Regular Guyby Sarah Weeks, Johnny Heller
Guy is convinced that the man and woman with whom he has lived all his life cannot possibly be what they claim to behis parents. They're too weird! Would anyone else's mother tie-dye every pair of underwear in the house? Would anyone else's father perform the famous oyster trick by sucking an oyster up his nose with a horrible noise and spitting it out of his… See more details below
Guy is convinced that the man and woman with whom he has lived all his life cannot possibly be what they claim to behis parents. They're too weird! Would anyone else's mother tie-dye every pair of underwear in the house? Would anyone else's father perform the famous oyster trick by sucking an oyster up his nose with a horrible noise and spitting it out of his mouthin a restaurant? Noexcept maybe the parents of the weirdest, craziest, most unappealing kid in Guy's whole class, Bob-o. But Bob-o's parents are as normal as parents comejust like Guy. This gives Guy food for thought, especially when he finds out that he and Bob-o have the same birthday, and were born in the same hospital! Guy and his best friend Buzz are determined to find out the truth about what really took place the day Guy and Bob-o were born. Readers will delight in Weeks's humorous yet sensitive handling of this classic adolescent phasethe search for identity.
00-01 Texas Bluebonnet Award Masterlist
Author Biography: Sarah Weeks is the singer, songwriter, and author of the best-selling picture books Crocodile Smile, Piece of Jungle and Follow the Moon, a middle-grade novel, Regular Guy, as well as the groundbreaking book with CD-ROM Little Factory. She also wrote lyrics for the 1997 hit Disney video Pooh's Grand Adventure. She lives in New York City with her two sons.
The Horn Book Review
- Recorded Books, LLC
- Age Range:
- 8 Years
Read an Excerpt
I know it's a long shot, but I don't feel I can just eliminate the possibility that I was raised by wolves without at least considering it for a second, do you?"
"You're touched in the head, you know that, Strang? Positively touched."
I count on my best friend, Buzz, to be honest with me. We've known each other since second grade, when he moved to Cedar Springs from some place down South. Most of his accent is gone by now, but his twang still shows through a little, especially when he gets what he calls "riled up."
"Do you really think it's out of the question?" I asked seriously.
"Well, do you howl at the moon, Guy?"
"Have cravings for raw jackrabbit?"
"Never," I said.
"Okay, then I think it's safe to say we can rule out the wolf theory."
"Wait a minute, Buzzard. Did you ever consider the possibility that maybe it was so weird and horrible out there in the wild with my wolf-pack family that I just can't let myself remember it?"
"In that case, maybe you'd better consider the possibility that you were actually raised by possums, Guy, not wolves. I mean, just because you don't hang by your tail and play dead now doesn't mean you didn't used to, right?"
"Aw, shut up."
"Anything you say, possum boy."
We sat there in silence for a minute.
Finally I announced, "Last night at dinner my father did the oyster trick again."
"Oh, man. Were you home at least?"
"Nope. Right in the middle of the restaurant. �Watch this,' he goes, �watch what your old man can do, Guy.' Like I don't already know. Then before I can even look away he sticks it up his nose, sucks it up there withthat horrible noise, and spits it out of his mouth."
"Gross me out the door!"
"I thought I was going to puke," I said. "My mother, of course, applauded."
"Did he stand up and make the announcement about how no one should attempt it at home?"
"Well, you know what I always say'just add an �e' to Strang and look whatcha get. Man, you really can't go out in public with them, can you?" Buzz said.
"It's not like it's so much better being around them at home, either. Take a look in my sock drawer," I said.
"Which one is it?"
"Second from the top," I said as I watched Buzz pull open the drawer.
"What's the deal?" he asked as he pulled out a balled-up pair of unmatched socks.
"She's a firm believer in the idea that opposites attract."
"But, socks?" Buzz held up another mismatched pair.
"There's not one matched set in there. Open the top drawer."
I laughed. Buzz opened the drawer and pulled out a pair of rainbow-colored underwear.
"Groovy, man. Very sixties!"
"She tie-dyed every pair of underwear in the house last week," I said with a sigh.
Just then there was a knock at the door. I groaned, flopped back on my bed, and waited for the inevitable. In she came, singing at the top of her lungs.
"Snicker Doodles, Snicker Doodles, rah rah rah! Eat a bunch, hear 'em crunch, siss-boom-bah!"
My mother danced around the room, holding a plate up in the air like a fancy waiter. She had on lime-green stretch pants and a frilly Day-Glo orange top. Her curly mop of bright-red hair was pulled up into a ponytail, which she kept in place with a twist tie'the kind you use to close up garbage bags. She finished her song with a last wiggle of her rear end, set down the plate of lumpy cookies, and clicked out of the room in her favorite high heel shoes'the ones with the plastic tropical fish suspended in the see-through heels.
"Nice outfit, Mrs. Strang!" Buzz called as he reached for a cookie. He took a large bite and sang through his mouthful, "Snicker Doodles, Snicker Doodles, rah rah rah!"
"Can you picture your mother walking around in a getup like that, Buzz?" I asked as I slid a cookie off the plate. "I mean, put yourself in my place, can you imagine what it's like?"
Buzz just shook his head and crammed another cookie in his mouth.
"Maybe it was one of those mix-ups in the hospital where they give the wrong baby to the wrong mother," I said.
"Think that could really happen?" Buzz asked.
"Sure. I bet it happens all the time," I said.
"And you never know until you have a bad car accident and they call your parents to the hospital so they can give you a kidney or something and you find out you don't match up genetically, right?" asked Buzz.
"Yeah," I said, "I mean, do I even look like either of them?"
"Well, I've never actually seen you in stretch pants. . . ."
"Come on, Buzz, I'm serious. Do I bear any resemblance to them whatsoever?"
"I swear, I don't think they're my real parents," I said.
"Well, they seem pretty convinced of it," Buzz said. "And you already asked about whether you were adopted, right?"
"Yeah, they denied it. But something's not right, Buzz. I can feel it in my bones."
"You mean, your kidneys."
"Goof on me if you want, Buzzard, but
I know there's something fishy about this family."
"Whatever you say, Guy. Hey, do you want that last Snicker Doodle or can I scarf it?" Buzz asked as he reached for the cookie.
I didn't answer him. I couldn't think about cookies at a time like this. Somehow or other I had to come up with a way to uncover the truth about my origins. It wasn't going to be easy, but I couldn't stand it much longer. I needed to know who I really was.Regular Guy. Copyright � by Sarah Weeks. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
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