evolution and the act of locating and retrieving fossilized specimens. But the more I thought about it, I realized that it was more. It was so much more. It was learning how to learn. It was learning to approach problems in an orderly way. It was record keeping. It was observing the environment. It was gathering information and piecing together a conclusion.
I don’t know how long our solution was going to keep Hammy at home, but at least she was home. And I had helped it all happen by using skills I had developed because of an obsessive, dorky love of paleontology. Plan, observe, organize, record and execute. I guess it helped that I was pretty good at drawing too. I got that from Hammy.
Haji sat down beside me and put his hand on my knee. He whispered, “Hammy is very happy about your drawings and labels. She uses them very much. Have you seen her?”
“Yeah, I have.” I smiled.
“Sometimes I think she can’t find something, but before I offer to help, I let her look. When she finds something herself, I think it makes her feel proud, like she can do it by herself.”
“It’s going to make her feel better if she can do things without asking for help all the time,” I told him, keeping my voice low.
“I think you have many good talents and artistic, but scientific brain. Rare combination. I have my own whiz grandkids right here all this time. I don’t need that Time anymore. I’m happy it’s gone.” He gave my knee a final tap.
I was glad I hadn’t thrown out my bags and boxes of dinosaur stuff yet. It was all still where I had last shoved it, in the back of my closet. It was out of sight, but it was no longer out of mind. I wondered if the Royal Tyrrell Museum had any paleontology programs for children that took place inside, where it wasn’t so hot and dusty. There must be a whole branch of paleontology besides outdoor fieldwork that I hadn’t ever considered. I’d have to do some more research. Maybe I’d even give outdoor fieldwork one more try, who knows.
I took a bite of red bean bun and I sighed happily. Then I looked up and saw the world’s ugliest family photo sitting on top of my grandparents’ piano, and instead of it bothering me, I just laughed.
“So, what are we having for special grandparent-grandchild dinner?” I asked as my stomach rumbled. That red bean bun was good, but I was going to need more to eat.
Hammy and Haji looked at each other. They seemed to have forgotten about the dinner portion of our special grandparent-grandchild dinner.
“Korean restaurant?” Haji asked.
“Korean restaurant,” we all agreed.
After dinner, before L.B. and I got out of Hammy and Haji’s car, Hammy turned around and said to us, “I know I’m getting old and my memory has problems. But you two make Hammy feel so happy. I never want to forget this weekend and how happy I feel when I see L.B. jumping and tumbling and leaping at circus camp. And then when we opened envelope to see Peter’s drawing. Oh! Hammy couldn’t ask for more. Even if Hammy forgets, I want you to remember.”
“Salanghaeyo,” L.B. said to Hammy.
“Nado neoleul salanghae,” Hammy said as she reached out for L.B.’s hand. I didn’t need to speak Korean to understand.
Then Hammy reached for my hand. “I love you too, Peter.” I held her hand tightly in mine.
Before I got out of the car, Hammy said, “Oh! I almost forgot.” She rummaged around her purse. “I found this for you. It’s antique.”
She passed me a ceramic figure of a Triceratops. The green paint was worn around its neck, as if it had been held a lot, and one of the horns was missing. It was perfect.
“Thank you, Hammy.” I held the Triceratops gently in my hand. “You always know what I like.”
When we got back inside the house, I showed my parents the newsletter cover. “Look at this,” I said bashfully.
They looked pleased and both said, “Wow!”
“You drew this?” Mom looked shocked.
Before they could say anything more, I said, “Mom, Dad. Do you think we could get a new family photo, but include Hammy and Haji this time? We could give them a copy of the photo and I could label who everybody is, so she doesn’t forget us? I’ll try really hard not to blink.”
“Peter,” Dad said warmly, “that is a great idea.”
“I agree!” Mom said, smiling with shining eyes. “I think Hammy would really like that.”
“Petey,” L.B. gushed. “It’s a perfect idea.” She hugged Trixie tight.
“Can we not go back to the Vietnamese sandwich shop that pretends it’s a photography studio?” I asked.
“But Minh does make good sandwiches,” Dad joked.
Everybody laughed. Then L.B. launched herself onto my back, but this time, I was ready for her and I let her hang off me for a while. She snuggled her chin into my shoulder.
“Can Trixie be in this one?” L.B. asked.
I saw my mother frown.
“Admit it, Mom,” I said. “Trixie is part of the family!”
She sighed heavily, because she knew I was right.
Later, when I went upstairs, I looked at the picture that Hammy had drawn of me in my field vest. I ran my fingertips over the black ink before I taped it to the back of my door. I pulled my notebook out of my pocket and sat down on my bed. I pushed the pencil out of the coil and closed my eyes to think about what I wanted to draw. Of course I knew.
I wrote “My Family” across the top of the page and started drawing. It wasn’t a great sketch, but I drew myself in the middle. As the tallest person in the family, I obviously belonged in the center, and then I drew everybody else around me: Mom with her awkward smile; Dad without dandruff flakes on his glasses; L.B. with her hair in a braid, clutching Trixie; Haji with his pants pulled up a little too high; and finally Ham
my wearing her signature cardigan and scarf combination. I hoped that this was how we would be for a long time. But I knew that things were going to change. And when they did, this is how I wanted to remember us.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The inspiration for this story came from a dinosaur plush toy that I had purchased for my daughter on our trip to Drumheller in 2011. He became “Bracha” because even though she was a very verbal two-year-old, “Brachiosaurus” is a mouthful. She clutched that dinosaur constantly and he came with us everywhere. Until one day, after carrying him around for almost two years, he could not be found. We had had lunch at a dim sum restaurant in Richmond, B.C., and then gone for ice cream at the DQ next door. I called both places and asked if they had found a stuffed green dinosaur. They both replied no. We drove back to check ourselves. My daughter sat in the back of the car, seemingly nonplussed. I was a mess. What would she do without Bracha?
Both the restaurant and the DQ showed no signs of Bracha. I even checked the garbage. He was gone. The next day, I called the Royal Tyrrell Museum’s gift shop and explained my situation. They asked for a picture, which of course I had, since he had been with us everywhere every day for the past two years. They kindly informed me that they could send a replacement. I told them, “I’ll pay for express shipping!”
Still reeling from the loss of Bracha, we kept busy and cleaned the house. I opened the drawer of the coffee table to organize all the various objects little kids collect. Guess who was sitting in the drawer? It was Bracha! He was never lost! He had just been stuffed inside the drawer of the coffee table all this time. My daughter claimed to not know how he got there. Small children are very unreliable sources of information. Utterly relieved (I believe I even cried), I decided that she was no longer allowed to carry Bracha outside of the house.
When the package from the Royal Tyrrell museum arrived the following day, I shoved it, unopened, in the kitchen cabinet above the microwave. Backup Bracha was no longer needed and stayed in the cabinet for a few years until we renovated our kitchen. At this point, she was still attached to Bracha, but the strong bond had faded.
