Brendan Buckley's Sixth-Grade Experiment

by Sundee T. Frazier

  “Dad—” I swallowed. I was a scientist unsure about what to do or the outcome of my next step.

  Dad stood in the doorway.

  “Do you think I’m weird …?”

  Dad’s eyebrows pulled together.

  “I mean, for liking science and … and school?”

  He drew his chin into his chest. “Why would you think that?” He stepped back into the room and pushed the door almost closed.

  “I heard you talking to Mom.” I bit on the inside of my lip. “You called me an egghead.”

  Dad’s jaw went slack. “Oh.” He looked at the floor, then peered at me through squinty eyes. He studied me as if I were a page in one of his books and he was having a hard time with the subject. “Look, Bren, I didn’t mean … I mean, there’s nothing wrong with being good at school.”

  “But you think I should be tougher.”

  Dad pointed to the bed and we sat, side by side.

  “Your grampa was a strong, proud, tough man. Too tough on me and my brother, at times. Seemed like all he cared about was me getting better grades than I ever could, ever did. I worked so hard to make him proud … in baseball, at the academy. But it never seemed to be good enough.” Dad looked down at his hands—open, empty.

  “Your grampa was not a perfect man, Bren. And I’m not, either. I’ve been too hard on you at points, just like my dad was too hard on me.” Dad put his hand on my shoulder and gazed at my face. “The last thing I want is for you to feel like I did—like you’re always coming up short.… I couldn’t ask for a better son.” His eyes started to water and he looked away. The words that came next came out as a whisper, but I heard them loud and clear: “I love you, you know.”

  I put my arm around his back and held on. “I love you, too, Dad. And I’m really proud of you for going back to school.”

  Later, as we left the house, I pictured myself sitting on Dad’s lap behind the wheel of his parked patrol car. It was something we’d done a lot when I was little, but I hadn’t thought about it in a long time. Dad would turn on the siren and we’d pretend we were chasing bad guys. I was going to be a police officer, just like him.

  “Dad?”

  “Yes.”

  “Remember how I used to pretend to drive your patrol car?”

  “Sure do.”

  “That was fun.”

  “Yep. It was.” Dad loaded the poles and Grampa Clem’s tackle box in the back of his Chevy Blazer and we got in. He sat with his hands on the wheel, but he didn’t turn the key. “I don’t expect you to be a police officer, Brendan. I expect you to be whatever it is you’re good at.”

  I swallowed. “Okay.” And it was okay, because I knew he really meant it.

  Dad started the motor. “Oh, and by the way, being tough means you’re not going to let anyone stop you from doing what you need to do, or being who you need to be—not even your old man.” As he looked over his shoulder to back out of the driveway, he smiled.

  I smiled back.

  We were the only ones out on the frosty pier. As we listened to water lap the pylons and waited for something to bite, Dad told me something else I’d never known about Grampa Clem. He’d never taken my dad fishing. “Too busy working, trying to save up for his sons’ college education.”

  Hearing that made me grateful for the times Dad, Mom, and I had gone camping or to California to visit my cousins. Dad worked a lot, but at least until he’d started school this fall, he’d still had time to do fun things together. And his classes wouldn’t last forever. Apparently, Grampa Clem hadn’t had the same opportunity until later in his life—after I’d come along.

  Dad also told me stories about when he had graduated from elementary to middle school. “I remember it felt like going from Little League to the majors,” he said. “I was afraid I’d get stuffed in a locker, or depantsed in the middle of a crowded hallway, or older boys would gang up on me and force me to take drugs.”

  Being forced to use drugs? I’d never even thought to be afraid of that, although I knew some kids did experiment with that stuff. Talk about a dumb experiment.

  “I got picked on a lot in sixth grade because I wore glasses. I was an easy target, being so scrawny and all.”

  My eyes opened wide. “You? Scrawny?”

  “I didn’t get tall until high school. That’s also when I started building up my biceps … mostly for baseball, but I didn’t mind the attention from the girls, either.” We grinned at each other.

  I told him about sitting in Bulldog Bowman’s office feeling sure I’d be pulverized into dust by his X-Man stare, and about Morgan and me. “I really like her, Dad,” I admitted.

