I am
scared to death of my 6-month-old granddaughter, Olivia, or Liv, as we call
her. Not that she menaces the world, but the fact that I’m regularly called
upon to babysit her has me wondering if I’m good at anything. It’s amazing how
a child so small can make me feel so utterly helpless, if not useless.
I can
make her laugh and I can feed her a bottle. I sit with her as she tries to eat
a “crinkly book” or knocks down blocks, and I’m very good at holding her while
she burrows into my shoulder, clinging to my sweatshirt to fall asleep. Diapers
are no problem, as at age 72, I’ve come to believe the world is full of crap.
And drool? No worries at all. Someday, I’ll lose all my teeth, and I’ll drool
with the best of them.
Usually,
I share the duty of babysitting with my wife, Kim, who, honestly, is a master
at all things children. Patient, loving, kind, and generous are just some of
the qualities my wife possesses. I have those same qualities, but not in the
quantities Kim possesses. And I get flustered, something that doesn’t happen to
Kim.
Liv has
me constantly panicking whether I am good at being a grandparent, or “Papa” as
Mason, Liv’s almost three-year-old brother, calls me. I am not the best
grandfather, I must confess, but I try to be.
On Tuesday
of this week, I am called upon to babysit Liv for a full day: 8:30 a.m. to about
3:30 or 4:00 p.m. That is a long, long time to ride solo in Liv’s world. Kim
won’t be there to help (or take over- something I don’t mind at all). I am by
myself.
I love Liv
to pieces. I really mean that. I am good at making her laugh and encouraging
her to talk her baby babble (I think Liv makes more sense than I do most of the
time.) But I worry about the length of time with her being solo doing it. I
worry quite a bit about that.
I worry
whether I will hurt her unintentionally, causing her harm- physically or psychically.
I couldn’t live with myself if I ever did that.
Mason, whom
I already mentioned, will be three in one month. I don’t really remember him
being Liv’s age, though I know he once was. We have pictures to prove it. He
and I get along like old pals, buds. He is so funny and talks nonstop. I get
him, and I think he gets me. I love him to pieces, too.
But
there is a big, humongous difference between an almost three-year-old and a
six-month-old. I can handle Mason fairly easily. I can play with him, and he
and I can read books together. He sings to himself (akin to my talking to myself,
I think). He is loud and I’m okay with that, because Kim accuses me of being
noisy and loud. Perhaps Mason and I are cut from the same cloth.
Liv is
quieter, at least at this point. She studies me with her big blue eyes. Perhaps
accuses and judges me with those same eyes.
But
duty calls me on Tuesday. I will willingly serve, though I might wet myself
along with her. Okay, that’s being over-dramatic, but you get my point. I’m
scared. Not anxious or worried- scared. I will put on my brave face, smile a
lot, and do my very best. I’m still new at being a grandparent, and I wouldn’t trade
it for anything. It’s the best gig in the world. It just scares the hell out of
me and makes me think of myself as an inept hack. But I’ll live, and Liv will
too. Think of me, kind soul. Please. A prayer or two wouldn’t hurt either. Something to think about ...
Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!
If you are interested in any of my books, you can find them at www.jrlewisauthor.com My publisher, Black Rose Writing, now has all of my books translated into both German and Spanish, and all are available in Audible, Kindle, and Paperback formats.
I am proud of the fact that I've won approximately 20 awards: Maxy Awards, PenCraft Awards, BestThriller Awards, among others.
I'm currently working on my eleventh book, The Disappeared, and I hope to have it completed and edited this summer, and then published (on a date/time to be determined).
Nobody talks about what happens when the kid everyone ignores finally gets noticed.
Have you ever wondered what kind of pain it takes to turn an invisible teenager into someone willing to kill?
So I wrote a thriller about it.
These are two statements/questions I had in mind when I wrote my book, Fan Mail. I used characters from my fictional family of seven adopted brothers and my trio of cops. The story takes place in Waukesha, Wisconsin, where all or most of my stories take place. Real city, real school (Waukesha North High School) where I taught and coached for five years before I put away my coach’s whistle (I never actually used a whistle) and put my psychology lessons in a box as a just in case, and moved on to being a counselor at a smaller school south and east of Waukesha for one year before moving to California to do the same.
