Donavan's Word Jar Read online

  Dedication

  To Donavan and his grandma

  —M. L. D.

  For Diane. Thanks for the laughter.

  —C. H.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1.Donavan

  2.Donavan’s Discovery

  3.Donavan’s Dilemma

  4.Donavan’s Decision

  5.Donavan’s Delay

  6.Donavan’s Departure

  7.Donavan Dines

  8.Donavan’s Disappointment

  9.Donavan’s Diplomacy

  10.Donavan’s Delight

  About the Author and Illustrator

  Back Ad

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  1

  Donavan

  Donavan Allen enjoyed being like all the other kids in Mrs. Panky’s third-grade class. He liked wearing a yellow shirt with brown pants and a button-down sweater, just like the other boys. When the bell rang at the end of the day, he grabbed his book bag and ran for the door, just like the other kids. And just like the other kids, on the days when his mom packed raw broccoli and cauliflower in his lunch, Donavan forgot to eat them.

  Like most of the kids in his class, Donavan liked to collect things. A few kids in his class collected rocks, insects, or stamps. Some other kids collected coins, comics, or baseball cards. Donavan’s best friend, Eric, collected marbles. Eric was always playing marbles, trading marbles, reading about marbles, and searching for the perfect marble. He kept his marble collection in a leather pouch with his name stamped on it.

  Donavan’s buddy, Pooh, collected buttons of all shapes and sizes. Pooh kept his button collection pinned to a corkboard in his bedroom. He collected buttons from almost every event he attended. He had buttons from movies, baseball games, and amusement parks. Pooh’s favorite button was the one his father had made for him for his birthday. On it was a picture of Pooh, and written around it were the words “Pooh for President.” Pooh kept that button pinned to his book bag.

  But when it came to collecting things, Donavan Allen was different. He had a collection like no one else he knew. Donavan collected words. Yes, words.

  2

  Donavan’s Discovery

  It all began one morning at the breakfast table. Donavan was staring at the back of a cereal box when he noticed the word NUTRITION.

  “Nuuu-tri-tion,” he said slowly. And then he said it again. “Nuuuu-trri-tion.” He liked the way the word slid down his tongue and rolled off his lips. This was a word he had never noticed before, and the word made him smile.

  “Mom,” Donavan said, watching his mother pack his lunch. “Do you like the word nuu-tri-tion?”

  “I don’t know, I never thought about it before,” she answered, dropping a packet of raisins into his lunch bag.

  “Me neither, but guess what? I am going to start paying extra attention to words from now on. I bet there are trillions of words out there, words I’ve never noticed.”

  On his way to school that morning, Donavan discovered the word BALLYHOO blazing across a billboard.

  “Wow! Was that there all the time?” he asked himself. And that same afternoon, he noticed the word BOUTIQUE written on the window of his mother’s favorite shop.

  “Gee, new words are everywhere,” Donavan said. “Maybe I should start writing them down. I don’t want to forget any of them.”

  That evening, while he was digging around in his father’s tool chest, Donavan saw the word PINCERS written on a wooden handle. He pulled a strange-looking tool from the chest. It looked like a crab claw, and he laughed.

  “This tool looks just like its name,” Donavan said. “I wonder what it is used for. P-I-N-C-E-R-S,” he spelled the word aloud to himself several times so that he would not forget how to spell it. Donavan went up the stairs and into his room, pulled his big dictionary from the shelf, and looked for the word PINCERS. “It does look just like a giant crab claw,” Donavan said aloud as he looked at the page. “And just like a claw it can be used to grip things. This is great! From now on I am going to write my words down and keep them.”

  And so, Donavan began to collect words. He wrote his words in purple ink on yellow slips of paper. At the end of each day, he put the slips in a large, round glass jar. One day while Donavan was sitting at his desk putting words into his jar, he saw his little sister, Nikki, peeping around the door. He pretended not to notice her and kept writing down his words.

