Brendan Buckley's Sixth-Grade Experiment (15 page)

“My son is a detective in the Tacoma Police Department,” Gladys said. “A very important job.”

“Yes. We've talked all about it,” Mary said, smiling. “Take your time, Sam. Now, let's see the basement.” She turned and continued downstairs.

Mom and I had agreed that we'd handle the bottles of manure very matter-of-factly and not try to hide anything. Of course, she'd hoped the in-home visit would happen after Morgan's and my experiment was completed, but Mary had had an opening and Mom didn't want to delay our application.

Mary inspected the laundry room, bathroom, and Dad's study area first. Finally, we headed to the rec room. I scooted past Mary. “Here, let me get the light,” I said. I opened the door. Intense heat and the smell of fermenting manure smacked us in the face. I flipped the switch.

“What's going on in here?” Mary's voice had taken on an edge of concern.

Mom started to speak, but I jumped in. “A friend and I are conducting an experiment on alternative fuel sources. Our science class is participating in a national science competition.”

“Really?” Mary sounded interested.

“I know this is probably off the charts against what's allowable,” Mom said, “but all of it will be gone in a week and a half, tops. Right, Bren?” Mom looked at me.

I nodded.

“Well, that's good, because honestly”—Mary sniffed
the air—“you're right, Kate. This all seems a bit … toxic. What's in these bottles?”

I spoke up again. “Rotting vegetables, banana, some purified water … manure.” I slipped in the last word as casually as I could, remembering how I had literally slipped in it a couple of weeks before.

“Manure! Oh,
no
. We could never approve a placement with this in your house.”

“It's definitely temporary,” I said, “although it's possible that people could generate a lot of energy for their homes with these kinds of digesters. On a much larger scale, of course.”

“Digesters?” Mary said.

I explained the science behind anaerobic digestion and biogas production as we walked back to the living room. Mary nodded, seeming very interested in everything I said, which of course encouraged me to keep talking. And I had plenty to say after studying the subject for the past few weeks.

Dad walked in and joined Mom on the couch. Gladys was in the armchair. I was in the middle of telling Mary about a dairy farm in Minnesota that generated enough electricity with their nine hundred and thirty cows' manure to power their own farm
and
eighty additional homes in the area.

“Is that so?” Mary said. She turned to Mom and Dad. “I'm so impressed with your son! I've learned some things today I'd never even heard of before.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dad said. “Brendan comes up with some interesting ideas, all right.”

Except the way he said it,
interesting
sounded more like
strange
.

“We're very proud of him,” Mom said, beckoning me over. I went and sat on the other side of her from Dad. I sank back into the couch, feeling as if I'd done something wrong.

Mary put her clipboard on her lap and clicked on her pen. “So, tell me, Buckley family, what strengths do you see yourselves having to offer another child?”

“I'll tell you one thing that's for sure,” Gladys piped up. “My new grandbaby's going to know how to ride public transportation. Riding the bus teaches you life skills—self-assertiveness, money and time management, reading maps, dealing with strangers—and you
do
meet some strange ones. I take the bus everywhere—the Super Mall, my podiatrist, Muckleshoot Casino—”

“Mama. We're not here to talk about your bus exploits.” Dad turned to Mary. “Sorry.”

“I think it's great that you want to be so involved in your new grandchild's life, Mrs. Buckley.”

“Thank you.” Gladys crossed her legs, folded her arms, and leaned back in the armchair, giving Dad a “so there” look.

“We will give the child love and absolute acceptance,” Mom said.

“Along with consistency and discipline,” Dad said.
“My dad made the rules clear, and he expected us to follow them. I didn't always like it at the time, but it kept me on a good path.” He eyed me across Mom, but I avoided his gaze.

It was hard for me to imagine Grampa Clem being as strict as Dad always painted him. Grampa Clem had never raised his voice or said a sharp word to me, ever.

They continued talking about how Mom and Dad ran the house. When Mary asked how I felt about the way things were, I said everything was great. The only things that could have been better were if I got a little more for allowance and if Mom bought sugared cereal every once in a while, which made Mary laugh. They moved on to discussing whether they'd get time off from work when the placement happened and Dad's plans to finish his degree in the next year.

My thoughts drifted to the science contest. Morgan and I had just walked onstage to receive our first-place medals when Mary's voice broke in. “And Brendan, what are you looking forward to about having a sister, assuming your family gets a little girl?”

I was glad she hadn't asked me if I knew how to change a diaper, or if I thought all babies were cute, because I didn't—in either case.

I sat and thought for a minute. I pictured Grampa Clem and me standing side by side on the pier with our poles in the water, quiet for the most part, except when I
had a question, and then Grampa Clem would answer me, and I always knew he was telling me the truth.

“Taking her fishing,” I said. “And telling her the truth about stuff.”

Mary nodded. Her eyes smiled.

“Oh—and teaching her the periodic table of elements.” We all laughed, even though I was dead serious.

“Of course,” Mary said. “Every girl should know the periodic table of elements.” She snapped her briefcase shut. “Next time you hear from me, I expect to be delivering some very happy news.”

Mom sucked in her breath and clapped her hands together. She hugged me so tight a little water even popped out of my eyes.

Mom was so ecstatic about passing the home study, she either forgot about or just overlooked Dad's being late. She got on the phone as soon as Mary left to tell Grandpa Ed the good news.