Let me tell you how I arrived at these two statements/questions …
I was a teacher, coach, counselor, and administrator for forty-nine years, semi-retiring in 2020. I still substitute for counselors and administrators, but mostly I stay home now and write. I take care of preparing meals and I clean the house (probably not to Kim’s liking, I’m sure). There are joyful days when I get to babysit for one or both of our grandchildren, Mason and Olivia. It is the best life.
In those forty-nine years, I’ve seen it all, or mostly all, and I’ve experienced firsthand isolation, meanness, and death. Death of kids, staff, and teachers. I watched helplessly as a few kids fell between the cracks. Perhaps more than a few.
My last year of teaching, I had a student in my psychology class. I’ll name him Tim. Tim sat in the back row on the left side of the room. Unless it was a paired or group activity, he didn’t interact with anyone. He sat, listened, and took notes. Tim never missed an assignment. I just took him to be a shy, quiet, and reserved young man who didn’t have any friends in that class.
He graduated in May of that year. After the ceremony, after any party that might have taken place, after his family was in bed, Tim put on his graduation gown, took his father’s rifle, and shot himself. Tim had sat by himself in the family room of his house for the last time.
A quiet kid who, by everyone’s account, was a good kid. Responsible, quiet, or reserved. A kid who had walked the hallways of the school with about 1,200 other students. A young man who had eaten in the cafeteria with the other kids. But on the night he graduated, he came home and killed himself.
To this day, I can picture him. I still hear his voice answering one of my questions. There was absolutely no indication that he was in pain. Tim was just an ordinary, average kid. A nice kid with a friendly smile, even.
By that time, I had a counseling degree and a psychology background. I taught psychology, and my goal for each of my students in the psychology classes I taught was to help them understand themselves a little better. That was what the culminating project was all about. And to this day, there was nothing in his project that gave me any clue how he felt. I thought I knew kids. Hell, I believe I know kids. But tragically, I didn’t know Tim, which makes me believe I don’t know kids at all.
Most of us were alive when the tragedy at Columbine High School took place. Thirteen students and one teacher were killed by two students, Dylan Klebold, 17, and Eric Harris, 18.
I remember the horror of it. Since then, there have been oh so many other shootings and deaths of children in schools across the country. Ugly, horrifying, grotesque, and above all, needless.
As a counselor, I must have seen and spoken with hundreds of kids in my office, or walked the hallways, or sat in the cafeteria, in the gym, or practice fields. I learned from them more than they learned from me. I remember some of the more memorable ones. The heartbreak, the pain, the lack of understanding of “why” something did or didn’t happen. Many, I’m still connected with over social media – the happier ones. Some have families of their own now. Some are working at their first adult job now. From the sound of their posts, texts, and phone calls, they seem happy and productive. But then again, I thought I knew Tim, too.
As a principal, I had several students die tragically in a traffic accident, and we held the celebration of life in the packed school gym. In the day or two after the accident, before that ceremony, I sat on the floor talking to a girl who was a good friend of the two girls. I said little, mostly listened, and to this day I wonder if I had said enough, had done enough. I had another student at my most recent school pass away from an aggressive brain tumor. We rushed his commencement ceremony so that he and his parents could tell everyone that he had graduated. It was a beautiful ceremony, tearful and sad, but at the same time, we were pleased we could do this for him and for his family. It was one of the toughest days as a principal I ever had.
I still think of those kids. The faces I still recall without remembering some of their names. The tall kid who wore the trench coat, whose father battled but succumbed to cancer. The kids battling addiction and the worried parents, and of course, some parents who didn’t know their kids had any addiction. The kid who was out of control and had to be wrestled to the kid and held safely by one of my assistant principals. The two kids who were shot at lunch on the grounds by a kid returning books to the library. The girl who had her face sliced out of jealously by another girl. And as I sit here and write this, I wonder why? And how? Mostly, I wonder if I could have helped before it took place.
And after all those years, or perhaps throughout all those years, I came up with two questions or statements about quiet kids and tough choices, and kids falling between the cracks. Kids who walk the hallways and sit in classrooms and who go unnoticed. Who might have walked past me, hoping someone like me would reach out and talk to them. I have many questions and not a lot of answers, but I centered my book, Fan Mail, on these two:
Nobody talks about what happens when the kid everyone ignores finally gets noticed.
