Just Sayin' Page 2

  Somewhere in the world, every five seconds, a mother gives birth to a child. She must be found and stopped!

  Put a sock in it!

  Kirby the King of Insults

  Cassie Callahan

  Still alone (except for Gram) (and Kirby) in Hamilton, MO

  June 29

  Dear Know-It-All Nick,

  I hate to admit it, but you were right about the Insult King. We (I signed your name too again) wrote him an insulting letter and got our very own insulting letter back! (Mom would not approve. But she’s not here. And that’s not my fault.) I will send you the letter later, since it’s really to both of us. I want to show it to Pastor Mike first. But you need to write Kirby the King of Insults now. He asked you to. Kind of. If you read between the lines, where it’s blank.

  One thing you can insult him about is this: he closed the letter saying, “Put a sock in it.” Bet you’ve heard Gram use that old line about a hundred million times! Plus, he insulted Kirby the Queen of Dogs.

  Let me know if the King writes you back, okay? We can trade our letters from him.

  Put a sock in it,

  Cassie

  P.S. Tell Julie I’m writing her, too.

  Cassie Callahan

  Hamilton, MO

  June 29

  Dear Julie,

  Out of all the things lost when your dad dumped my mom, you’re the one I miss the most. And feel free to tell your brother I said so. Is he being nice to you? Let me know if he gives you any trouble or any insults. You are not short. You are seven. So don’t let Nick get away with calling you “Shorty.”

  In case Nick didn’t tell you, Mom is giving herself some “alone time” to get over not marrying your dad. She’s staying at her sister’s in San Bernardino, even though Aunt Bev isn’t there, because she’s on a cruise with Uncle Benny somewhere in eastern Europe by now.

  Mom is writing her columns from San Bernardino, and Gram says the newspaper doesn’t even know the difference. Newspapers all across America are folding, but Mom’s column about using Crisco to get rid of diaper rash, and the one about using crayons to repair scratches on your car, is getting picked up by every surviving paper and all the Internet versions.

  Mom calls Gram every Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday night, but I manage to be out of the house because hearing her voice can make me cry. (Do NOT tell Nick this.) And also, I hate the telephone, as you know. Only I wish I had a cell because then I could text you. I know that my mom misses you more than anything, Julie. She thought of you as the daughter she never had. Since I’m the daughter she DID have, that means I am pretty much chopped liver (as Gram would say).

  Don’t even get me started on Kirby. That dog whined for days after you left. She still curls up under your swing in our backyard and goes to sleep, probably dreaming of you. I had to let her start sleeping on my bed so she’d come inside the house at night. Even Gram felt sorry for her. Gram misses you almost as much as I do.

  You should get your dad to read this to you if you can’t make out some of the words, like “chopped liver” (which you can apply to a black eye for faster healing, says one of Mom’s columns).

  So, Travis, if you really are reading this, I guess you should know that I’m pretty mad at you for dumping us. Just sayin’.

  Love (to you, Julie, but not so much to Travis anymore),

  Cassie

  Julie Barton

  Chicago, IL

  July 2

  Dear Cassie,

  I miss you!!!!!

  I wrote that by myself, but now I’m getting Dad to write the rest because I want to say more than just the words I know how to spell. Plus, it was taking me way too long to try to write a whole letter. So Dad is writing this for me, but I’m telling him what to write.

  Besides missing YOU, here are other things I miss:

  Your mom. She used to scratch my back to help me get to sleep when you let me sleep over, and nobody else ever did that.

  Your backyard, and not just the playground stuff, but you in it. And Nick in it too. I loved sitting on the swings with you and not even swinging, but just talking about stuff, like school and kids like Michael, who made fun of the way I talked in kindergarten, or Kelsey, who called me a baby because my bike has training wheels still and hers doesn’t. We were going to camp out in your backyard, remember? And when Nick was there with us, he’d stand by the swings while we were talking and swinging, and he’d be tossing up his baseball and catching it in his mitt, so we had background music that sounded like WHUMP, WHUMP, WHUMP.