While Mom talked to Grandpa Ed, Gladys added her commentary. “They'll put you behind the wheel of a car or hand you a lethal weapon with less scrutiny than what we got today. I'm telling you, Sam, any Jane, John, or JuLinda can have a baby, and they don't have to go through everything short of a body-cavity search. But as soon as you say you want to
adopt
 …” Gladys raised her voice. “Kate, did you tell Rock they even checked your crapper? Oh, and what about Mary's face when she saw those bottles of dung! Tell him about
that
, Kate!” Gladys hooted.

“Mama, please. Quiet down already.” Dad left the room. I stayed to be entertained.

After dinner, Dad took Gladys home. When he returned, Mom and I were in the living room talking about what life would be like with a baby. Dad perched on the love seat. “Hey, I keep forgetting to ask. Can you take Brendan to Tae Kwon Do tomorrow night?”

“You said we were going to talk about it!” Now it was
my
turn to get mad at Dad.

“Wait a minute. What's going on?” Mom looked back and forth between us.

“Tomorrow is the monthly rock club meeting,” I said.

“Master Rickman thinks Brendan needs some extra practice. And so do I,” said Dad. “I told him he needed to be in the
dojang
tomorrow.”

“You
told
me we'd talk about it at home.”

Mom frowned. “Couldn't he put in an extra practice next week, Sam? The rock club's just once a month.”

“The rock club's not going anywhere,” Dad said.

“And Tae Kwon Do
is
?” I said. “It's only been around like a
thousand years
!” I knew I was “giving him lip,” as he called it, but I didn't care. He was going back on his word. He'd probably never intended to discuss it at all.

“Do you want to get your black belt or not?” he asked.

I did, but I had other interests, too. Couldn't he understand that? Probably not. His whole life revolved around being a police officer. “Yes, but—”

“Then you need to earn it, and that means putting in the time. You've got to see it through, Brendan.”

“I
will
. I'll go to the studio twice next week, like Mom said. I'll go twice a week
every
week except for the weeks we have the rock club meeting, if that's what you want.” I spit the words.

Mom's mouth was all bunched up, as if she were trying to keep herself from speaking. I didn't understand why. She knew Dad was being too hard about this.

“Fine,” Dad said.

Somehow it didn't seem fine.

Later, after we'd all gone to bed, I came out of my room to get a drink from the bathroom. Mom and Dad's bedroom door was cracked. “What was going on between you and Brendan earlier?” I heard Mom ask.

I froze in my tracks.

“He just needs to learn, that's all.”

“Learn what?”

“If he wants to achieve certain goals, he needs to do the work to get there.”

“Brendan works
very
hard, Sam. You know that.” Silence. “Anyway,
is
a black belt his goal? Or is it just yours for him?”

I stayed as still as I could. I wanted to hear what Dad had to say.

“Not this again. Brendan wants his black belt. He's said so a hundred times. He said so tonight.”

“He
wants
your approval.”

“All sons want their dads' approval.”

Another long silence. I didn't know how much longer I could stand there. My tensed legs had started to twitch. And what would I do if one of my parents suddenly appeared at the door?

Finally, Dad spoke again. “Look, something's causing him to fall behind in his practice. Personally, I think he's spending too much time on this science stuff—the rock thing with your dad, the experiment in our basement, even that lizard.…”

My heart started racing.

“Too much time on science?” Mom sounded shocked. “How in the world could you think that's a problem?”

I had known Dad wasn't that excited about our manure experiment, and he hadn't shown much interest in my new hobby of rock and mineral collecting, either. But the way he was talking now, calling it “stuff” and saying I was spending too much time on it, made me feel like I was doing something wrong again. Like when he'd told the social worker my ideas were
interesting
. Maybe it wasn't just my ideas he thought were strange. Maybe he thought
I
was strange, too, for being so into science.

My heart still pounded. I knew I shouldn't be listening, but I couldn't help it. I wanted to know what else Dad would say.

“When are you going to accept the fact that your son is wired differently from you?” Mom asked.

“I do accept it! I know Brendan is smarter than I was at his age.”

“That's
not
what I said.” Mom's voice punched like fists.

“Smarter. Differently wired. Whatever. The point is he's good at school, but there are other things that matter just as much, if not more.”

“Things that matter more than school? What are you talking about?”

“I'm talking about real-world experience. Like the things you learn from sports. Discipline, being a team player, getting back up when you're knocked down … the kind of toughness you need to get through life.”

“I don't want Brendan to be
tough
. Courageous, strong … fine. But he doesn't need to be tough. Toughness is overrated.”

“Not for boys, it's not.”

Mom blew out a long, loud breath. “I thought you'd finally come around to your dad's position—his whole emphasis on education, finishing your degree.”

“Sure, I'm getting my degree, but not everyone's going to get straight As. My dad punished me for not being like my older brother.”

“He pushed you because he wanted you to have options—opportunities he didn't have.”

“Yeah, well, I hated the pressure.”

“Well, then don't do the same thing to Brendan.
Don't overlook what he's good at because you want him to be good at something else.”

“I'm trying to
help
him.”

“Just like your dad was trying to help you.”

“You don't understand, Kate. Boys like him—”

“What do you mean,
boys like him
?” Mom's voice jabbed again.

“You know what I mean. The studious kids. The eggheads. They get beat down. I'm just looking out for his own good.”

The room got quiet. I had heard enough. I slunk back to my room.
Boys like him
, I kept hearing Dad say.
Boys like him get beat down
. And what was an egghead, anyway?