Have you ever wondered what kind of pain it takes to turn an invisible teenager into someone willing to kill?
Fan Mail was born from those questions/comments/statements. It became a Maxy Award Finalist, a Literary Titan Gold Book Award Winner, and a Reader’s Favorite Award Winner.
In Fan Mail, there is a boy of sixteen suffering from pain from all he has been through. Despite the neglect and dislike he feels first from his biological parents and then his adopted father, Brian will do anything he can to protect his family, especially his brothers. Brian blames himself for causing so much stress that his father suffered a heart attack. And despite having had a verbal altercation with one of his adopted brothers, Brian enters a room at school knowing that another student has a gun and is willing to use it. Brian pays a price for his willingness to save two of his brothers and a friend.
The question of what kind of pain it takes to turn an invisible teenager into someone willing to kill was at the forefront each time I sat down to write Fan Mail. The fact is, we do not know the pain kids feel or how much pain it takes for someone to pull a trigger aimed at another student. As a counselor and principal, I was very much aware of staff members and teachers who carry baggage with them each time they enter a classroom and who suffer pain each day they come to school to teach or to do other educationally related tasks.
We are human beings. We feel pain and we suffer. Hopefully, we feel joy and love, and acceptance more than pain and isolation. That is the core of Fan Mail. That is the truth in and among the pages I wrote. If there is a moral between the covers of my book, it is that we must sometimes put others ahead of ourselves. That we must consider that others suffer, to a greater or lesser extent, and suffer as much as we do.
Bottom line: with some sort of post graduate degree or not, we don’t know what others are experiencing or feeling, or thinking about day to day as we rub elbows with them. So we have to take care not only of ourselves, but each other- students, kids, staff, and teachers. And maybe even an administrator. Something to think about …
Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!
If you are interested, the link to Fan Mail is https://tinyurl.com/37xyxe3r It is available in Audible, Kindle/ebook, and Paperback.
Here is an exciting message from my publisher,Black Rose Writing:
We’re excited to introduce a new opportunity for our Rosevine subscribers:
The Black Rose Writing All Access Library
For the first time, you can enjoy unlimited access to our entire ebook catalog for one simple annual membership
What you receivefor$99 per year:
• Unlimited access to Black Rose Writing ebooks • The ability to request any title at any time (EPUB or PDF) • Early access to select new releases and ARCs up to 30 days before publication
Once enrolled, we will send you an automatic notification for you to email your request
We’ll send your ebook directly to you
Why readers are joining
If you enjoy discovering new authors and reading across genres, this gives you the freedom to explore the full Black Rose Writing catalog without purchasing individual titles.
Many readers spend far more than $99 per year on books—this gives you unlimited access for less than the cost of a few titles.
Perfect for readers who
• Enjoy discovering new authors • Read multiple books each year • Want early access to upcoming releases • Prefer direct, easy access to books
Annual Membership
$99 per year
No monthly fees. No limits.
If you’re ready to explore the full Black Rose Writing catalog, sign up using the link above and start reading.
We look forward to sharing more great books with you.
—
Lastly, I am nearing the end of my newest book, The Disappeared. It features Brian, George, and three cops who inhabit the pages of all my books. I submitted a partial to Black Rose Writing and as I wait for their response, I happily continue to write to completion. I hope to have good news for you in a later post.
I’d love to hear your thoughts, so please use the comment section below. As always, thank you for following along on my writing journey. Until next time …
In my
72 years, I’ve experienced some incredibly dark times. The death of my son. The
death of four of my six sisters, the death of my nephew, and the deaths of my
parents. There have been deaths of long-time friends, and students who have
passed away on my watch. A heck of a lot of death, all told.
I’ve
struggled with debt and bills very early in my career. In 2020, I struggled and
debated whether I should retire or keep working. I chose to retire, even though
deep down I wanted to keep doing what I love: working with kids. Fortunately, I
was and am able to continue doing that, be it part time and at the times I choose.
And when I’m not doing that, I get to do my other two loves: babysit my
grandkids and write. I wake up and spend my time the way I want. But it was
scary at first until I found my groove (to use my baby boomer vernacular).
I think
it’s safe to say most, if not all, of us experience dark times. Some of those
times last a long, long time, with unrelenting ugliness. Yet there are other
times when they don’t last a long time, but hurt a ton nonetheless.
