Dear Mr. Henshaw

by Beverly Cleary

  8. Who is your favorite teacher?

  I don’t have a favorite teacher, but I really like Mr. Fridley. He’s the custodian. He’s always fair about who gets to pass out milk at lunchtime, and once when he had to clean up after someone who threw up in the hall, he didn’t even look cross. He just said, “Looks like somebody’s been whooping it up,” and started sprinkling sawdust around. Mom used to get mad at Dad for whooping it up, but she didn’t mean throwing up. She meant he stayed too long at that truck stop outside of town.

  Two more questions to go. Maybe I won’t answer them. So there. Ha-ha.

  Leigh Botts

  December 1

  Mr. Henshaw:

  OK, you win, because Mom is still nagging me, and I don’t have anything else to do. I’ll answer your last two questions if it takes all night.

  9. What bothers you?

  What bothers me about what? I don’t know what you mean. I guess I’m bothered by a lot of things. I am bothered when someone steals something out of my lunchbag. I don’t know enough about the people in the school to know who to suspect. I am bothered about little kids with runny noses. I don’t mean I am fussy or anything like that. I don’t know why. I am just bothered.

  I am bothered about walking to school slow. The rule is nobody is supposed to be on the school grounds until ten minutes before the first bell rings. Mom has an early class. The house is so lonely in the morning when she is gone that I can’t stand it and leave when she does. I don’t mind being alone after school, but I do in the morning before the fog lifts and our cottage seems dark and damp.

  Mom tells me to go to school but to walk slow which is hard work. Once I tried walking around every square in the sidewalk, but that got boring. So did walking heel-toe, heel-toe. Sometimes I walk backwards except when I cross the street, but I still get there so early I have to sort of hide behind the shrubbery so Mr. Fridley won’t see me.

  I am bothered when my Dad telephones me and finishes by saying, “Well, keep your nose clean, kid.” Why can’t he say he misses me, and why can’t he call me Leigh? I am bothered when he doesn’t phone at all which is most of the time. I have a book of road maps and try to follow his trips when I hear from him. When the TV worked I watched the weather on the news so I would know if he was driving through blizzards, tornadoes, hail like golf balls or any of that fancy weather they have other places in the U.S.

  10. What do you wish?

  I wish somebody would stop stealing the good stuff out of my lunchbag. I guess I wish a lot of other things, too. I wish someday Dad and Bandit would pull up in front in the rig. Maybe Dad would be hauling a forty-foot reefer (that means refrigerated trailer) which would make his outfit add up to eighteen wheels altogether. Dad would yell out of the cab, “Come on, Leigh. Hop in and I’ll give you a lift to school.” Then I’d climb in and Bandit would wag his tail and lick my face. We’d take off with all the men in the gas station staring after us. Instead of going straight to school, we’d go barreling along the freeway looking down on the tops of ordinary cars, then down the offramp and back to school just before the bell rang. I guess I wouldn’t seem so medium then, sitting up there in the cab in front of a forty-foot reefer. I’d jump out, and Dad would say, “So long, Leigh. Be seeing you,” and Bandit would give a little bark like good-bye. I’d say, “Drive carefully, Dad,” like I always do. Dad would take a minute to write in the truck’s logbook, “Drove my son to school.” Then the truck would pull away from the curb with all the kids staring and wishing their Dads drove big trucks, too.

  There, Mr. Henshaw. That’s the end of your crummy questions. I hope you are satisfied for making me do all this extra work.

  Fooey on you,

  Leigh Botts

  December 4

  Dear Mr. Henshaw,

  I am sorry I was rude in my last letter when I finished answering your questions. Maybe I was mad about other things, like Dad forgetting to send this month’s support payment. Mom tried to phone him at the trailer park where, as Mom says, he hangs his hat. He has his own phone in his trailer so the broker who lines up jobs for him can reach him. I wish he still hauled sugar beets over to the refinery in Spreckels so he might come to see me. The judge in the divorce said he has a right to see me.

