Bet you didn’t know

you’ve got

eleven fingers!

"Matew, I’m going to tell you something only

adults know. It’s top secret. You can’t tell

anyone—not even your buddies."

Uncle X told me this one day while we were

playing video games (can’t say which one—Uncle

X always says, "No free shoutouts!").

He looked so serious I didn’t know what to say, so

I just went,

"Okay, okay."

"Matew, you always thought we only have ten

fingers total… but that’s not true. We actually have

eleven."

"Yeah, right! You’re just messing with me!" I said.

Uncle X just smiled and replied,

"Nope. Not at all. Let’s count. Watch closely."

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Then, instead of counting from one to ten, he

counted backwards—from ten to one, like a

countdown before a rocket launch.

He started with one hand, lifted his thumb and

said,

"Ten."

Then his index finger, "Nine."

Middle finger, "Eight."

Ring finger, "Seven."

Pinky, "Six."

And then he said,

"Now add 5, the five fingers from my other hand: 6

+ 5 = 11. See? I’ve got eleven fingers!"

My jaw totally dropped. I quickly did the

same—counted backwards: 10, 9, 8, 7, 6… Then I

added 5, the five from my other hand: 6 + 5 = 11…

Boom! Eleven fingers! He was right! I had eleven

fingers too!

Some kind of alien? A superhero mutant?

I skipped all the way home, counting my awesome

fingers again and again just like Uncle X showed

me. But happiness is like gum—it’s awesome at

first, then the flavor goes away.

When I got home, no one was there. My brother

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was probably off goofing around, and my parents

were still at work.

I got bored. There was nobody around to bother.

I started playing with the stuff in my dad’s box of

tools. I found a small metal ring and imagined it

was a magic ring. I tried to put it on one of the

fingers on my left hand, but it didn’t fit. I pushed

and pushed… until finally, it slipped on!

I spent a while pretending I was a pirate with

magic powers, sailing the ocean and hunting for

treasure.

Then I got bored and tried to take the washer off…

but it wouldn’t budge. I pulled as hard as I

could—nothing. Tried again—nothing.

My finger was turning red, like a cherry. One more

try—still stuck. I was starting to get a little scared.

Again—still stuck. I started to panic.

And I thought:

"Great, Matew. Now they’re going to have to cut

your finger off. Ew, gross."

I’d really messed up.

I was so happy about my eleven fingers… and now

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I was going to lose one and go back to ten. Just a

regular kid again. No more powers. So unfair!

My pirate adventure had turned into a panic

mission. That’s when I heard the front door open…

It was Mom.

She looked at me and asked,

"Matew, what are you hiding behind your back?"

I showed her the stuck washer and asked,

"Mom, will they have to cut it off? Will it hurt?

Will it grow back like a lizard tail? Or worse… like

a zombie finger?"

She said,

"Oh Matew… the things you come up with!"

She took me to the sink, held my hand, put some

soap on it… and the washer slid right off.

Whew! What a relief!

Man, what a day!

I woke up with ten fingers, got eleven, and almost

ended up back at ten.

A few days later I got mad at my brother (like

always) and told him,

"Too bad, Mr. Smardum—I’ve got eleven

fingers—and you don’t!"

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He didn’t get mad. He just laughed and said,

"That’s an Uncle X classic. He pulled the same

trick on me when I was your age. When you’re

older, you’ll figure it out. You’re still a Little

Grasshopper."