I found
my strength in two Bible passages I claim as my favorites. Matthew 7:7 (NIV)
states: “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the
door will be opened to you.” This verse has been incredibly important to me,
and what a gift it has been for me. It is a gift for anyone who is willing to
take it at its face value. An offer of hope. All one has to do is ask, see, or
knock. Most importantly, have faith in those words. I have and I’ve never been
disappointed. Never.
The
other is a more recent favorite, but its meaning is similar, if not the same,
as Matthew 7:7. It comes from the prophet Jeremiah29:11(NIV).
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you
and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” He (God and/or Jesus) already has it
figured out for us, for me and you. He has plans for us. Yes, for us! But
again, most importantly, we must have faith in those words.
Faith is not easy, and it isn’t for the faint
of heart. It is something you feel and intuitively know. Some might think I am
foolish for this belief, but I know beyond any doubt that these two verses have
been proven time and time again in my life.
I have several posts through the years about light
behind the clouds. Check out my post, “Stars” from February 15, 2020. Or
perhaps, “Unsettled and Uncomfortable” from August 15, 2021. Maybe check out my
post, “A Valley” from September 5, 2020. All three tell us the same thing: the
sun might be hidden behind a cloud, but it is still there. The sun might be
shrouded in the dark of night, but the sun will pop out in the morning light.
Yes, I am a Pollyanna. The glass is not just
half-full with me; it is nearly full. While Eeyore is my favorite character
from Winnie the Pooh, being around Eeyore people as I travel through life can
drive me absolutely bonkers. Like Typhoid Mary, who brought sickness to anyone
she encountered, an Eeyore is certain to bring doom and gloom to all he or she comes
into contact with. I’d rather be surrounded by Pollyannas than Eeyores.
I feel my proven belief in Matthew 7:7 and
Jeremiah 29:11 allows me to be a Pollyanna. No matter how much time I spend in
darkness, no matter what trial I encounter, my faith rooted in these two verses
will get me through it. It is my faith, and it is my hope. Give it a try. You
might like it. Something to think about …
I want to give you a heads up. I am no
longer on Facebook or Threads. Someone hacked my
account for the third or fourth time, and I’ve chosen at the moment to not
build a new page. Maybe sometime in the future I will try again. I also have a
new Instagram account.
You can connect with me, though,
on Instagram, BlueSky, Substack, TikTok,
and X (formerly Twitter).
2026
began rather horribly for me. In the space of two months, three of my former
colleagues lost spouses or passed away themselves. February rolled along, and I
received a phone call that my brother-in-law is now in hospice because of
mesothelioma. He can’t carry on a conversation without coughing through it, can’t
do stairs any longer, and has since moved in with his youngest daughter’s
family. But that wasn’t the end.
One day
after his birthday, my son-in-law, Quaevon, received a phone call that his
grandfather had passed away. This was a significant blow to Q because his
grandparents helped raise him. While in high school, Q lived with them because
he didn’t want to change schools after his mother moved to a different
district. And to make it all the worse, his grandmother passed away exactly one
year to the day Q received the phone call about his grandfather. In the time
between both deaths, his grandfather lost his home because of a lightning
strike and the resultant fire. His grandfather was blind, and the new home he
was living in before his death was foreign to him. For a blind person,
familiarity is key and comfort.
Couple
all of this to the deaths in Minnesota, the detaining of children and infants,
and with many, their whereabouts being unknown.
The
beginning of 2026 has been difficult and ugly. But while ugly, it is not the
end nor will it never not change.
I am
reminded of that each time my grandson, Mason, age two and a half, calls me Papa
and asks his mom and dad when he will get to go to Papa and Ahma’s house. Or
when I see my new granddaughter, Olivia, smile at me. I am also reminded that 2026
can still be a good year when I read an article or watch a video of Josh Allen
visiting children in a hospital and the time he spends signing autographs and
talking with kids. Many athletes do the same, but what I enjoy about Allen is
that he does it with so much energy and enthusiasm. Each time an article
appears, or a video pops up, it makes me smile.
There
is one video I saw recently that brought happy tears to my eyes. It was of a middle
school football team and what they did- on their own without their coaches
knowing about it- that was special.
