Never Say Genius (17 page)

“Kids,” Dr. McDonald said, “this is the beauty of traveling cross-country. You never know what you’re going to stumble on. This is the adventure. I certainly wouldn’t drive two thousand miles to visit the Duct Tape Capital of the World, but here we are. We found it. Something brought us here. It’s almost like magic, or fate.”

“Duct tape is dumb,” Coke said. “I say we get out of here. All in favor, say ‘aye.’”

“Aye,” said Pep.

“This is not a democracy. We
must
stop here,” Mrs. McDonald said with finality. And when Mrs. Bridget McDonald said something with finality, it was final.

They drove all around the small town of Avon looking for duct tape sculptures, with no success. The kids sat in the back, bored.

“Y’know, they say you can solve just about any problem with duct tape,” Dr. McDonald said as he leaned forward to read the street signs in the distance.

“Except when the problem is that you’re stuck in the Duct Tape Capital of the World,” Coke said glumly.

“Is it
duct
tape or
duck
tape?” Mrs. McDonald wondered out loud.

“I believe it’s
duct
tape,” said Dr. McDonald. “It’s mainly used to help seal ducts.”

“I think it’s
duck
tape, Dad,” Pep said. “You use it to help duck seals.”

“Duck seals?” asked Mrs. McDonald. “Is that what you get when a duck and a seal mate?”

“No, if a seal is flying in your direction, you need to
duck
,” Pep explained. “That’s what duck seals means.”

“Seals don’t fly,” Coke pointed out.

“Maybe it’s called duck tape because the guy who invented it would throw it at people and they had to duck to avoid being hit by the flying tape,” suggested Mrs. McDonald.

“Who cares whether it’s duct tape or duck tape?” Coke said, his arms crossed in front of him. “It’s
tape
. It’s boring. Why are we stopping here?”

The conversation continued along those lines until Dr. McDonald turned onto a street called Just Imagine Drive, where there was an office building with a sign out front.

“This must be the place!” Mrs. McDonald said, getting out her laptop and camera.

They pulled into the only parking space big enough for an RV and went inside. There was a pretty receptionist sitting behind the front desk.

“May I help you?”

“Yes,” Mrs. McDonald said politely. “Can you tell us where is the duct tape parade and what time is the next duct tape fashion show?”

“I’m terribly sorry,” the receptionist said, “but none of that is going on today.”

“What?!” Mrs. McDonald exclaimed. “We drove all the way from California to see people dressed up in duct tape.”

That wasn’t exactly true, but it sounded good. Mrs. McDonald was clearly agitated. She put her hands on her hips to demonstrate her annoyance.

“Calm down, Bridge,” said Dr. McDonald. “I
am
calm,” Mrs. McDonald said. “But this town advertises itself as the duct tape capital of the world. We’ve been driving all over town, and I haven’t seen any duct tape
anywhere.”

“We have an annual Duct Tape Festival on Father’s Day weekend,” the receptionist explained. “That’s when we crown the Duct Tape Dad of the Year.”

“It must be really exciting,” Coke said sarcastically.

“I wish to speak to the manager,” Mrs. McDonald announced.

“He’s at a conference in Denver,” said the receptionist as she reached into the drawer next to her.

“They have duct tape conferences?” Coke asked. “Do they actually sit around talking about duct tape?”

The receptionist pulled a small roll of duct tape out of her drawer.

“I’m terribly sorry,” she said. “All I can offer you is this complimentary roll of duct tape.”

Mrs. McDonald snatched the tape out of her hand and stormed out the door in a huff. The rest of the family followed.

Back in the RV, she flipped the roll of duct tape over her shoulder toward the twins.

“Duck!” she shouted. “Tape!”

Coke played with the roll of duct tape as the RV pulled onto Interstate 90 heading east out of Avon. Dr. McDonald ejected the Rolling Stones and put on a Jimi Hendrix CD, nodding his head with the music. Mrs. McDonald passed out sandwiches for lunch she had made that morning. After twenty minutes or so on the highway, the tall buildings of a big city came into view in the distance.

“What’s that, Dad?” Pep asked.

“Cleveland, Ohio.”

“Cleveland?” Coke asked. “Are you taking us to an Indians game?”

“No…,” Dr. McDonald replied, and left it at that. He had a little smile on his face.

He got off the road at exit 174B. A sign said
CLEVELAND MEMORIAL SHOREWAY
. The twins tried to figure out where they were going as they passed by a little airport near the Lake Erie waterfront.