  When you answered my questions, you said the way to get to be an author was to write. You underlined it twice. Well, I sure did a lot of writing, and you know what? Now that I think about it, it wasn’t so bad when it wasn’t for a book report or a report on some country in South America or anything where I had to look things up in the library. I even sort of miss writing now that I’ve finished your questions. I get lonesome. Mom is working overtime at Catering by Katy because people give a lot of parties this time of year.

  When I write a book maybe I’ll call it The Great Lunchbag Mystery, because I have a lot of trouble with my lunchbag. Mom isn’t so great on cooking roasts and steaks now that Dad is gone, but she makes me good lunches with sandwiches on whole wheat bread from the health food store with good filling spread all the way to the corners. Katy sends me little cheesecakes baked just for me or stuffed mushrooms and little things she calls canapés (k-n-pāýs). Sometimes I get a slice of quiche (kēēsh).

  Today I was supposed to have a deviled egg. Katy buys the smallest eggs for parties so half an egg can be eaten in one bite and won’t spill on people’s carpets. She puts a little curry powder in with the mashed-up yolk which she squirts out of a tube so it looks like a rose. At lunchtime when I opened my lunchbag, my egg was gone. We leave our lunchbags and boxes (mostly bags because no sixth grader wants to carry a lunchbox) lined up along the wall under our coathooks at the back of the classroom behind a sort of partition.

  Are you writing another book? Please answer my letter so we can be pen pals.

  Still your No. 1 fan,

  Leigh Botts

  December 12

  Dear Mr. Henshaw,

  I was surprised to get your postcard from Wyoming, because I thought you lived in Alaska.

  Don’t worry. I get the message. You don’t have a lot of time for answering letters. That’s OK with me, because I’m glad you are busy writing a book and chopping wood to keep warm.

  Something nice happened today. When I was hanging around behind the bushes at school waiting for the ten minutes to come before the first bell rings, I was watching Mr. Fridley raise the flags. Maybe I better explain that the state flag of California is white with a brown bear in the middle. First Mr. Fridley fastened the U.S. flag on the halyard (that’s a new word in my vocabulary) and then fastened the California flag below it. When he pulled the flags to the top of the flagpole, the bear was upside down with his feet in the air. I said, “Hey, Mr. Fridley, the bear is upside down.”

  This is a new paragraph because Miss Martinez says there should be a new paragraph when a different person speaks. Mr. Fridley said, “Well, so it is. How would you like to turn him right side up?”

  So I got to pull the flags down, turn the bear flag the right way and raise both flags again. Mr. Fridley said maybe I should come to school a few minutes early every morning to help him with the flags, but please stop walking backwards because it made him nervous. So now I don’t have to walk quite so slow. It was nice to have somebody notice me. Nobody stole anything from my lunch today because I ate it on the way to school.

  I’ve been thinking about what you said on your postcard about keeping a diary. Maybe I’ll try it.

  Sincerely,

  Leigh Botts

  December 13

  Dear Mr. Henshaw,

  I bought a composition book like you said. It is yellow with a spiral binding. On the front I printed

  DIARY OF LEIGH MARCUS BOTTS

  PRIVATE—KEEP OUT

  THIS MEANS YOU!!!!!

  When I started to write in it, I didn’t know how to begin. I felt as if I should write, “Dear Composition Book,” but that sounds dumb. So does “Dear Piece of Paper.” The first page still looks the way I feel. Blank. I
don’t think I can keep a diary. I don’t want to be a nuisance to you, but I wish you could tell me how. I am stuck.

  Puzzled reader,

  Leigh Botts

  December 21

  Dear Mr. Henshaw,

  I got your postcard with the picture of the bears. Maybe I’ll do what you said and pretend my diary is a letter to somebody. I suppose I could pretend to write to Dad, but I used to write to him and he never answered. Maybe I’ll pretend I am writing to you because when I answered all your questions, I got the habit of beginning, “Dear Mr. Henshaw.” Don’t worry. I won’t send it to you.