  Kirby! I was afraid of dogs until you got that little black lab puppy. She was such a great puppy, and she loved me, didn’t she? Do you think she’ll forget me? How much has she grown? Maybe you should let her sleep on your bed, Cassie. Don’t forget that she loves being scratched behind her ears.

  I have 11 more things to list, but Daddy says he has to do some paperwork for his job, so this is the last one: I miss Daddy’s and Nick’s laughter. And even my own.

  Love,

  Julie

  P.S. This is Travis now. It was your mom’s decision to end our relationship, not mine.

  Phone: Ring! Ring!

  Gram: Hello?

  Jen: Hi, Mom. Is Cassie home?

  Gram: Of course not. She left on her bike and said she was going to youth group. I called Pastor Mike to make sure she got there. And I told him the only reason she’s started going to youth group is that she doesn’t want to talk to her mother. You ever thought about calling on a day when she doesn’t know you’re calling, Jen?

  Jen: Yes.

  [Long pause]

  Gram: All right. That’s what I thought.

  Jen: What’s Cassie been doing? Besides going to youth group?

  Gram: That girl stays in her bedroom for hours and writes letters. I’ve been giving her postage money in exchange for having her do little jobs around here. You know what she did? She fixed the leaky faucet in the downstairs bathroom. And she got that old clock of your daddy’s running again.

  Jen: She’s always been so good with things like that. Is she having friends come over? Or going to their houses? Or going swimming with anybody?

  Gram: Nope. I think she misses Nick and Julie a lot more than she lets on. [Pause.] And she misses you. When are you coming home, Jennifer?

  Jen: I don’t know, Mom. I have to get to where I’m not crying all the time. I wasn’t doing anyone any good when everything kept reminding me of . . . him.

  Gram (softer): Are you ever going to tell me what that man did to make you run off like that?

  Jen: . . .

  Gram: All right.

  Jen: Thanks for taking care of things there, Mom. Tell Cassie I’m sorry I missed her. But I’m glad she’s going to youth group—even if it’s just to get away from me. Tell her to go easy on Pastor Mike. Bye, Mom.

  Gram: Bye yourself, honey.

  Cassie Callahan

  Hamilton, MO

  July 2

  Dear Pastor Mike,

  I have to tell you that I still don’t get it. I stopped asking you my question (about parents who break promises) in youth group tonight because I could tell you didn’t want to answer me anymore. You wanted to talk about other (kinda boring) stuff. But that doesn’t mean I accept the quick and easy answer you gave the group. I’m sorry if I insulted you by calling you “God’s Mouthpiece,” but the name doesn’t sound like a bad thing to me, and I don’t know why kids laughed. I didn’t.

  You probably figured out which parent and which promise I was talking about. You said a promise is like a contract, right? So WHY can’t you make my mom live up to her contract? She and Travis booked the church and even gave you a down payment, right? They promised they’d get married, and that you would marry them, didn’t they? So how come you let them off the hook?

  A couple of months ago when you were giving a sermon about swearing (but I’m not sure that was what you were really talking about because Nick was sitting next to me, and he kept writing funny no
tes on the church bulletin), you read a verse that said, “Let your yes be yes and your no be no.” Well, they said YES, and I don’t think they should be able to say no now. You’re the boss of church, aren’t you? So don’t let them get away with this!

  Isn’t there something in the Bible about parents taking care of their children? You might be interested to know that my mother has left me in the care of my grandmother, who is way too old to take care of me. “How old is Gram?” you ask. I’m pretty sure Gram was a waitress at the Last Supper.

  I’m just sayin’.

  Yours respectfully,

  Cassie Callahan

  P.S. What did you really think of my letter from Kirby, King of Insults? You looked like you were trying to hold in a laugh. Or maybe that green Kool-Aid got to your stomach like it did mine.

  Nick Barton

  Old People’s Home

  Chicago, IL

  July 1

  Dear Kirby the Insult King,

  This is the first letter you’re getting from me, although I’m the one who told Cassie she’d have to insult you to get you to write her back. She signed my name on her letters without my permission, by the way. I could sue her, but she’s going through a lot now, so I won’t. YOU would, I’ll bet.

