Dewey’s Family
is on a Roll

After dinner that night, Dewey’s mom picked up the package of toilet paper from the counter and went to put it away under the bathroom sink.

“Hey, Mom. That’s mine. Dad bought it for me to give to Colin.”

Dewey explained to his mom all about the t-issue at school and how Colin was all riled up about it.

“Oh, I love a good cause,” she cheered. “Let’s write him a note of support on one of the rolls of toilet paper!”

Dewey laughed. “That’s hilarious! Colin just told me about some Japanese author who wrote a whole book that way.”

“I wanna help. Can I help?”

“Sure,” Dewey told Pooh. “Why not?” Toilet paper, it didn’t seem to him, would stretch her out of her area of expertise too much.

Dewey’s mom cleared the table of all the books, dishes, and sweatshirts. Their table got loaded with stuff throughout the week, which meant his mom had both arms full of items tucked under her chin as she walked toward the stairs. “Go get a few different kinds of pens. We want to figure out which one writes best on the toilet paper without leaking or tearing.”

“Okay,” replied Dewey, staring at his mom turned foreman.

“Pooh B, you make sure the table is all dry,” she motioned.

“This is going to be interesting.” Stephanie glanced up to contribute that observation from the couch, where she was laying, then returned to her homework.

Dewey’s dad was parked in the garage office doing his own homework and lesson planning.

“Okay, Dews, how should we start?” His mom didn’t wait for an answer though and just unrolled the paper and began writing:

“‘Dear Colin,

We heard that you might have a sticky situation on your—’”

“Mom! NO!” Dewey and Pooh Bear laughed, and Stephanie looked up from her work with her mouth dropped open.

“What? No good?”

“No good!” asserted Dewey more firmly.

“Fine then,” conceded Dewey’s mom. “You start.”

“How about:

‘Dear Colin,’”

Dewey’s mind was blank.

“‘Dear Colin’ . . .”

“We hear you have been called to duty?” his mom gingerly submitted.

“Not bad!” laughed Dewey.

“How is that any better than Mom’s first sentence?” groaned Stephanie.

“No, no. It’s more subtle,” said Dewey’s mom.

Stephanie added only, “Hmm.”

“‘Dear Colin,’”

his mom continued writing.

“‘Your tissue issue,’

no, wait—” She tore off the sheet of toilet paper, squished up what she’d written and started over.

“‘Dear Colin,

Your t-issue is a call to duty!’”

“How’s that?” She looked up to Dewey, Pooh, and Stephanie for approval.

“Good!” nodded Dewey.

Pooh Bear agreed. Stephanie didn’t look up from her book.

“Okay then.” She handed Dewey the pen. “You want to write now?”

“No, you print nicer. You do it.”

So, they began again, and then it just began to, well, roll out of them.

Somewhere between “flushing with joy,” and “ultra-strong-mega man” Stephanie couldn’t help herself and began to contribute to the project. By the time they completed it, they were all laughing so hard that they were crying.

“Dewey, hand me one of those other rolls,” his mom pleaded so she could wipe the tears of laughter that now streamed down her cheeks—so much you’d think she’d been cutting onions.

When Dewey’s dad came in and read it, he laughed at almost every line.

Dear Colin,

Your t-issue is a call to duty! We hope this gift will make you flush with joy!

You are the ultra-strong-mega man who, number one, is going to wipe the administration’s t-issue clean and, number two, get the kid who runs back to class there on time! A clip isn’t going to make you the butt of anyone’s joke! You’re on fire! Stop, drop, and roll! Well, we really gotta go now.

Love,

The Fairchilds

“Boy, you guys really were on a roll!”

“Har, har!” replied Dewey, feeling proud that they’d impressed his dad with their humor. This was usually the kind of thing they’d do with his help.

“I helped roll it back up,” said Dewey’s little sister.

“Good work, Tiger.” Dewey’s dad pat her head. “I think you’d better go get ready for bed now.”

Stephanie, who never had to be told to wash up and get ready for bed because she loved to get into bed and read, had already disappeared for the night. She had been the one to contribute the last line, “we really gotta go.”

It felt quietly delightful to Dewey to have Stephanie contribute and be a part of it. He loved when she joined in with them.

“You too, Dews,” directed his mom. Dewey gathered up the rolls and put them on top of his backpack so he’d be sure to remember them in the morning. He headed upstairs to bed for the night.

“I’ll be up in a few minutes to tuck you in,” she said.

When she entered his room, she turned off his light and sat at the edge of his bed. The decals of the planets and stars on his ceiling glowed in the dark overhead.

Dewey told his mom how funny it had been that his dad’s student, that Gabe kid, got so nervous in the produce aisle of the grocery store. “He acted like dad was some sort of rock star or something. I’m not even exaggerating.”

Mom laughed. “Well, that’s sort of sweet,” she smiled.

“I guess so. Rock star! Ha! He’s just a guy who sings annoyingly loud in the morning and wears bad socks!”

“You don’t like his socks?” she laughed. “I had no idea you even noticed.”

“They’re hard to miss with Big Bird, Darth Vader, and Minecraft Steve on them,” he groaned.

Mom laughed again.

“I’ll bet his student—what was his name again?”

“Gabe.”

“I’ll bet Gabe doesn’t picture him as a dad with bad socks singing loudly in your kitchen. Can you picture your teachers at home being regular people brushing their teeth and tucking their kids into bed?” she said as she pulled the covers around him. “Probably not,” she added and punctuated it with a kiss on his cheek.

“Night, Dews,” she walked out and closed his door.

Dewey never even thought about his teachers outside of school. Why would he? But he didn’t think he’d be as goofy and nervous as Gabe if he ran into one squeezing avocados, either. Dewey stared up at the ceiling and wondered what his teachers were really like. Did Mr. Jordan go to the beach? Did Mrs. Harrington eat cereal for breakfast? Did Mr. Nisano wear Captain America boxers and sing in the shower? Dewey chuckled at the thought.

Then, as if one of those stars on his ceiling shot across the sky, Dewey felt a thought shoot right across his belly. He sat straight up in his bed. Was it possible that Mr. Nisano bored the daylight out of his students, but wasn’t a boring person? Let’s face it, thought Dewey, if William ran into Mr. Nisano squeezing produce, he wouldn’t really know any more about Mr. Nisano than that kid Gabe knew about Dad.

Dewey could always feel it when he finally began to unravel a knot in a case, and he knew at last he had loosened this one.

He’d go research Mr. Nisano, the home man, not the teacher. Dewey felt certain that once there, he’d somehow find the solution to the problem.

With that, he let out a big breath of air he hadn’t even realized he was holding in, settled back down into his pillows, and closed his eyes.

I gotta get rid of these glow in the dark decals one of these days, he thought as he began to drift off to sleep. They keep me up at night.