"I Am Just A Plain Boy:" Leigh Botts' Changing Conception of Self in Beverly Cleary's Dear Mr. Henshaw by Jean Streufert Patrick When I think about Henry Higgins, Beezus and Ramona Quimby, I still imagine them as I did as a child. Klickitat Street, where Beverly Cleary's characters lived, was somewhere in Oregon, I knew. But in my mind, Klickitat Street was my street, 4th Avenue, in Maywood, Illinois—and somehow, all of Cleary's characters lived on 4th Avenue, too. I liked Cleary's books because they were about what I considered to be "normal" everyday life, the less-than-glamorous life that I was leading in a middle-class Chicago suburb. I especially liked Cleary because she never treated her characters—who were, in some sense, myself—as average: average kids with average problems. Her characters were important, special. And, as I remembered, her characters always knew this about themselves, too. But I was disappointed when I first started to read Dear Mr. Henshaw (1983). Initially, I suppose I was disturbed because a Cleary "regular" was not receiving the Newbery Award. Not a Huggins, not a Quimby. Not even Ralph S. Mouse. Rather, some new kid—Leigh Botts—had stepped forward out of nowhere, wearing the Newbery seal. Also, I couldn't imagine this new character living on my Klickitat Street. He did not live in suburbia. His parents were divorced. And he told his own story, through a series of letters and diary entries, unlike Cleary's earlier characters. I could make room for these changes. Cleary had lots of characters besides those belonging to the Klickitat tribe. Also, "normal, everyday life" now included single parent families. But another change did disturb me, that of the protagonist's character. Unlike other Cleary characters, whom I remembered as having strong self images, Leigh saw himself as an average kid, possessing no unique attributes. Part of Leigh's response to Mr. Henshaw's first question, "Who are you" was: "I am just a plain boy." To the question "What do you look like?", Leigh droned, "I am sort of medium. I don't have red hair or anything like that. I'm not real big like my Dad. ... In first and second grades kids used to call me Leigh the Flea, but I have grown. Now when the class lines up according to height, I am in the middle. I guess you could call me the mediumest boy in the class" (DMH 15 Nov. 20). After about forty pages, I put the book down. This character, who judged himself as less than special, less than unique, was clearly un-Clearyish. Leigh did not belong with children like Beezus, whose uniqueness disturbed her or Henry, originator of creative ideas. And certainly, Leigh Botts did not belong on the same shelf with Ramona, who constantly expressed her uniqueness with her signature. Fortunately, I did finish reading Dear Mr. Henshaw. I watched Leigh struggle and grow through his interaction with his peers, through his writing, and through his relationship with his father. I watched Leigh acquire a positive self image, an assurance that he was a special individual. But more importantly, I carefully re-read the works of Cleary's canon, rather than relying on my memory to make that trip. Some differences I had noticed between Dear Mr. Henshaw and Cleary's other works were confirmed—setting, family, first person narration. However, I discovered that Leigh, as a character, is not drastically different from the Cleary characters of Klickitat Street. They, too, had struggled with their uniqueness. The self-assurance that I remembered and admired in each character was not a given. Although a journey as pronounced as Leigh's from "average" to unique had not occurred on Klickitat Street, that is not to say that Ramona's "logo" had never been threatened, or that Henry had never doubted his gifts of creativity. Leigh was not the first Cleary character who struggled to see himself as unique. For example, in Henry and the Paper Route (1957), Henry initially sees himself as an exceptional ten-year-old, exceptional enough to hold a paper route, although Scotter McCarthy and Mr. Capper...