  Thanks for the tip. I know you’re busy.

  Your grateful friend,

  Leigh Botts

  PRIVATE DIARY OF LEIGH BOTTS

  Friday, December 22

  Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw,

  This is a diary. I will keep it, not mail it.

  If I eat my lunch on the way to school, I get hungry in the afternoon. Today I didn’t so the two stuffed mushrooms Mom packed in my lunch were gone at lunch period. My sandwich was still there so I didn’t starve to death, but I sure missed those mushrooms. I can’t complain to the teacher because it isn’t a good idea for a new boy in school to be a snitch.

  All morning I try to keep track of who leaves his seat to go behind the partition where we keep our lunches, and I watch to see who leaves the room last at recess. I haven’t caught anybody chewing, but Miss Martinez is always telling me to face the front of the room. Anyway, the classroom door is usually open. Anybody could sneak in if we were all facing front and Miss Martinez was writing on the blackboard.

  Hey, I just had an idea! Some authors write under made-up names. After Christmas vacation I’ll write a fictitious name on my lunchbag. That will foil the thief, as they say in books.

  I guess I don’t have to sign my name to a diary letter the way I sign a real letter that I would mail.

  Saturday, December 23

  Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw,

  This is the first day of Christmas vacation. Still no package from Dad. I thought maybe he was bringing me a present instead of mailing it, so I asked Mom if she thought he might come to see us for Christmas.

  She said, “We’re divorced. Remember?”

  I remember all right. I remember all the time.

  Sunday, December 24

  Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw,

  Still no package from Dad.

  I keep thinking about last Christmas when we were in the mobile home before Dad bought the tractor. He had to dodge the highway patrol to get home in time for Christmas. Mom cooked a turkey and a nice dinner. We had a Christmas tree about two feet high because there wasn’t room for a big one.

  At dinner Dad remarked that when he was driving along, he often saw one shoe lying on the highway. He always wondered how it got there and what happened to its mate.

  Mom said one shoe sounded sad, like a country-western song. While we ate our mince pie we all tried to think up songs about lost shoes. I’ll never forget them. Mine was worst:

  Driving with a heavy load

  I saw a shoe upon the road

  Squashed like a toad.

  Dad came up with:

  I saw a shoe

  Wet with dew

  On Highway 2.

  It made me blue.

  What’ll I do?

  Mom’s song really made us laugh. It was the best.

  A lonesome hiker was unluckee

  To lose his boot near Truckee.

  He hitched a ride with one foot damp

  Down the road to Angels Camp.

  Dumb songs, but we had a lot of fun. Mom and Dad hadn’t laughed that much for a long time, and I hoped they would never stop.

  After that, whenever Dad came home, I asked if he had seen any shoes on the highway. He always had.

  Monday, December 25

  Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw,

  Last night I was feeling low and was still awake after the gas station stopped pinging. Then I heard heavy feet coming up the steps, and for a minute I thought it was Dad until I remembered he always ran up steps.

  Mom is careful about opening the door at night. I heard her turn on the outside light and knew she was peeking out from behind the curtain. She opened the door, and a man said, “Is this where Leigh Botts lives?”

  I was out of bed and into the front room in a second. “I’m Leigh Botts,” I said.

  “Your Dad asked me to drop this off for you.” A man who looked like a trucker handed me a big package.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Thanks a whole lot.” I must have looked puzzled because he said, “He sent out a call over his CB radio for someone coming to Pacific Grove who would like to play Santa. So here I am. Merry Christmas and a ho-ho-ho!” He waved and was off down the walk before I could say anything more.

  “Wow!” I said to Mom. “Wow!” She just stood there in her robe smiling while I began to tear off the paper even if it wasn’t Christmas morning. Dad had sent what I always wanted—a quilted down jacket with a lot of pockets and a hood that zips into the collar. I tried it on over my pajamas. It was the right size and felt great. Getting a present from my Dad in time for Christmas felt even better.

  Today Katy invited us for Christmas dinner even though this has been a busy season for catering. She also had some of the other women who work with her and their kids and a few old people from her neighborhood.