  “She seems like quite the catch.” He looked at me out of the corner of his eye and smiled.

  We were quiet for a while. Just like Grampa Clem and I used to be. Then he told me about a time earlier that month when he’d come down to the pier, trying to feel closer to his dad. “I found a man passed out, drunk. I thought, This guy must have lost something or someone he really loved.” Dad had driven him to a shelter and left some money in his coat pocket for when he woke up.

  I hadn’t known my dad would do something like that.

  Back in the car, Dad asked, “So, when do you think houses in Washington will start getting heated with this biogas stuff?”

  I told him everything I knew, everything I’d learned from doing our experiment. He listened and asked lots of great questions—all the way home.

  We returned cold and without any fish, but it had been a good time. Dad said we could even make it an annual Christmas tradition if I wanted, in honor of Grampa Clem.

  Inside, the house smelled like bacon and pine branches and hot apple cider. Mom came to the top of the stairs wearing her apron. “Breakfast is ready whenever you are,” she said. “Did you have any luck out there?”

  I shook my head as I went up the stairs. “Nope. But it was a lot of fun.”

  Gladys and Grandpa Ed sat at the table playing chess. “Check!” Gladys hollered.

  “Ah, she’s a quick study, this one!” I heard Grandpa Ed say as I grabbed a piece of bacon from a plate in the kitchen and headed for the garage. Mom could only handle P.J. being inside for short periods of time—especially when his favorite foods were being served, and P.J. went nuts over bacon.

  As soon as I opened the door to the garage, P.J. rushed up, wagging his tail so hard his back legs skittered all over the place. He barked when he saw the strip of meat in my hand.

  “Of course this is for you, boy,” I said, crumbling the bacon and letting him eat out of my cupped palm. “Merry Christmas.” I stroked his fur, let him lick my face, and told him I’d be back in a while.

  The phone was ringing when I went back into the house.

  I heard Mom pick up. She screamed.

  I sprang up the stairs faster than the dad in “ ’Twas the Night Before Christmas.”

  Everyone was headed for the kitchen, where Mom stood shaking. “We’ve got a baby! We’ve got a baby!”

  Dad put his arm around me as Mom continued to talk to the person on the other end of the line. Mary from the adoption agency, I supposed.

  A baby. The thought made me feel full of wonder and something else, too. Not quite fear. But something headed in that direction. An unsure feeling—like when Grampa Clem and Gladys took me to the circus and I got up close to an elephant for the first time.

  “Well, I’ll be,” Grandpa Ed said. “That’s some kind of Christmas gift.”

  Gladys’s hands covered her mouth. Her eyes had gotten watery. Dad went over and gave her a hug. She took off her glasses and wiped her eyes as Dad led her to the living room.

  “All right. Thank you, Mary!” Mom hung up and wrapped me in her arms. “You’ve got a baby sister, Boo. What do you think about that?” She kissed the top of my head.

  What I thought was that I didn’t know the first thing about being a big brother. Would I be a good one? I was pretty sure I would, but now that the baby was actually coming, I r
ealized I had some learning to do, and being a big brother probably wasn’t the kind of thing I could research on the Internet.

  Grandpa Ed followed Mom and me into the living room. Dad got up from the couch where he’d been sitting next to Gladys and hugged Mom. Grandpa Ed and I joined Gladys on the couch. She patted my leg. “Well, Edwin, we’re getting ourselves another grandbaby.” Gladys’s face lit up with a smile. Even the corners of her wrinkles turned up.

  “I only wish Caroline were here to see it,” Grandpa Ed said. He pronounced her name “CARE-oh-line.” “She would have been on cloud nine.”

  “My Clemons, too,” Gladys said. She sniffed.

  “Brendan,” Mom said, her arms still wrapped around Dad’s waist, “do you want to tell your grandparents your new sister’s name?”

  It was something I had come up with one night when Mom, Dad, and I were talking about the baby.

  “Go ahead, Bren,” Dad said.

  I glanced at Grandpa Ed and then at Gladys. “My new little sister’s name is Clementine … Caroline … Buckley.” I grinned. The words felt exactly right coming out of my mouth, as if I’d been saying them all my life.

