Notes

THE DAY I found out that my great-uncle Bate likes pizza for breakfast was also the day I learned where I got my talent for taking things apart and putting them back together. I’d always known that my mechanical knack didn’t come from my parents. Changing a light bulb was about as technical as they got. One Saturday morning, last October, my parents decided to take a day trip to admire the fall foliage. Because they knew I’d be bored to tears watching leaves turn color, they ＀gured I could spend the day with Uncle Bate in Bridgeport. The only problem was that the science fair was coming up, and I needed to ＀nish my project. Before we le！, I asked if I could stay home and work on it, but when Dad put my robot in the back of the minivan, I knew the matter had been settled. Yeah. I did say robo
His name is Jupiter. He’s almost ＀ve feet tall and made out of sheet metal, batteries, and milk crates. I started building him last summer a！er I found How to Build Robots in Your Spare Time by Professor B. Tinbottom at a garage sale. I’d only met my great-uncle Bate once when I was four years old, and that had been at my great-aunt Alice’s funeral. I didn’t know anything about him, but during the car ride, my mom said, “I think Bate used to be some kind of scientist. He might be able to help you with your science project, Tim.” Not that I needed any help, but it’d be good to have another person around who knew what a worm gear was. We ＀nally got to Uncle Bate’s around ten. “Well, well. A gaggle of Millers,” he said, standing in the doorway as my dad and I lugged Jupiter from the van. When we put Jupiter on the porch, I noticed Uncle Bate looking him over. “Great to see you,” my dad said, shaking Uncle Bate’s hand. My mom hugged him. “We’ll catch up later when the leaves have stopped blushing.” A！er they le！, Uncle Bate o＂ered me some cold pizza. I was a little hungry. Following breakfast, we headed outside. Uncle Bate had said I could use the garage to ＀nish Jupiter, so we dragged my robot in through the side door. The garage was almost pitch black. Uncle Bate pressed a glowing red button on the wall. Nothing happened for a second.
His name is Jupiter. He’s almost ＀ve feet tall and made out of sheet metal, batteries, and milk crates. I started building him last summer a！er I found How to Build Robots in Your Spare Time by Professor B. Tinbottom at a garage sale. I’d only met my great-uncle Bate once when I was four years old, and that had been at my great-aunt Alice’s funeral. I didn’t know anything about him, but during the car ride, my mom said, “I think Bate used to be some kind of scientist. He might be able to help you with your science project, Tim.” Not that I needed any help, but it’d be good to have another person around who knew what a worm gear was. We ＀nally got to Uncle Bate’s around ten. “Well, well. A gaggle of Millers,” he said, standing in the doorway as my dad and I lugged Jupiter from the van. When we put Jupiter on the porch, I noticed Uncle Bate looking him over. “Great to see you,” my dad said, shaking Uncle Bate’s hand. My mom hugged him. “We’ll catch up later when the leaves have stopped blushing.” A！er they le！, Uncle Bate o＂ered me some cold pizza. I was a little hungry. Following breakfast, we headed outside. Uncle Bate had said I could use the garage to ＀nish Jupiter, so we dragged my robot in through the side door. The garage was almost pitch black. Uncle Bate pressed a glowing red button on the wall. Nothing happened for a second.

“Where am I supposed to work?” I asked. Uncle Bate scanned the garage. “Yeah, I guess it is a little cluttered in here.” A little? I thought. As we began clearing out a work area, I noticed a weird- looking object mixed in with the junk. Uncle Bate saw me looking at it and came over. “That’s a dog-powered lawn mower. I could never get anybody interested in that one,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “Are you an inventor?” “Oh no! I prefer the term ‘creator.’ And these are my creations.” He waved his hand around. Then I saw more strange objects. One of them looked like a giant eggbeater with wings, and another like a weird computer monitor, only its translucent screen glowed with numerous colored spheres. “That one was a prototype of the ＀rst disco ball,” Uncle Bate said. “I built it for your great-aunt Alice. We used to come out here and cut a rug. You know, dance.” “How could you dance in here?” “It wasn’t as cluttered back then,” said Uncle Bate. When we’d ＀nally made enough room, we stood back and looked at Jupiter in the middle of the garag

“I’m glad to see someone in the family is technical,” Uncle Bate said, nodding toward my robot. “When I was about your age, TV was the newest thing. That sparked my interest in what was inside the TV . From then on, I’ve been a tinkerer. I think you’re just like me. ” I nodded. “Here.” Uncle Bate handed me a pair of old wire cutters. “You may need these if something goes awry.” Then he le＀. I looked down at the cutters in my hand. The initials BT were etched into the metal. O.K., time to concentrate. I opened my robot book and got to work. A FEW hours later, I half expected blaring trumpets or loud applause, but the only sound that heralded my great accomplishment was the squeak squeak of the last nut and bolt being tightened. I had built my ＀rst robot! I wanted to run down the middle of the street and shout it to the world. Now it was time for my hard work to pay o！. I grabbed the remote control I’d built from the instructions in Chapter 7. It was made of bits and pieces of old TV remotes and pocket radios and had a joystick from my older cousin’s outdated video game system. It looked impressive, but would it work? Would Jupiter creak to life like a shiny Frankenstein’s monster?