Just Sayin'

by Dandi Daley Mackall

  Still, I wish Jen and Travis could have made it. Instead, Cassie is stuck with me, and it’s only fair to say that I am not your usual sweet granny. I don’t believe I’m a grouch, but I’m old. How old? Well, you could tell by counting the rings under my eyes. My husband always remembered my age but forgot my birthday.

  If you are a predator, stop writing my granddaughter. If you’re not a predator, have a nice day.

  Sincerely,

  Emma Mae Hendren, aka Gram

  Johnathan Kirby, the King of Insults

  Manila, UT

  July 25

  Dear Emma Mae/Gram,

  No, I’m not a crook, con man, or predator. Of course, I suppose if I were, I wouldn’t tell you. Anyway, your granddaughter started this whole letter thing. I didn’t even write her back until the third letter, when she started calling me names that would have done a sailor proud. I’ll bet it’s not smooth sailing through school for that one. Doesn’t strike me as the teacher’s pet.

  I am sorry to hear about your husband and Jen’s husband.

  So what’s up with this Travis guy? Did he cheat on your daughter or something? Hard to believe he’s too horrible since Cassie misses him so much. I even heard from the guy’s son, Nick. I think he’s as bummed as Cassie. And what’s up with the other one, the little sister? Judy? Julie? Something like that.

  There are worse things than being old—like not getting to be old, right? You hear people talking about their “old friends” or their “old buddies.” I’ve always wondered what that would be like. I never stayed in one place long enough to make friends. Or maybe I just don’t know how. And now I’m old, without old friends. How old? Well, I wouldn’t be so old if I hadn’t been born so long ago. My first pet came straight off Noah’s ark. When I was a kid, the Dead Sea was just starting to get sick.

  On television they make me wear makeup so I won’t look so old. And they have special camera lenses to blur some of the wrinkles, although this high-definition television is a curse. My dermatologist doesn’t even make me come into the office to examine my face for cancer spots. He just watches the show.

  Definitely not a crook,

  The King

  (but you can call me Kirby, an old friend)

  P.S. I think Cassie should go to her friends’ parties, don’t you?

  Cassie Callahan

  Lonesome in Hamilton, MO

  July 24

  Dear Mom,

  I’m sorry about missing your phone call. Again. I was in youth group, where Pastor Mike was trying to tell us the difference between good advice and bad advice. But I pointed out that if we know the difference between good advice and bad advice, we don’t really need advice.

  I probably talk too much in there, but Pastor Mike doesn’t make me feel like it, and I’m trying hard to only say nice things to the other kids. Pastor Mike has been talking to us about “wholesome” speech, and you know how I like learning about words. But this was a new thing—wholesome, like healthy. Healthy words. He passed out bookmarks with Proverbs 12:18 on them: “Some people make cutting remarks, but the words of the wise bring healing.”

  I could use some of that healing.

  I admit that I walked back home very languidly so that you and Gram would be finished talking before I got there. It’s not that I’m mad at you or trying to punish you, like Gram thinks. I just don’t want to get all sad all over again. Or say something I’ll feel bad about later. Something not wholesome or healing. Then you’d feel worse. And so would I. Plus, you already know I hate the phone. Maybe if you bought me a cell phone, though, I would learn to like it. And in the meantime, I could text.

  I think Gram has been reading my mail. Please tell her that’s against the law. And don’t you think she should let me use her laptop? I would write you more often if I could e-mail.

  Three people at church asked me about the “upcoming wedding.” You’d think gossip would get around faster in a town as small as this. I told them I didn’t know what they were talking about. And the truth is, I don’t.

  Come home.

  Love,

  Cassie

  P.S. Did you know that Travis is making Nick and Julie go to this private school, where everybody has to dress, talk, and think the same? It sounds very scary and wrong to me. Don’t be surprised if Nick runs away from home and joins the Marines.

  Nick Barton

  Chicago, IL

  July 23

  Dear Gorilla Breath,

  I know it’s my turn to write, and I’ve been trying. But Dad is ruining my life. He’s impossible to please. If he were a dog, he’d be growling all the time and biting sometimes too. He even snaps at Julie. I think it’s your mom’s fault. You need to write her (because I know you and your phone phobia) and make her tell you why she dumped my dad the way she did. What did she do or say to him to make him turn into a grump?

  Desperate (one of your words) in Chicago,

  Nick

  P.S. I like Jesus’ answers. Are you going to write him again? If you do, ask him to turn Dad back into a normal guy. And keep mentioning the private school.

  P.P.S. Also, can you ask Jesus why Julie is so sick? She’s been in bed for two days because she has to puke every time she gets out of bed. I know it will pass. Then it will happen all over again. And it isn’t fair. She hasn’t done anything to deserve it. Tell Jesus that. Nicely.

  Cassie Callahan

  Hamilton, MO

  July 28

  Dear Son of a Grump,

  Don’t blame my mom! I still think your dad is the one who broke off their engagement. Otherwise, Mom wouldn’t have left like she did and cried all the time like she did and still is. I will make you a deal. I will write to my mom for details, but only if you do the same with your dad. And you can just ask him straight-out because at least he’s there with you.