  Gladys coughed. She thumped her chest a few times as if she’d accidentally swallowed the breath mint she’d been sucking; then she pulled out a wadded tissue and dabbed her eyes.

  Grandpa Ed had cleared his throat a few times, as well, and Gladys held out a clean tissue.

  “That’s all right.” He pulled out his handkerchief from his back pocket. “I’m always prepared.”

  “It’s a perfect name,” Gladys said, finally. She looked up. “Hear that, Clem? You got a granddaughter named after you. We’re counting on you to be her guardian angel.” She looked at Grandpa Ed. “Knowing that man, he pulled some strings for us to get this news on his birthday.”

  Mom told us more of the details then. The baby had actually been born on December 21, but the birth mom had just decided that morning to choose our family.

  Seriously. What a Christmas present.

  “I was thinking we could call her CeeCee for short,” I said.

  “CeeCee …,” Gladys said. “I like that. It’s got attitude. Just like me.”

  While the adults continued to talk about the baby and when we could go get her, I snuck away to my room. I sat at my desk, flipped open my log, and wrote the date.

  Log Entry—Tuesday, December 25—

  Christmas Day/Grampa Clem’s Birthday

  I’m getting a baby sister. Her name is Clementine Caroline. I sure hope I will do right by her. Khal’s not exactly a stellar role model in this area, but maybe Morgan can help me. She’s a girl, after all. And she says she’s really good with babies.

  Dad and I had a good time fishing—I think we’re starting to understand each other a little better.

  And I already know what I want to be when I’m older—a scientist, of course—but who will I be? If I’m someone like my dad, that’ll be all right with me.

  More Things I Learned About

  Biomass, Biogas, and the Future of

  Our Planet

  By Brendan S. Buckley

  • People in the United States produce 12,000 pounds of poop per second, or 518,400 tons a day.

  • If you think that’s a lot, livestock in the United States produces 25,000 pounds of poop per second! The average cow poops 100 pounds of feces a day (versus half a pound for humans)—the equivalent of 9 bowling balls. What if we converted all that biomass into energy?

  • There are approximately 1.5 billion cows on earth. The energy in their manure could power 115 million cars, or 85 percent of the cars in the United States, and California’s 1.7 million cows could power 120,000 homes.

  • Biogas is a mixture of methane (same stuff as in natural gas) and carbon dioxide (CO2)—both major causes of global warming. A big difference is that methane can also be used for fuel.

  • Methane is released during the processing of natural gas and coal and by livestock when it produces gas and manure. Wetlands, oceans, and even termites produce methane naturally. However, methane traps about 21 times more heat in the atmosphere than CO2 (a fact that can be attributed to the larger size of methane’s molecules).

  • Each cow on the planet produces anywhere from 100 to 500 liters of methane per day. (That’s 50 to 250 two-liter soda bottles per cow!) In an effort to control greenhouse emissions, some countries are considering a “flatulence tax” on cows.

  • Scientists are studying the gas of other animals to see if they burp methane-free gas. (I’d like to know how the scientists collect their samples.) They hope to come up with injections for cows that will promote the growth of stomach bacteria to eat up the methane from their gas.

  • Biogas is considered a renewable resource because it’s produced relatively quickly compared to natural gas, which forms over millions of years. Natural gas, used in most of our homes, is not considered a renewable form of energy.

  • In nineteenth-century London, biogas was gathered from sewers to fuel streetlamps, which were called gaslights.

  • In many parts of the world, biogas collected from both animal and human waste is heating and lighting homes, providing energy for cooking, even fueling buses. With all the excrement our exploding global population is producing, these countries could be on the cutting edge of alternative energy creation in the future!

  • To learn more about biomass and biogas, visit this great website from the U.S. Energy Information Administration: eia.doe.gov/kids/energy.cfm?page=biomass_home-basics.

  • If you’d like to do an experiment like mine and Morgan’s, go to sciencebuddies.org and search for the experiment “From Trash to Gas: Biomass Energy.” There are a lot of other cool experiments on this site that I plan to try.