My wife
spent almost thirty years teaching middle school kids. I did my student
teaching in a middle school way back in my early career for one semester, and
more recently, worked in a middle school part-time for almost two years. Middle
school kids can appear to be feral at times. Hormones rage. Kids acting without
thought or reason. Middle school kids can be messy at times. Not all the time,
and perhaps not all middle schools. But …
This
particular story I watched was a beautiful example of middle school kids doing
it right, going above and beyond self to give a teammate and classmate a “moment.”
The boy
is autistic and has boundary issues. He hugs everyone. The kids, and in
particular his teammates, are used to it. They hug him back. Some will even see
him coming and say, “Hugs!” to him as a welcoming gesture.
During
a football game, the team came up with a plan, unbeknownst to their coaches. It
was decided to get the ball as close to the goal line as possible and then end
the play. Sure enough, at about the eight or nine yard line, the running back
took the handoff and could have easily scored just by walking in. Instead, he
knelt down at the one yard line. No one was around him. As I said, he could
have easily walked in.
But in
his own words, in a quiet voice and with tear-filled eyes, he explained, “The
score wasn’t important. My touchdown wasn’t important. It was a chance to give
a guy something special.”
That
guy was the autistic teammate who seldom received the opportunity to play in a
game. Timeout was called. The running back ran to the sideline and pushed and
prodded the autistic kid onto the field and told him to run to the huddle. In
the huddle, his teammates explained he was going to get the ball, and he needed
to score a touchdown.
He did,
and his teammates rushed him and cheered for him. Probably for the first time
in this kid’s life. “It was a chance to give a guy something special.”
When I
was principal at a small school in Wisconsin, there was a senior who had
cancer. Because of his condition, and because of the many surgeries he had,
David couldn’t play in a game. Until one time …
The
coach, a remarkable man, spoke with the opposing coach and told him about David
and that his team wanted to get David the ball. The idea was for David to run a
simple five yard stop, catch the ball, and then he would run out of bounds so
he wouldn’t sustain injury. To make it fair, on the very next play, a senior captain,
a tackle, would move before the snap, causing a five yard penalty, giving back
the five yards David had earned with his catch.
I don’t
remember if we won or lost that night. It doesn’t matter. What mattered was
that “it was a chance to give a guy something special.”
Yes,
2026 started ugly. And just as in life, 2026 will have beautiful and memorable
moments, too. That’s life, isn’t it? Highs and lows. Good with the bad. Joy
with the pain. It’s life. We take it, live with it, and in most cases, grow
from it. Something to think about …
Live
Your Life, and Make A Difference!
To
My Readers:
I want to give you a heads up. I am no longer on Facebook
or Threads. Someone hacked my account for the third or fourth time, and
I’ve chosen at the moment to not build a new page. Maybe sometime in the future
I will try again. I also have a new Instagram account.
You can connect with me, though, on Instagram, BlueSky,
Substack, TikTok, and X (formerly Twitter).
I have two sales and signing events coming up for those of you
in the Fredericksburg, VA area.
On Saturday, Feb. 28, I will be at Barnes and Noble in
Central Park, Fredericksburg, VA from 1:00 to 4:00 pm. I will have
all ten of my books for sale and signing. I hope to see you there.
On Saturday, Mar. 7, I will be at the Howell
Library (formerly England Run) located in Stafford County, at 806 Lyons Boulevard,
Fredericksburg, VA from 11:00 am to 2:00 pm. I will be in the library lobby,
just inside the main doors. Hope to see you there!
Like
many of you, I watched the bowl game last night between Oregon and Indiana. A
heck of a game, and to be honest, I vacillated on who I wanted to win. Both are
from the Big Ten, with Oregon being a recent addition. Indiana had been at the
bottom for so long, but this year, they turned it around and went undefeated.
They have an opportunity to win the College Football Championship. From the
very bottom to the top of the heap!
But one team had to lose. No ties. One winner and
one loser.
As a high school basketball coach, I’ve been there. One
team I coached won a state championship- the second smallest school in the
state of Wyoming! The year before, we had played for the championship and lost.
It happens.