  “What are you doing that for?” Nikki asked, leaning over his shoulder.

  “Doing what?” was all he answered, and he kept on writing.

  “Why are you putting those pieces of paper into that jar?”

  “Because I collect words,” Donavan said.

  “Why?”

  “Because I like the way they sound, and I want to keep them.”

  “Can I put one in?” Nikki asked, reaching over to pick up a slip of paper.

  “No, Nikki. This is my collection, and it is private property. I don’t want you messing with it.” Donavan’s voice was firm.

  “Okay, Mister Meanie,” Nikki said, leaving the room. “You’d better hurry, it’s almost time for dinner.” Donavan decided that he would keep his word jar high up on the shelf in his room. He didn’t want Nikki snooping around his jar. She might break it or, even worse, take some of his words.

  All kinds of words went into Donavan’s collection. He had big words like PROFOUND that made him feel smart. Little words like CUDDLE warmed his heart. Donavan found that soft words like HUSH soothed his fears. Silly words like SQUABBLE slipped off his tongue and tickled his ears. From somewhere he collected HIEROGLYPHIC, a strange word that made him wonder. And just for fun, he added strong words like WARRIOR, words that rang in his ears like thunder. Donavan put mysterious-sounding words like EXTRATERRESTRIAL into his collection. And there were musical-sounding words like ORCHESTRAL.

  Collecting words was fun—they were everywhere! One sunny Sunday afternoon Donavan found the word SOLIDARITY marching in a parade. He smiled at the men in their bright-green uniforms and wrote the word down. Later that same afternoon the word ZEPPELIN floated high in the sky, written on a silver balloon.

  But Donavan’s favorite way of collecting words was from people: people on the street corners, people in stores, people in the park, the people he heard on the radio, the people he saw on TV. Everywhere Donavan went, he listened; and he scribbled down new words.

  Donavan collected so many words that his jar was jam-packed, filled to the brim, almost spilling over the rim, with words, words, and more words.

  3

  Donavan’s Dilemma

  One Friday morning Donavan was putting a word into his jar when he realized that there was no more room.

  “I can’t get another word in my jar,” he said. Donavan went over and sat on his bed. He had a problem. “Maybe I should get a bigger jar,” he thought.

  “But then in a little while, I’ll just have to get a bigger one.” Donavan shook his head, “No, that won’t work,” he said.

  “Donavan! Donavan!” He heard his mother’s voice in the hall. “Come on, it’s time for breakfast. What’s taking you so long?” she called. “You’ll be late for school.”

  “I’m coming right now.” Donavan got up from the bed, grabbed his books from his desk, and ran out of the room.

  When Donavan entered the kitchen, his mother was sitting at the table reading the paper. His breakfast was on the table.

  “Mom, I’ve got a problem,” Donavan said, as he put his books on the counter and then slid into the chair across from her. Donavan picked up his fork and began to eat his pancakes. “There isn’t space for another word in my word jar,” he said betwe
en bites.

  “You’ve collected that many words?” his mother asked. She sounded pleased.

  “Yes,” Donavan answered in a proud voice.

  “Well, perhaps you should get a bigger jar,” she suggested.

  “Mom, I thought of that, but I’ll only have to get an even bigger one when that jar gets filled.” Donavan explained.

  “You’re right, Honey. Why don’t you give this problem a little more thought? Maybe you’ll come up with a better solution,” his mother said, getting up from the table. “Don’t forget to put your plate in the dishwasher. I’m going upstairs to check on your sister.” Donavan watched his mother put his lunch bag on the counter next to his books. “Donavan, don’t forget to eat the raw vegetables in your lunch,” his mother said as she left the kitchen.

  “Thanks, Mom,” Donavan called out. Then he gathered up his books and lunch and started out for school. His mother was right. If he thought hard enough, maybe he could solve his problem.

