The Secret Life of a Ping-Pong Wizard by Henry Winkler Page B

sister,” my dad said. “Enough for tonight.”
    â€œBut, Dad, you always tell me that practice makes perfect. How am I going to get great at my new sport if I don’t practice?”
    â€œPing-Pong is not a sport. It’s a hobby.”
    â€œNot true.”
    â€œYes, true. Soccer is your sport. Ping-Pong is your hobby. And doing well in the fifth grade is your goal. Now, don’t you have homework to finish?”
    Why is everything always about homework with him? It’s like there’s only one subject rattling around in his head. Did you do your homework ? How much homework do you have? How’s your homework coming? Did you finish your homework ? You can’t listen to music when you’re doing your homework . Why don’t you start on tomorrow’s homework ? It’s good to get a leg up on your homework .
    â€œI just have a math worksheet,” I said. “I’ll get up early and finish it.”
    â€œNo, you won’t, because I happen to know you have a dentist appointment tomorrow morning,” Emily the walking calendar reported.
    She was right. Somewhere way back in my brain, I remember my mom saying that I had a tooth-cleaning appointment with Dr. Crumbworthy. That man talks about flossing like regular people talk about baseball or movies or comic books. He just lights up at the mention of it. And you should see him demonstrate the correct flossing method. He actually breaks out in a sweat from it.
    So here’s what I was looking at. Do math homework. Go to bed. Get up extra early. Go to dentist. Listen to him scrape my teeth with that pointy metal thing of his.
    I looked at the Ping-Pong paddle in my hand. Just a minute ago, we were having a really good time.
    Boy, how a night can change.

CHAPTER 17
    DR. CRUMBWORTHY IS MISSING the fourth finger on his left hand. Well, actually not the whole finger, just the part that has the fingernail on it. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t be such a big deal, but when a guy has his hands in your mouth and he’s missing part of a finger, you wonder if another fingertip is going to fall off on your tongue. At least, that’s what I was wondering while he poked around in my mouth with his mirror and silver pointy thing.
    â€œHow’s life treating you, Hank?” he said.
    â€œIne,” I answered. Okay, you try to say fine when you have a mouth of metal and fingers going into all different parts of your mouth.
    â€œDoing well in school?” he asked.
    Why is that always the second question adults have to ask you after finding out about your health? I mean, why can’t they ask if you’ve seen any funny movies or had a great slice of pizza or ridden on a really cool roller-coaster? You’d think a guy like Dr. Crumbworthy would know better. He’s a kids’ dentist, and everyone in my neighborhood goes to him to have their teeth cleaned and their cavities filled. He should have learned by now that kids don’t really want to discuss how they’re doing in school when that instrument with that little hook at the end is in your molars looking for cavities.
    â€œUre,” I answered. S ’s are hard too.
    â€œIs there any reason you have a Ping-Pong paddle in your lap?” he asked.
    I forgot to mention that I was holding the Ping-Pong paddle while I was at the dentist’s. I had two reasons. First, because Winston Chin had told me to carry it around everywhere and make it my friend, and I took that very seriously. And second, because I thought that in case Dr. Crumbworthy poked me too hard, I could hold up the red side of the paddle and wave it around like a stop sign.
    There was no way I could explain all of that to Dr. Crumbworthy with his nine and a half fingers in my mouth. It wasn’t really necessary, anyway, because he likes to keep the conversation going all by himself. I guess you learn to do that when the people you’re talking to can’t