Dear Hank Williams by Kimberly Willis Holt Page B

play that in front of the audience. It doesn’t matter how you jazz up that song, it still sounds like a silly kiddy tune. But I keep Aunt Patty Cake happy by showing up at Mrs. Applebud’s every day after school and playing those stupid scales.
    And almost every day Mrs. Applebud says to me, “I could wait and go over to the cemetery later in the day, if you would want to go with me.” And when she says that, I say, “No, ma’am. Thank you, kindly.” I don’t have plans to take up cemetery walking as a hobby.
    Mr. Williams, I’ve learned that just because some folks don’t believe in me doesn’t mean I should stop believing in myself. And I’m not alone. She’s never heard my singing, but Garnett believes in me, and so do Frog and Lovie, and they’ve heard me.
    Rest assured, I’m still singing at the talent show.
    Living on the sunny side despite all opposition,
    Tate P.

 
    March 6, 1949
    Dear Mr. Williams,
    F ROG AND ME got so excited about seeing Zion with her momma coming up our driveway. We waved, but when she started toward us, her momma said, “Remember what I told you.”
    Zion said, “Yes, ma’am,” then walked slowly over to us.
    â€œFrog and me were wondering when you would come back,” I told her. She looked scared. Then I realized Lovie was with us and she’d never seen her.
    â€œThis is Lovie.” I showed her how to hold out her palm and let Lovie smell her good.
    Lovie sniffed at her hand and licked her knuckles. Well, Zion practically melted into a puddle. Her fear seemed to disappear, and her face broke into a big grin. That warmed up my insides. I like when people like my dog.
    â€œDo you want to hear my song again? I’ve been practicing a lot.”
    She nodded, and I told her to sit right next to Frog.
    She kept standing.
    â€œI don’t want to sit next to him,” she said.
    â€œSuit yourself,” I said, but I could tell Frog was sad about it.
    Zion settled across from him. Lovie left Frog’s side and settled down by Zion. I wonder if Frog forgot to take his bath last night and I’d gotten used to his stink.
    I began to sing my song, but Zion didn’t look impressed. She stared toward my house like she couldn’t wait to leave. Then, right in the middle of my song, her momma walked outside. Zion stood up and took off. “I gotta go.”
    I thought about hollering, “How do you think I did? Do I sound like I’m singing from my heart now?” But I changed my mind because of the way she’d treated Frog.
    I was so mad, I took it out on him. “Get over here, Frog. Let me get a good whiff of you.” Frog obeyed. I took a deep breath through my nose. He smelled as sweet as honeysuckles. Some folks have peculiar ways, and clearly Zion Washington is one of them.
    Fuming over rude people (but not for long),
    Tate P.

 
    March 12, 1949
    Dear Mr. Williams,
    T ODAY IS MY BIRTHDAY. I woke up to the sound of the light ping of rain hitting our roof. A moment later sheets of rain came down, and thunder growled in the distance. When a bolt of lightning cracked the sky, Lovie crawled under my bed and whimpered. This is not the way anyone wants to start off her birthday. But folks should never let the weather decide what sort of day they’re going to have. So I put on my happy face and wandered into the kitchen.
    Silly Uncle Jolly stood in front of the stove, banging an iron skillet with a serving spoon. He started singing some made-up song. He sang it to the tune of “The Farmer in the Dell.” “ The birthday girl is up, the birthday girl is up. Ding Dong, jig-a-long, the birthday girl is up. It’s pancake day today, it’s pancake day today. Ding Dong, jig-a-long, it’s pancake day today. How many pancakes do you want, Sweet Tater?”
    Aunt Patty Cake walked in and poured herself a cup of coffee. “I believe I like your birthday