  I’ve been thinking about the first time I met you and Julie. Everybody in our school was pretty curious about the new teacher in town and the new teacher’s kids. Most of our teachers were so old that they’d had our parents in class 100 years ago. You should have heard all the rumors going around town about you guys. It didn’t hurt that your dad was a single parent, divorced but raising the kids. You can imagine all the stories they made up about a mom who would leave her kids and remarry a rich guy who worked in a foreign location like Paris, France. Actually, we thought that sounded exotic (my word from last Tuesday, BTW).

  We all wanted to have your dad for a teacher, even though nobody had ever met him. Was he surprised that he was the only male teacher in Hamilton Elementary? Should have known he’d teach sixth grade. I didn’t realize that you’d be in my grade until you strolled into our classroom, and I didn’t even know Julie was your sister until the next week, when your dad picked you guys up.

  I thought you were stuck up and full of yourself that first day because you didn’t talk to any of us. You acted like you were already fed up with living in a small town, and you’d only just gotten here. That’s why I was the first one to toss out an insult—couldn’t help myself. Although, looking back now, if I had it to do over again . . . (Remind me later to tell you what Pastor Mike said about wholesome speech.) We had picture day, and when you looked at yours, you said, “Could you take another one, please? This one doesn’t do me justice.”

  I was next in line, and I said, “You don’t need justice. You need mercy.”

  Half a dozen kids behind me heard what I said, and none of them got it. But you did. You knew the difference between justice and mercy. You turned to face me, and for the first time, you laughed. Hard. The guy took your picture that exact second, and I think it showed every one of your teeth.

  It didn’t take you long to retaliate (Monday’s word, which means “get even” or “strike back”). You stuck around and looked at the picture of me the photo guy was showing me on his camera. Then, totally serious, you said, “Hmmm. Your face.”

  “What?” I demanded. “What’s wrong with my face?” I thought it w
as a pretty good picture.

  “There’s only one thing wrong with it,” you said, making me wait. “It shows.”

  I stuck out my hand, and we shook. “I’m Cassie,” I said.

  “Nick. And I know who you are,” you said. “I never forget a face.” You started walking away, then called back, “But in your case, I’ll make an exception.”

  Do you remember all that? We should have declared ourselves “steps” right then. Forget our mixed-up parents.

  I’ll stop writing now. I’m going to work on a letter to Mom, and you’d better do the same with your dad.

  Still,

  Cassie

  P.S. But first I need to write Julie.

  Cassie Callahan

  Hamilton, MO

  July 28

  Dear Julie,

  I think you should get Nick to read this to you instead of your dad. Nick says your dad has turned into a grump. I hope he’s not being grumpy with you.

  Kirby still misses you so much. She sleeps with the squeaky mouse you gave her. Mom said she read in her dog book that black lab puppies are supposed to stop growing after six months, but I don’t think Kirby read that book. She is gigantic and getting bigger every day. Think Clifford on steroids. Or maybe vitamins (because I’m not sure what steroids are—Nick heard about them on the sports channel). I can tell Kirby really misses you because whenever I let her out in the backyard, she runs straight to your swing and sniffs and whines and sometimes lies down right under your swing, where you should be.

  And that makes me sadder than sad because I know how she feels.

  Do you remember the first time you and I met? I’d stayed late after school, but I can’t remember why. I think I’d called Jeremy Carlson a meathead, but he really is one because he was a bully then and is still a bully now. Anyway, when I finally got to go home, I walked out the front of the school, and there you were, standing in the grass and leaning against the building like you were holding up the brick wall. The sun was shining, and a ray lit you up like a spotlight, and for a minute, I thought you were an angel, with that wispy blonde hair and delicate everything.

  Then somebody ran up past me, right toward you, like he was going to crash into you. Your eyes got so big. I was afraid you’d break into a million pieces. So I ran after the kid and pushed him down just before he reached you. That’s when I saw it was Nick. I had already met him in class and in the picture-taking line. Only I didn’t know that he was your brother yet. So I shouted at him, “Leave her alone! What’s wrong with you?”

  He got up, brushed himself off. “What’s wrong with YOU?”

  “You can’t just run into people! Especially little people who could get really hurt!” I moved between you two, like I was your protector.

  “What’s it to you? If I want to beat her up, I’ll beat her up.” But Nick couldn’t keep from smiling a little.

  “It’s okay,” you said. “But thanks. I’m Julie.”

  I turned to you then. “I’m Cassie. And it’s not okay to be bullied.”

  Nick darted in front of me, grabbed you up, and spun you around. “And I’m Nick the Powerful!”

  I think I would have tackled him again if your dad hadn’t come out of the school right then and shouted, “Come on, guys! Time to go home!”

  Nick took your hand and said, “Let’s go, Shorty.”

  “She’s not short! She’s young!” I called after you, because even then I maybe knew it’s not just punches and shoves that bully people. Words can bully people too.

  Don’t let those private-school kids call you Shorty or anything else. Or I’ll come up there and they’ll be sorry!

  Kirby and I miss you like crazy, Julie.

  Love ya,

  Cassie

  P.S. I put that “ya” there because I felt embarrassed just writing “love.” But I do, you know.