I changed high schools after a two-year stint as a
graduate assistant at a university, and I taught and coached at a moderately
large school in Wisconsin. Loved it. In my last year, I resigned at the
beginning of the season, effective at the end of the season, because I wanted
to end with my seniors, a great group of young men. We didn’t go as far as we had
wanted, like Oregon, last night. I felt for the coach, and I felt for the team.
Been there. Felt it. It hurts.
What impressed me was what head coach Dan Lanning
said after the game. I’m going to cut and paste it from an article on MSN.com
for you, because I don’t want to misinterpret his words and inject my own. It
would be a disservice to him and to you who read my posts. This is what Coach
Lanning said: --
The Hardest Part of Being in the Locker Room Right Now:
“Man,
you hurt for those guys because the world is going to judge everybody in that
room based on the result tonight. I’m going to judge those guys on the kind of
fathers they become someday, the kind of husbands they become someday. But in
this moment, you feel like a failure, right, for them, and they’re not. They’re
not failures. These guys won a lot of damn ball games. They’ve had a lot of
success. They’ve changed some people’s lives, but right now, that moment is
going to hurt.”
“And the hard part, you
know, you got guys like Bryce (Boettcher) that they don’t get to be a Duck
anymore. They will be a Duck forever, but he does not get to go wear that
uniform and go play a game for us again. I really wanted that for them, really
wanted them to be able to enjoy that and experience that, and they don’t get
to.”
“And I didn’t do a good enough job of getting them there.
They set the stage where there might be an opportunity down the road where
somebody in this program is able to create something like that again, but he
won’t get to share that. But he will be a part of that if we’re able to
accomplish that moving forward.”
What Quarterback Dante
Moore Can Learn From This Experience:
“I think
every man can learn from adversity. I just told that whole locker room, right,
this is going to be about how you respond in life. This is going to be a life
lesson that a lot of people never get. We just got our butt kicked. Right? That’s
going to happen in life, right, and not just Dante. Every single person in the
locker room, every coach, every person can learn, ‘Hey, how do you respond to
that?’ Some people crawl into a hole, right, don’t face the music.”
“Some people say, ‘Okay,
let’s figure it out. Let me challenge myself so I can be better. Let me be an
example of how you handle moments like this.’ I think there is a way to handle
that. Dante has been exceptional. Bryce, these guys have been exceptional,
stewards of what we wanted to look like all year long. And it’s gone right for
us 13 times. Didn’t go right tonight. And you can’t let that overshadow.”
“Every one of us has unbelievable disappointment. Learn
from it. But there’s a lot of lessons to be learned for everybody in life, and
we’ll learn the hard lessons here. And you know what, most people will never be
in the position where they get to learn that lesson that we get to learn on.
These guys were in that position.”
His (Coach Lanning’s) Opening
Statement:
“First
off, all the credit in the world to Indiana. Said it before that they’re an
unbelievably well-coached team. I think that was really apparent tonight. They
started off hot, and they really didn’t slow down. They were able to run it and
have success. Passing at their defense played outstanding. We were able to
generate a little momentum there at times, but we were so far in the hole that
you really couldn’t create yourself out of that.”
“And the
takeaway is obviously they were able to create some. We didn’t create those.
They won average starting field position throughout the night. Their special
teams were special. You see a really complete team. And I think they obviously
have a great chance to keep it going and have unbelievable success. Credit to
the coach Cignetti and credit to those players. They’ve got great leadership
and a veteran team that really showed up.” --
I think
we can learn a great deal from Coach Lanning’s comments. To say what he said in
the way he said it is the mark of a humble, compassionate, and wise leader.
Those young men who played and will play for him, those coaches who coached
alongside him, will be better human beings from having been associated with
him. Honestly, his comments, his actions, and his demeanor on the sideline make
me want to get to know him. Even more and even at age 72, it makes me want to
grab a helmet and some shoulder pads and play for him. Hell, I’ll even be the
ball or water boy. If I had a son, that’s the man I’d want coaching him,
learning from him. Something to think about …
Live
Your Life, and Make A Difference!
To My Readers:
I wanted to make sure I
shared the following promo code for the Holiday Season!
For
those of you in the Fredericksburg, Virginia, area, I will be at a sale and
signing for all my books at the Howell Library (formerly
England Run) located in Stafford County, at 806 Lyons
Boulevard Fredericksburg, VA 22406 on Saturday, January 24, from 11:00 a.m. to
2:00 p.m. I will be in the library lobby just inside the main doors. Hope
to see you there!
