“Oh little s’more
That I eat on the floor,
You make me so warm and happy.
You give me joy
Even more than a toy
Because you’re delicious and snappy.”
Everyone stopped chewing and looked at me.
“Listen to you, Zip,” Frankie said. “That’s an actual poem.”
“You see, Hank. I told you that you could do it.” My mom smiled.
“It’s just a little poem,” I said. “And it’s not even about nature.”
“But it’s funny,” Emily said. “And it rhymes.”
“It’s very cool,” Frankie said. “I bet no one has ever written a poem about s’mores.”
“You’re having quite a night for yourself, Hank,” my dad said. “You have a lot to be proud of.”
As I reached for my second s’more, all I could do was grin. What had begun as a soggy, foggy disaster was turning out to be one of the best nights of my life.
On Monday at two o’clock, all the first- and second-graders at PS 87 were sitting in the auditorium waiting for the We Love Nature assembly to begin. Because we were the big kids, we got to sit in actual chairs. The first-graders had to sit on the floor in front of us.
All the parents were sitting in the rest of the seats. All the parents, that is, except my dad. He had told me that morning that he wasn’t going to be able to come to the assembly because of an important business meeting. It was a long story about his computer crashing, most of which I didn’t understand because it involved words like “hard drive,” “double right-click,” and “lost documents.” The part I did understand, and I wished I didn’t, was that he wasn’t going to be there.
Principal Love got the assembly started by walking up to the microphone and clearing his throat. He rubbed the mole on his cheek, which looks like the Statue of Liberty without the torch. Then he began.
“Welcome, boys and girls, and parents of PS 87,” he said. It sounded like he had a little frog in his throat. He could have used one more throat clearing before he spoke.
“Today we are celebrating nature,” he said. “As we all know, nature is a natural part of our natural world, which is the world we naturally live in.”
“He’s not making any sense,” Frankie whispered in my ear.
“He never does,” Ashley whispered in the other ear.
“But it’s a lot of fun to watch the mole bounce up and down on his cheek,” I said. “It looks like it’s doing the hula.”
We all burst out laughing but stopped immediately when Principal Love shot us that look that says “no laughing allowed.”
Then he introduced our teacher, Ms. Flowers, who told the parents about our unit on writing nature poems. The parents all applauded when they heard we were going to read our poems out loud to them.
“Boys and girls,” she said, “make sure you have your poem in your hand, ready to read.”
“Uh-oh,” I said, realizing that I was the only one not holding my poem in my hand.
“Zip, tell me you didn’t . . . ,” Frankie said.
“Lose it,” Ashley added.
“It’s got to be here somewhere,” I said, grabbing my backpack.
While the first students got up onstage to read their poems, I unzipped every compartment of my backpack in a wild search for my poem. Some of them twice. I found old gummy bears, pencils with no points, and erasers shaped like bananas. But no poem. I must have forgotten to put it in.
I really don’t like my brain, I thought. It never remembers what I need it to remember.
“Hank Zipzer,” I heard Ms. Flowers saying. “Would you please come to the stage and let us all hear your poem?”
“I don’t have it,” I whispered to Frankie.
“Then you have to do it from memory,” he said.
“Can you do that?” Ashley asked.
“I guess I’m going to find out real quick.”
I stood up slowly, trying to go over the lines in my head. As I crawled over the other kids to get to the aisle, Nick McKelty stuck his foot out to trip me. He is the biggest, thickest, meanest kid in all of second grade. His idea of a big laugh is tripping people and watching them fall down.
“Don’t even bother going up there, Zipper Teeth,” he said. “Your poem is going to stink up the place.”
Usually I would have had a snappy comeback for him. But I wasn’t feeling all that confident. I wasn’t sure I had any poem—stinky or not.
I got to the stage and stood in front of the microphone. Wow, there were a lot of people out there in the auditorium. All the moms and dads were waving and trying to get their kid’s attention. As I looked out over all the faces, I noticed the back door open. A man in a raincoat walked in. Inside that raincoat was my dad!
Whoa, he had made it after all!
When he saw me onstage, he got a giant grin on his face, and gave me a big thumbs-up.
That’s all I needed. Before you could say “Zipzer’s Famous Cold S’mores,” the poem came flying out of my mouth, just like it had when I first made it up in our tepee. I was inspired! I felt like I had been born to write poems about s’mores. When I was finished, all the kids applauded. Some of the parents looked a little surprised.
“Well, young man,” Principal Love said. “That’s a tasty poem, but I hardly think it’s about nature.”
“Actually, it is,” I told him. “Because it was written in nature, in between a rainstorm and a possum family.”
The entire audience burst out laughing. I looked over at my dad, and he was laughing, too. It felt pretty good.
“Hank,” Ms. Flowers said. “You wrote a fine poem. It lets us all know just how wonderful it is to be out in nature around a campfire.”
“Minus the fire,” I said. “But it was still pretty wonderful.”
“Poems are supposed to be original,” she said. “And yours certainly is. Congratulations, Hank.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my father clap his hands. I think I even heard him yell, “Go, Hank!”
Everything got a little blurry after that. I’m not sure if anyone else was clapping or cheering. But my dad sure was, and that’s all I needed.
PHOTOS BY JESSE GRANT/JPI AND SONYA SONES
HENRY WINKLER is an actor, producer, and director, and he speaks publicly all over the world. In addition, he has a star on Hollywood Boulevard, was presented with the Order of the British Empire by the Queen of England, and the jacket he wore as the Fonz hangs in the Smithsonian Museum in Washington, DC. But if you asked him what he was proudest of, he would say, “Writing the Hank Zipzer books with my partner, Lin Oliver.” He lives in Los Angeles with his wife, Stacey. They have three children named Jed, Zoe, and Max, and two dogs named Monty and Charlotte. Charlotte catches a ball so well that she could definitely play outfield for the New York Mets.
LIN OLIVER is a writer and producer of movies, books, and television series for children and families. She has written more than twenty-five novels for children, and one hundred episodes of television. She is cofounder and executive director of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators, an international organization of twenty thousand authors and illustrators of children’s books. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband, Alan. They have three sons named Theo, Ollie, and Cole. She loves tuna melts, curious kids, any sport that involves a racket, and children’s book writers everywhere.
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