  On the way home Mom said, “Katy has a heart as big as a football stadium. It was a lovely dinner for lonely hearts.”

  I wondered if she was thinking about last Christmas when we tried to make up songs about lonely lost shoes.

  Wednesday, January 3

  Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw,

  I got behind in my diary during Christmas vacation because I had a lot of things to do such as go to the dentist for a checkup, get some new shoes and do a lot of things that don’t get done during school.

  Today I wrote a fictitious name, or pseud. as they sometimes say, on my lunchbag. I printed Joe Kelly on it because that was the name of the boy in Ways to Amuse a Dog so I knew it was fictitious. I guess I fooled the thief because nobody stole the water chestnuts and chicken livers wrapped in bacon that Katy broiled just for me. They are good even when they are cold. I hope the thief drooled when he watched me eat them.

  Monday, January 8

  Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw,

  Dad phoned me from Hermiston, Oregon! I just looked in my book of road maps and saw where it is, up there by the Columbia River. He said he was waiting for a load of potatoes. I could hear a juke box and a bunch of men talking. I asked about Bandit, and he said Bandit was fine, a great listener on a long haul even though he doesn’t have much to say. I asked Dad if I could ride with him sometime next summer when school is out, and he said he’d see. (I hate answers like that.) Anyway, he said he was sending the support check and he was sorry he forgot and he hoped I liked the jacket.

  I sure wish Dad lived with us again, but he said he would phone in about a week and to keep my nose clean. He had to go to make sure the potatoes were loaded so they wouldn’t shift going around curves.

  This has been a good day. My lunch was safe again.

  Mr. Fridley is so funny. Lots of kids are having their teeth straightened so when they eat lunch, they take out their retainers and wrap them in paper napkins while they eat because nobody wants to look at a spitty retainer. Sometimes they forget and throw the napkin with the retainer into the garbage. Then they have to hunt through the cans of gooey garbage until they find their retainers because retainers cost a lot of money, and parents get mad if they get lost. Mr. Fridley always stands by the garbage cans to make sure kids who buy school lunches put their forks and spoons on a tray and not in the garbage. Whenever someone who wears a retainer scrapes his plate, Mr. Fridley says, “Look out. Don’t lose your false teeth.” This has cut down on lost retainers.

  Mom says I take after Dad in one thing. My teeth are nice and straight which is a big saving right th
ere.

  Tuesday, January 9

  Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw,

  My little cheesecake was missing at lunchtime which made me mad. I guess somebody noticed Joe Kelly’s lunch was really mine. When I went to throw my lunchbag in the garbage, Mr. Fridley said, “Cheer up, Leigh, or you’ll trip over your lower lip.”

  I said, “How would you feel if somebody was always stealing the good stuff from your lunch?”

  He said, “What you need is a burglar alarm.” A burglar alarm on a lunchbag. I had to laugh at that, but I still wanted my cheesecake.

  Dad should be phoning any day now. When I said that at supper (chili out of a can), Mom said for me not to get my hopes up, but I know Dad will remember this time. Mom never really says much about Dad, and when I ask why she divorced him, all she says is, “It takes two people to get a divorce.” I guess she means the same way it takes two people to have a fight.

  Tomorrow I am going to wrap my lunchbag in a lot of Scotch tape so nobody can sneak anything out of it.

  Wednesday, January 10

  Dear Mr. Pretend Henshaw,

  It’s funny how somebody says something, and you can’t forget it. I keep thinking about Mr. Fridley saying I needed a burglar alarm on my lunchbag. How could anybody put a burglar alarm on a paper bag? Today I used so much Scotch tape on my lunchbag, I had a hard time getting my lunch out. Everybody laughed.

  Dad should phone today or tomorrow. Maybe if he came home he would know how I could make a burglar alarm for my lunchbag. He used to be good about helping me build things, except there wasn’t much room in the mobile home we lived in, and you had to be careful where you pounded because a piece of plastic might break off something.