I
wrote something similar to this post back in 2017, entering my 41st
year in education. Much has happened to me and in life since that time. I’m now
retired, only doing substitute work for counselors and administrators, but
nothing day to day. And I’m writing like crazy. Book number 11, The Disappeared, is taking shape.
Back
then, when I first wrote on this topic, I saw it on Facebook. This morning, I
saw something similar with similar results on TikTok. I felt compelled to write
more on the topic, since it is too important not to.
It
goes like this …
On the first day of class, a professor went to an overhead
projector and placed a piece of white paper on it. The paper also had a black
dot. The students were to write or speak about what they had observed. No other
explanation or direction. Just to write or speak about what it was they
observed.
I would like you to stop reading this post and try it for
yourself. I’ll wait …
You can either do this exercise yourself or ask someone
else to speak or write about what they observe.
Chances are you speak more about The Black Dot. You draw
parallels to this. You come up with what The Black Dot might represent. But there
isn’t conversation, or at least very little comment on the white part of the
sheet of paper. Almost none, if any.
Hmmm …
Human nature, I guess. The way our minds work. We tend to
look more closely at the speck, the smallest portion of the white sheet of
paper, The Black Dot. The Black Dot consumes our thoughts, our energy, and our
time.
I have spent 49 years in education, and I say that
proudly. There is no other profession I desired to be a part of. There are no
other professionals I’d rather rub elbows with. I love the kids. I love the
challenges. I love the goofiness of youth (and my own, I dare say). I also know,
having spent 72 years walking on this earth, I am on the backside of that mountain,
and the thought saddens me. I don’t fear it, no, not really. It’s just that I
love what I do and with whom I do it.
It was customary and expected that at the end of each year,
I would evaluate portions of my staff. These evaluations are based upon
observations, conversations, phone calls- you name it. And each year, the
portion of my staff I am responsible for comes to my office for our
conversation. And it doesn’t matter how gently I word something. It doesn’t
matter how many superlatives I pack into the evaluation. I recognize that those
who visit with me at the end of the year are anxious, if not scared.
And I am no less anxious and no less scared because each
year for forty-nine years, I had a similar evaluation. And no matter how many
superlatives (always hoping for one or two) my supervisor packs into my
evaluation, my teachers who see me, and I with my supervisor, share the same
feeling.
We will focus on The Black Dot. That one comment or two that
is less than superlative, less than positive, something for each of us to work
on. The Black Dot. The smallest part, the speck on the white sheet of paper,
and that will be their … and my … focus as they, and I, get up to leave the end-of-year
conversation. Always The Black Dot. Always.
We focus our thoughts, our energy, and invest our
time and perhaps pay a portion of our soul to The Black Dot, the smallest part,
the most insignificant portion of our lives.
The wrong someone did to us. The real or imagined affront.
The careless word. The thoughtless action.
Sometimes The Black Dot represents something we did or
said, something we didn’t do or didn’t say long ago. Time has passed. There
have been so many other positive memories. There have been so many wonderful
people who have entered and sometimes left our lives. Yet, we spend an
inordinate amount of time on The Black Dot of long ago … or recently ago … and
fail to recognize that we are not that person we once were. And neither is that
person who might have wronged us.
We fail to realize that each morning we receive a gift. The
gift of a Do Over (a former post). And we fail to realize that each evening we
receive another gift. The gift of Reflection where we can examine what we’ve
done and how we did it and resolve to try again. To do better.
So perhaps it is better to only glance at The Black Dot and
spend more time on the whole other portion. To recognize that we have done
good, that we’ve done well, that we will do good. And recognize that mistakes
happen because we’re only human. It’s in our DNA. And what is a mistake
exactly, but an opportunity to pick ourselves up, to strive to do better next
time, and smile while we do it? I’d rather that than stress, and worry, and be
anxious. Really. I think we all might rather that. Something to think about …
And my book, Fan Mail became
the third highest seller in the Audible format in the Black Rose Writing
catalog. Thank you to all who have purchased and read or listened to my books.
Don’t forget to leave a rating and/or review of my books. They help with sales.
Photo courtesy of Alec Gomes and Unsplash
Book Cover courtesy of David King and Black Rose Writing
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