It doesn't matter how many times I've been called a name, it still hurts - and it still always comes as such a surprise that I never know how to respond. Or maybe I do, but I'm afraid.

Words played an important part in my growing up. Not only the written word... but words that flew through the air: jokes, riddles, puns.

Humor is the most precious gift I can give to my reader, a reminder that the world is not such a terribly serious place. There is more than video games and drugs and nuclear threats; there is laughter, and there is hope.

Harold (about max): he looks kinda like a football couch
Chester (sarcastically): Yay team rah rah. if he says anything athletic i'll scream
max: want to jog?
(chester screams).

I hated that the soldier doll had my name. I mean, please. I didn't play with him much. He was another Christmas present from my clueless grandparents. One time when they were visiting, my grandpa asked me if G.I. Joe had been in any wars lately. I said, "No, but he and Ken got married last week." Every Christmas since then, my grandparents have sent me a check.

Kids who get called the worst names oftentimes find each other. That's how it was with us. Skeezie Tookis and Addie Carle and Joe Bunch and me. We call ourselves the Gang of Five, but there are only four of us. We do it to keep people on their toes. Make 'em wonder. Or maybe we do it because we figure that there's one more kid out there who's going to need a gang to be part of. A misfit,like us.