  Cassie Callahan

  Hamilton, MO, where she lives with her aged grandmother

  July 28

  Dear King of Insults,

  I can’t believe you’re doing your season finale in Hannibal, Missouri! I live in Hamilton, Missouri, which people get mixed up with Hannibal all the time! Hannibal is about two and a half hours from my house, three and a half if Gram’s driving. Mom and I have driven through there lots of times because it’s on the way to Illinois, where Grandma and Grandpa Callahan live. Mom used to tell me we were taking a little vacation, but it would end up being a trick and we’d just drive to Grandma Callahan’s in Peoria, Illinois.

  But I’ve been to Hannibal for real, too. Mom took me to see Mark Twain’s house, where they’ve got his typewriter and everything. I love Mark Twain! We will watch your show this week and find out more details. I think your producer is pretty clever to send you to the crazy-named towns all over. And he (or she) is a genius sending you to Hannibal.

  I thought I’d miss Julie and Nick less the more time they’re gone. I was wrong. Have you ever missed anybody? I mean, I know you’re the Insult King, but did you ever have somebody you didn’t feel like insulting?

  The day after Travis left and took my two best friends with him, I was so mad that I took my framed photo of Travis and threw it on the floor. It shattered in a million pieces. I picked up the big pieces of glass, but there were all these tiny pieces left. So I took a slice of bread and pressed it to the floor, and all the tiny pieces stuck to the bread. This was not my idea. Mom wrote it in her household tricks column, Just Jen around the House.

  Anyway, I think having an insult contest is a fabonomous idea. Bet it wasn’t yours.

  Ha!

  Cassie

  P.S. Remember how Nick said you promised you’d send me a birthday present? Well, my birthday is August 31, and yours will probably be the only present I get, because I won’t have a birthday party and my mom won’t even be here.

  P.P.S. Here’s what God said about promises to give someone a present: “A person who promises a gift but doesn’t give it is like clouds and wind that bring no rain” (Proverbs 25:14).

  P.P.P.S. I have a sneaking suspicion that Gram has been reading the letters you sent me. I think that’s against the law. But she is bigger than me.

  Emma Hendren

  Hamilton, MO

  July 29

  Dear Johnathan,

  You ask a lot of questions for an insult king.

  You think you’re old? I’m so old I remember when rainbows only came in black and white.

  I grew up in Hamilton and married my high school sweetheart and settled in the house I was born in. After my husband died, I worked in the Hamilton Café until I bought it from the owners, who wanted to retire. Ran that place for 20 years and made a success of it. Now I volunteer at the community health center run by our church. And I do crossword puzzles. And raise an almost 11-year-old girl, who gives me a run for my money.

  One of your questions was about Cassie not going to parties. The girl refuses to go to her friends’ birthday parties because she insists she doesn’t want one of her own. I think it’s because her mother won’t be back by August 31. I’ve offered to let Cassie have whatever kind of party she wants, even a sleepover, which for me would be a supreme sacrifice. But she says no way. I asked Jen to come home, but her boss took advantage of Jen’s being in California and committed her to speaking at some big newspaper convention out there. (Jen has a syndicated column about using weird things to clean the house and solve household problems. It’s called Just Jen around the House. I wish she’d use a can of cola or a lemon peel to fix my household problem, which is raising her daughter.)

  As to why Travis lit out of here like a house afire, your guess is as good as mine. And mine isn’t very good. Those two were made for each other, so I thought. It took Jen a long, long time to get over the loss of her first husband. It better not take that long to get over this one.

  You also asked (come to think of it, you really do ask a heap of questions—you’re not an undercover census taker, are you?) about Julie, Nick’s little sister. I fin
d it interesting that Cassie would write you about her. Julie is the sweetest little thing you’d ever want to meet. She was born with a kidney disease and a neurological syndrome that left her nearly deaf at age three. She’s got good hearing aids now but still doesn’t hear everything. I used to say that gal gave me a second chance to be a better person. I’d say something insulting or harsh, without thinking about it. Julie wouldn’t hear me, so she’d smile that sweet smile of hers and say, “What did you say, Gram?” She called me Gram even before Travis and Jen got engaged. Then I’d get a second chance to be a better person, and I’d say, “I love you, sugar.” And she’d say back, “I love you, Gram.”

  Drat that Travis and Jen!

  Have a nice day.

  Emma

  Cassie Callahan

  Stuck in Hamilton, MO

  July 29

  Dear Mom,

  Have you found yourself yet?

  Gram just gave me a hard time telling me not to give you a hard time. She said I shouldn’t write anything sad or whiny. So I guess this letter will be very short.

  I miss Julie.

  I miss Nick.

  I even miss Travis.

  Okay. I miss you, too.

  Don’t forget that Kirby is only a puppy, kind of. She did something on the rug in your bedroom, and you wouldn’t like hearing about it so I won’t tell you. But she is very sorry.

  I need you to tell me something for honest and true. Why did Travis dump you? Was it me? Nick thinks you dumped Travis, but if you did, what did he do to make him so dumpable? Please send me your answer in writing. I’m still not in the mood to talk on the phone.