  I guess you finally wrote her. I haven’t seen that letter because Cassie and I aren’t in the same place anymore. She’s back in Missouri, where my dad and my sister and I were supposed to live after Dad married Cassie’s mom. Only her mom dumped us and broke off the engagement, and so we’re stuck in Illinois in an old folks’ retirement home, where I can’t even play my music without headphones on.

  Cassie said you wrote back and said, “Put a sock in it,” and that makes me wonder if you really are the King of Insults, because Cassie’s grandmother says that all the time. And it isn’t even funny or much of an insult, when you think about it. Every kid in my old class—except maybe Angela Brigmon—could come up with better insults than socks.

  You also didn’t express proper appreciation for the fact that we named what was supposed to be OUR dog after you. You should be honored. Kirby is a really fabonomous dog.

  You may have heard that Miss Cassie Callahan’s birthday is next month. She will be 11 years old, which I already am. You should send her a birthday present to cheer her up. And to make up for what you said about the dog.

  Do it!

  Nick

  P.S. Did you really write “Put a sock in it!”?

  Johnathan Kirby, the Insult King of the World

  New York, NY, of course

  July 5

  Hey you! Kid Nick,

  Don’t yell at me! I’m not your mother!

  I tried to read your letter, but I fell asleep during the bit about poor you having to move to Chicago. Boo hoo.

  As for “Put a sock in it,” that phrase, for your information, kid, is a time-honored put-down. Your ex-stepsister’s granny sounds like the only potential person in your messed-up families. Cry me a river. You want to know about family? My mother shot my father with a bow and arrow instead of a rifle so she wouldn’t wake us up. Now that’s a thoughtful woman for you! I always wanted a stepmother. So I asked my mother to sit on the front step for the rest of her life. It wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Whaddaya want from me, anyways?

  Were you two friends before you were getting to be steps? Sounds like both of yous are the kind of kids other parents tell their kids not to play with.

  Why is your ex-stepsister needing to be cheered up? Kids still like birthdays, don’t they? But okay. I’ll send her several mouth-sized socks.

  Go away now,

  The King

  Cassie Callahan

  Hamilton, MO

  July 11

  Dear King,

  Nick says you wrote him back. I haven’t seen the letter yet. I sent him the one you wrote me, but he forgot to send me yours. Instead, he just copied parts of your letter into his, “the parts that don’t stink too much.”

  Right off, you made a big mistake. You wrote, “I’m not your mother!” Nick’s actual mother ran off when Julie (Nick’s sister) wasn’t even one year old, and Nick was only four-going-on-five. She divorced Nick’s dad, Travis, and married an old rich guy, then dumped HIM for another rich guy who owns factories that break the laws in countries like Venezuela and South Africa and maybe Saudi Arabia. Gram told me Nick’s mother has a palace in a city called Dubai, which is pronounced Do-Buy, and she does buy, like everything she wants. But she never sends a nickel to Nick or a jewel to Julie. Travis raised Nick and Julie all by himself. And even though I’m still mad at him for dumping my mom and me, I have to admit he did a pretty good job raising them.

  Nick said you asked why I’m not happy and not looking forward to my birthday. And that is because my mom probably won’t be here for it. She isn’t here for anything. She’s gone off to California to “find herself,” says Gram. But Mom’s never been to California before, so I don’t know why she’d be looking there. I haven’t talked to her since she left. I don’t have a cell phone. If she were here, I’d nag her for one. Nick said you’re going to send me a couple of gifts for my birthday, and a phone would be a really great one. I already have your book of insults, so don’t send that. It wasn’t as funny as you are.

