“Remember when you’d only eat pancakes when they had Mickey Mouse ears?” he asks.
“Yeah, when I was two,” I answer.
“You have a selective memory,” he laughs. “I hate to tell you, but you demanded mousey-cakes until you were in third grade.”
“I did not!” I can’t help but laugh when he slides two mousey-cakes onto my plate. I’d never admit it in a thousand years, but pancakes DO taste better this way.
When my math worksheet is done, Dad asks about the YouTube class. I tell him I’m still not sure what I’m going to do for my channel. I DON’T tell him I was having a problem on set with my actor.
“Your mother and I were convinced you were trying to film Frank last night,” he says. “You realize that wouldn’t be a good idea, right? He’s not a performer for your amusement.”
I try and tell him I would NEVER do that, but Dad’s not buying it. I finally give up and tell him I’m stuck.
“Some of those YouTube channels are spontaneous and unscripted,” he says. “But some are very planned out. You might want to think about storyboarding your show first.”
I smile because Dad thinks storyboarding is the answer to EVERYTHING. Over the years he’s tried to get me to storyboard my homework, presentations, even Mom’s surprise party. I don’t mind drawing all my vocabulary words, but now I’m supposed to illustrate my YouTube show as well?
“Just something to consider,” he says. “You’re a lot like me and I always think better with a pencil in my hand.” As if to demonstrate, he grabs his sketchbook off the counter and starts drawing.
I love watching my dad sketch; he’s lightning-fast, and even with a rough draft, you can always tell who or what he’s drawing.
He holds up a drawing of me with a mouthful of pancakes.
“I’ll give it a try,” I say. At this point I’ll take all the help I can get.
I spend the next hour sketching alongside my dad, which is my definition of a pretty great night. We talk about the movie set he’s been on and his friend Doug who runs a prop company and just celebrated his fiftieth birthday. It’s great to talk about Dad’s life for a change instead of dissecting mine all the time.
When Mom comes in later, we both can tell by the look on her face that the surgery didn’t end well.
Dad gets up from the table and gives her a hug. “You tried your best,” he says.
She nods in agreement but I can tell she’s mourning the loss of her patient. Dad pours them two cups of tea from the kettle while Mom sits beside me to look through my drawings.
She points to one of the pictures. “You didn’t tell me Carly got braces!”
Until my mom said that, I hadn’t even realized I’d been drawing pictures of Carly.
BRING IN THE PROPS
Dad’s storyboarding technique actually helped a lot. After all these years, you’d think I’d realize the best way for me not only to learn something, but to THINK about it, is with a pencil in hand. Illustrating thoughts for my new YouTube channel thrust me into a whole new level of ideas. (I won’t use the pheasant jumping out of a helicopter—even if it did make me laugh out loud while I was drawing it.)
I’ve been spending 99 percent of my time thinking about Mr. Ennis’s class, but I still have my other classes to worry about. (Not that I ever really WORRY about any of them.) I finish my assignment for science, then blast through my math problems as fast as I can. After an hour, I’m finally ready to tackle my YouTube work.
We’re almost three weeks into the curriculum and I still haven’t established what I’m doing for my channel. I decide to do some research, which basically means watching videos.
I check out challenge videos, instructional videos, prank videos, DIY videos, educational videos, and lots of wannabe rappers. Nine o’clock. Ten o’clock. Eleven. Twelve. Mom checks on me and I pretend to be asleep, but as soon as she closes the door, I dive back under the covers with my phone to watch another clip.
The next day at breakfast I’m so exhausted, I can barely keep my head off the table. (Mom’s made her mixture of nuts, oats, and dates that she thinks Dad and I like but we just tolerate.)
The good news is, I know what I’m going to do for my show. IF Dad will help me.
“Remember when you told me about your friend who runs the prop company?” I ask.
“Of course I remember—it was last night.”
I don’t tell him that I watched so many videos between then and now that it seems like a century has passed. “Do you think he’d let me borrow a few props to use on my YouTube channel?”
Dad takes a sip of coffee and thinks for a moment. “They’re shooting a big Western now so you couldn’t have those. But I’m sure Doug could lend you some props that weren’t being used.”
If I had more energy, I’d jump out of my seat. After my talk with Dad last night, I realized that as much as I’d like to use Frank in my videos, I’d be in for a heap of trouble if I did. If I have to star in my own show, having killer props will definitely set me apart from the crowd.
“BUT,” Dad continues, “movie props are costly—you’d have to treat them with the utmost care. I’m seeing Doug tomorrow—you want to come?”
I thank Dad profusely then shove my books into my pack and grab a lift to school.
Hopefully some movie magic will rub off one of those props and onto me.
SO