Soon, a few blocks ahead, Pep spotted a large glass building that was shaped like a pyramid.

“What’s that?” Pep asked.

“Only the coolest place in the world,” Dr. McDonald replied.

As they got closer, a sign came into view.

“All right!” both kids shouted.

The twins were surprised that their father, a serious student of American history, would get excited about a museum devoted to rock music. But Dr. McDonald explained to them that rock and roll is more than just a style of music. It changed the way we live, the way we dress, how we are entertained, and our attitudes on so many issues.

He pulled the RV into the parking lot and climbed out with a spring in his step, whistling “I Love Rock ’n’ Roll” by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts. Everybody was excited. Mrs. McDonald brought along her camera and notepad. Coke threw the roll of duct tape into his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. Pep didn’t bring anything. She hopped out of the RV and began to sing as she skipped across the parking lot.

“
Hit me with your pet shark! Come on and hit me with your pet shark…
”

“Wait a minute,” Coke interrupted his sister. “What did you just say?”

“I said ‘hit me with your pet shark.’”

“It’s not ‘hit me with your pet shark,’ you dope!” Coke told her. “It’s ‘hit me with your
best shot
.’”

“It is not!” Pep said defensively.

“It is too!”

“Mom?”

“I’m afraid your brother is right, honey,” Mrs. McDonald told Pep. “It’s ‘hit me with your best shot.’ I remember that song. It was by Pat Benatar.”

Pep, who had gone through her entire thirteen years thinking the song went ‘hit me with your pet shark,’ had never been so humiliated. She broke down in tears. Coke couldn’t help but laugh, but both parents came to Pep’s side.

“Don’t feel bad, sweetie,” Dr. McDonald said as he put his arm around Pep. “People misinterpret song lyrics all the time. When I was a kid, there was a song called ‘When a Man Loves a Woman’ by Percy Sledge. I always thought he was singing ‘When a Man Loves a Walnut.’”

“Really?” Pep said, crying and laughing at the same time.

“You know that song ‘Blowin’ in the Wind’ by Bob Dylan?” asked Mrs. McDonald. “When I was a kid, I thought he was singing, ‘the ants are my friends, blowin’ in the wind.’”

“You made that up!” Pep said, wiping her eyes.

“I didn’t, really!” her mother said. “I
still
think that’s what it sounds like.”

“Come to think of it,” Coke said, trying to cheer up his sister, “‘hit me with your pet shark’ is
better
than ‘hit me with your best shot.’”

Pep snapped out of it, and the family entered the huge building in a good mood. Dr. McDonald bought tickets and looked over the map of the museum. There were seven floors connected by escalators, with five little theaters showing videos.

Everyone had his or her own interests. The grown-ups wanted to see the exhibits devoted to blues, country, and rockabilly music. The kids wanted to head straight for rap, punk, and hip-hop. Pep had become a Beatles freak after playing Rock Band with her friends back home. Coke preferred heavy metal. Mrs. McDonald wanted to learn about Jimi Hendrix. Dr. McDonald was more interested in Les Paul and the invention of the electric guitar. There was so much
stuff
. It would take up most of the afternoon to see the whole place.

Rather than walking the museum as a foursome, everyone agreed they could cover more ground in a shorter period of time if they split up.

“The museum closes at five thirty,” Mrs. McDonald told the twins. “Meet you at the bench out front at that time. Don’t be late!”

The kids took off in one direction, and the parents went in another one.

“Do you think we’ll be safe in here?” Pep asked her brother. “Every time we go off without Mom and Dad, something happens.”

“What could possibly happen in here?” Coke replied. “You’re being paranoid.”

There are lots of cool places mentioned in this book, but the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is probably the coolest. If you love music, you should definitely go there at some point in your life.

The twins jumped from exhibit to exhibit, sometimes looking at every object very closely and other times skipping them entirely. The museum is filled with photos, posters, videos, handwritten lyrics to songs, stage costumes, and guitars and cars of the stars. You can put on headphones and listen to just about every rock song ever recorded.

“Look, there’s Jim Morrison’s Cub Scout uniform,” Coke pointed out.

“Who’s Jim Morrison?” Pep asked.

“Some guy who died.”

There are no statues or plaques of the musicians who have been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Instead, there’s a long, curving wall with all their signatures.

By five o’clock Coke and Pep had been through most of the exhibits, taking the escalators higher and higher until they had reached the top floor.