  Nick says you said nice things about Gram, but that’s only because you don’t know her. Ellie’s grandmother (a school friend, my best friend until she got a different best friend the first week of summer, when I didn’t care so much, because I had Nick and Julie) has a thousand pictures of Ellie, her granddaughter, in her wallet and a million on her phone, including a video of her being born, which is kind of disgusting. Ellie’s grandmother shows these pictures to everybody who can’t get away fast enough. The mail lady’s seen every picture a dozen times, and the grocery store checkout person has to stop her before she pulls out her phone pictures and clogs up the checkout line. My gram has two pictures of me, which I gave her myself, and which she couldn’t find if her life depended on it, because she has so much junk everywhere.

  It won’t be my birthday until the end of summer, but you can go ahead and send the gifts to cheer me up if you’d like to. I won’t open them until my birthday. Maybe.

  Cassie, the Princess of Sad

  Johnathan Kirby, the Insult King

  Athens, PA

  July 15

  Dear Sad,

  Well, boo hoo to you, too. Your gram sounds like an okay gal. So what if she’s not the fuzzy kind of grandma who goes around showing everybody pictures of her granddaughter? Do you go around showing everyone pictures of your gram?

  And big deal that your mom had to go to California to get some time to herself. If you’d run away from home like a normal kid, your ma wouldn’t have had to. Ever think of that?

  How’d you like to be stuck in this Podunk town that ain’t even a town, but a borough barely outside of New York State? Athens, Pennsylvania. Right. If you’ve ever been to the real Athens in Greece, let me tell you, this one ain’t it. But try to tell my dumbhead producer that. He’s the one who came up with the big idea to take my show on the road, live, this season. Last week he wanted to shoot the show from Athens, Ohio. Then he changed his mind, considered Macedonia, then settled on Toronto, Ohio. The guy is so loony that I caught him staring at orange juice for 20 minutes . . . just because it said “concentrate” on the carton.

  I gotta start getting ready for a network meeting about my big live show, The Last Insult Standing. That’s what comes after we do these shows in all the fake-sounding towns across America.

  I’m busy now, kid. I’ll ignore you some other time.

  The King

  Pastor Mike

  Hamilton, MO

  July 12

  Dear Cassie,

  I’m very happy you’ve started coming to youth group (even if it is only to get away from your mom’s phone call). I wish Nick and Julie could come too. I really miss them.

  Thank you for your letter. You’re right—“God
’s Mouthpiece” is a great thing to be, and I only hope I can live up to the name. But the truth is, the Bible is God’s real mouthpiece. We even call it the Word. And your grandmother tells me that you are crazy about words and are memorizing from your Word-a-Day calendar. Very impressive. Also very important to choose words wisely.

  I’m sorry that your mother and Travis couldn’t come together and go through with their wedding plans. As you know, I met with them several times, and I felt they were well suited for each other. Both share a genuine faith. I was as surprised as you to receive word of the cancellation. I tried to reach out to both of them but haven’t heard back yet. As for enforcing their “contract,” I’m sure you can see where that plan would eventually fail, even if I could enforce the commitment. A husband and wife must be dedicated to one another. And in this case, which involves two families, it’s even more crucial to be of one mind.

  I’m sorry I couldn’t answer all your questions in youth group. Please feel free to ask me anything, even if you don’t like my answers. And you are welcome to write me again. For a couple of Sundays, I have received notes from an anonymous sender via our offering plate. Our elders have found the critiques on the sermon and its length and even the song selection most amusing. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?

  Your grandmother tells me you’ve been spending a good deal of time in your room writing letters. Again, I will always welcome a letter from you and will do my best to answer it. But I wonder if you have ever tried writing to God. I think you might find better answers than merely writing to “God’s Mouthpiece.”

  As for the unusual letter from Mr. Kirby, I guess I don’t know what to think. I haven’t watched his show, The Hour of Insult. I am surprised your mother allows you to watch it. Perhaps I’ll tune in this week.

  See you Sunday!

  Pastor Mike

  Nick Barton

  Chi-Town, IL

  July 13

  Hey, Fruit Loops!

  Why don’t you get an e-mail address and use your gram’s computer? I can’t believe people used to only write letters like this. No texts. No e-mail. No social media. No phone. Just scratches on the cave walls.