  That afternoon when school was over, Donavan decided to ask for Mrs. Panky’s advice. She always seemed to have good ideas. He waited until everyone else left the classroom. He wanted to have all of Mrs. Panky’s attention. Donavan walked over to Mrs. Panky. She was writing a list of presidents on the board.

  “Hi, Mrs. Panky,” he said.

  “Hello, Donavan, are you staying after school?” she asked in surprise.

  “I have a problem, and I thought you could help me,” Donavan said.

  “Maybe I can. Why don’t you give me the details.”

  Donavan told Mrs. Panky about his collection and explained his problem. When he finished she wrote on the board in big bold letters:

  DONAVAN’S DEFINITIVE DICTIONARY

  Mrs. Panky began to explain to Donavan all the things he needed to do to start his own dictionary.

  “Mrs. Panky, that’s going to take a lot of time, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “It certainly will,” she answered in her best teacher’s voice.

  “Your idea is great, and I love that title, but I need a solution now,” Donavan said.

  “Well, why don’t you think about it a little more?” Mrs. Panky suggested as she turned around and went back to writing on the board. “Donavan,” Mrs. Panky added, “let me know what you decide.”

  That evening after Donavan finished his homework, he went downstairs to the basement to his father’s workshop. He liked being in his father’s workshop. It always smelled and sounded like important things were going on down there. His father was kneeling on the basement floor painting a long sign. His father used to work for a company that put new roofs on buildings. But in a week, he was going to open up a shop of his own. Donavan read the sign:

  GREG’S ROOFING SERVICE

  I’VE GOT YOU COVERED

  “Dad, are you real busy?” Donavan asked.

  “Not too busy, partner. I am just starting to work on the sign for the new shop.” Donavan watched his father carefully fill in the letter G with orange paint.

  “Dad, do you think you’re going to have your sign ready by the time your shop opens?” Donavan asked.

  “Yes, I think I will. I plan to work on it a little every night. Is there something I can help you with, or are you just visiting?” his father asked.

  Donavan explained his problem to his dad, and he told him about Mrs. Panky’s suggestion. His father was quiet for a few moments and then he said: “Why don’t you take Mrs. Panky’s advice?”

  “Dad, that idea would take too long,” Donavan said impatiently. “Can you think of something I can do right now?” As Donovan talked, his father started to slowly fill in the letter R. Donavan was about to ask his question again, when his father finally spoke.

  “Partner, I think you should put those words in a shiny new file box. That way you could put them in alphabetical order, and whenever you needed a word from your collection you would be able to find it right away.” Donavan’s father looked at him and smiled.

  “That’s a good idea,” Donavan said. “But won’t I just have to get a bigger box when that gets filled?”

  “Yes, I guess you would,” his father answered, painting the letter E with a steady hand. “Well, maybe you’d better give it a little more thought,” he suggested. “Sorry I can’t help you.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Dad.” Donavan said as he walked up the stairs. “Good luck with your sign, Dad. It looks great.”

  4

  Donavan’s Decision

  That night, lying in bed, Donavan thought about all of the suggestions he had heard that day. All of them were good ideas, but none of them solved his problem. He did not want to put his words in a book or a box. He liked lying in his bed at night looking up at his words in the word jar. It made him feel good to know that he had collected all of them.

  Donavan realized that this wasn’t going to be an easy problem to solve. Maybe no one could help him solve it; maybe he should just give up and get a bigger word jar. Then Donavan remembered the one person who always had the greatest ideas of all. Donavan turned on his side, pulled the covers over his shoulders, and closed his eyes.

  When Donavan woke up, the rain was beating a steady rhythm on the windowpanes. He jumped out of bed and looked out his window. Overhead the clouds were like gray, puffy pillows. And when he looked down, he saw lots of umbrellas. There was a large, purple-polka-dotted umbrella, a green-striped one with tiny blue flowers, and a small red umbrella that looked like a poppy. The umbrellas were like a parade of brightly patterned mushrooms. Donavan laughed and began to get dressed.