  • To build your own biogas generator, check out this website for construction plans: re-energy.ca/biogas-generator. Before you know it, you’ll be cooking hash browns over a biogas flame. Good luck!

  Important Things to Know

  About Green Anoles

  By Brendan S. Buckley

  Okay, so Einstein didn’t make it, but I learned some things from my experience. Here are some tips for taking care of your green anole, plus some interesting facts:

  • When anoles shed, they sometimes eat the skin.

  • In the wild, anoles live less than 2.5 years. In captivity, they can live 3 to 6 years, with examples of up to 8 years. Unfortunately, most live less than 1 year because of owner ignorance. (Oops! That would be me.)

  • Anoles reach adult size in 6 to 8 months.

  • A male anole will extend his throat fan, or dewlap, when he wants other males to know they’re stepping on his territory.

  • In spite of what most people think, these lizards don’t change color to match their surroundings. They change to thermoregulate, becoming darker when they’re cold and lighter when they’re too warm. When sleeping at night, they adopt a light coloration, which makes them easy to collect with a flashlight. (Morgan told me this. She’s actually done it.)

  • Be sure to keep your anole in a glass tank with a screen top to provide adequate heating (plastic containers will melt under the lightbulbs your anole requires to stay warm). You want to have at least a 10-gallon tank (20 inches long by 12 inches high by 10 inches wide) to give your anole lots of space to run around.

  • For a 10-gallon tank, you need a 40-to 60-watt bulb in a room kept at 70 to 74 degrees, assuming you’ve got a screen lid. The bulb should be in a reflector-type fixture.

  • Your thermometer should read 85 to 90 degrees in your anole’s basking spot. Daytime temps away from basking sites should be 75 to 80 degrees.

  • Anoles can climb glass and will quickly escape from any uncovered enclosure. (I know all about this!)

  • Spray your tank a couple of times a day with purified water (or you’ll have hard-to-clean mineral deposits on the sides of the tank and plants). Humidity, measured with a hygrometer, should be kept at 50 percent or higher. Ano
les drink water by lapping off leaves. They won’t drink standing water unless trained to do so. To train them, set up a dripper over a dish of water.

  • Your anole is what he or she eats, so you should only offer him the best! (Something I learned the hard way.) Commercially raised insects lose nutritional value during storage in a pet store. They should be gut-loaded with nutrients before you feed them to your anole. For example, put your crickets in a small plastic terrarium for 12 to 24 hours and offer them ground rodent chow, high-quality tropical fish flakes, or high-protein flaked baby cereal. For water and vitamin C, offer the crickets oranges. For beta-carotene, feed the crickets grated carrots. Then give the crickets to your anole the next day. Your lizards should stay healthier that way.

  • Some anoles may become comfortable with being gently handled (like Einstein was after he got used to me). At first, though, all anoles will run from you when you go to pick them up, and they may bite (something Khal can tell you about). Biting, as much as it may hurt you, may be more dangerous for them if you jerk your hand away—this can break their jaws or cause teeth to be ripped out. So handle them as little as possible, and don’t jerk your hand if you get bitten. Put them back in their enclosure so that they can feel something under their feet—that will get them to let go.

  • They also can drop their tails if you grab them there (this is called autotomy), and their fragile toes can be broken or injured if they’re removed too roughly from branches, bark, or your clothes.

  • You know you’ve got a sick anole on your hands if he stops eating, or will not eat very much, or if he just sits there on your hand not trying to get away. Also look for loose skin and sunken eyes. But hopefully yours won’t get sick. And hopefully I’ll do better with Einstein Junior!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Once again I have the opportunity to thank a cadre of people (one of my favorite parts of writing a book). They have helped make this story the best it could be. Thanks goes to the entire team at Delacorte Press, especially Michelle Poploff, Rebecca Short, Trish Parcell, and Ashley Mason, for being so responsive and invested. Thanks also to the school and library marketing team, led by the indomitable Adrienne Waintraub. Thank you to my agent, Regina Brooks, for continuing to believe in me, and to my ever-so-helpful and encouraging readers, Matt Frazier, Bethany Hegedus, Kekla Magoon, Fina Arnold, Micheline and Lala Lopez, and Kim and Ash Lawson.