  Donavan went downstairs and saw his mother digging in the hall closet. She seemed to be in a big hurry.

  “Good morning, Mom,” Donavan said, going over to stand beside her. “What’s the big rush?” he asked. His mother didn’t seem to be listening. She just dug deeper into the closet.

  “It’s a perfect day to visit Grandma.” Donavan kept talking. “I thought it would be fun to put on my new raincoat and stomp in some puddles.”

  “Not today, Donavan, I need you to be a good big brother and do me a favor.” Donavan’s mom pulled a shiny black raincoat from the closet and put it on as she talked.

  “But, Mom, this is important. I’ve got to see Grandma today.”

  “Honey,” she said, buttoning up her coat, “you are going to have to do your something important later in the day. Nikki has a terrible cold, and I want her to stay in bed.”

  “I thought Dad was going to be home today.” Donavan really wanted to see his grandmother.

  “He is, but your father is down in the basement working on the sign for his shop. He can’t have any interruptions. He needs peace and quiet so that he can concentrate,” Donavan’s mom said firmly.

  “Maybe I could just go around to Grandma’s and make it quick?” he insisted.

  “Donavan, I would let you do that if I could, but I have got to get a copy of your father’s business card to the printer. If I don’t, our order won’t be finished in time.” Donavan’s mom put her hands on his shoulders and said, “Honey, all of us have to help get ready for the opening. You do want to help out, don’t you?” she asked.

  “Yes, Mom,” Donavan answered.

  “You stay with Nikki until lunchtime, and then, if your father is finished, you can go and visit your grandmother,” his mother said firmly. She picked up her big canvas bag and green umbrella and headed for the front door. “Donavan, don’t you leave this house until your father says it’s okay,” she said before closing the front door.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said to the empty room.

  Donavan stared at the splattered windowpanes until he saw his mother’s umbrella disappear around the corner.

  “Well, I guess I’m stuck in the house,” Donavan said with a long sigh.

  5

  Donavan’s Delay

  Donavan opened the door to Nikki’s room and peeped in. She was sitting cross-legged in the middle of her bed, surrounded by stuffed animals, toys, books, and
games. On her lap sat a large box of tissues. Nikki looked sleepy and squinty eyed.

  “My nose won’t breathe right,” she complained. Her voice came out funny, and Donavan laughed. “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “Nikki,” Donavan said, plopping down on her bed, “you’ve got the snuffles.”

  She laughed and asked, “Donnie, is that a real word?”

  “Yes, it is.” Donavan always had to tell Nikki things. Sometimes he didn’t mind, especially when his mother reminded him that he was two years older than his sister was. And that Nikki was just starting school.

  “Hey, Nikki. What do you want to do today?” Donavan asked.

  “I dunno, anything, I guess,” she said sniffling loudly. Nikki didn’t really seem to care. “Maybe we could go downstairs and look at cartoons?”

  “Nah, Mom wants you to stay in bed. Besides, I’m supposed to keep you company, not the TV.”

  “Maybe we could color in my new coloring book?” Nikki suggested.

  “Nope, that’s a baby thing to do, and besides, you always take the good pages,” Donavan answered, bouncing on the bed. “Come on, think of something, Nikki,” he said.

  “I can’t think if you rush me,” Nikki whined. “Donnie, you don’t want to do anything I say.” She looked like she was going to be sad.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll do what you want, but it’s gotta be fun,” he said.

  “Donnie?” Nikki asked hesitantly. “Could we look at some of your words?”

  “Why?” Donavan asked suspiciously.

  “’Cause, they might make me feel better.”

  “How?” he asked, not quite believing her.

  “’Cause, they would cheer me up and make me laugh, and then I would feel better,” she explained, looking at him and wrinkling her nose.

  “You really think so?” Donavan wasn’t convinced.

  “Yup, and, Donnie, I want some silly words, some happy words, and maybe some get-well words. And if you have any magic words, I want them too.”