The New Kid

We’re already two weeks into the new school year. In some cases, there are districts that have been in school longer. Late busses, forgotten lunches or gym clothes. Unfinished homework, a failed assignment or test can sometimes crush the hardest souls. What is typically worse is the possible rejection by a student or group for whatever reason. Sometimes the reason is as simple as being new and unknown.

The experience varies from one student to the next as he or she tries to navigate the new school, the new year, and the hallways, cafeterias, locker rooms, and restrooms. It sometimes isn’t easy, is it? The “wrong” clothes, sometimes unclean, dirty. Not up to the “standards” of this or that group. 

It hurts. Other than making sure kids aren’t outwardly cruel and inconsiderate, there isn’t much a principal like I was can do. If I saw or heard it, I would typically jump in, knowing that I risked making it worse for the new kid. Typically, I would rely on counselors and teachers to keep an eye and an ear out to prevent cruelty and unkindness. Most always I would check with a kid out of the spotlight and in a quiet moment. 

In my book, Fan Mail, I introduced a character, Tony Vittoria, who was new to the school. Worse, I chose to have Tony move from one city and school in October, so he didn’t have the benefit of beginning school at the start so he could blend in with all the other kids. It was a tougher journey for him, especially since he carried secrets he wasn’t willing to share or open up about. 

In one chapter, I had Tony experience “a moment” as he remembered some of what he had experienced. 

Fan Mail by Joseph Lewis

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The cafeteria, the locker room, and the restroom were the scariest places for new kids. Even with a thousand other kids floating through the hallways, new kids were an easy mark. It would begin with a bump, sometimes on purpose. It would graduate to a shove. The kid would be cornered and questioned. If the answers to the questions weren’t acceptable- and who in the hell knew what the acceptable answers were- slaps and punches would follow. Money demanded. Other items taken. And the new kid would be left alone to fend for himself, only to have the process repeated each day, until the novelty wore off. Sometimes, the novelty never wore off.

            The funny thing about new kids. They knew other new kids went through the same thing. When in the same restroom or locker room, they didn’t stick around to watch, certainly not to intervene. They just hoped they could escape this one time, maybe guilty it was happening to someone else and not to them. A life cocktail that was difficult to drink.

            Tony had seen and lived it.

            The worst was the spring of eighth grade. The name calling. Taunts. The humiliation. Abandonment by friends, or rather, who he thought were friends. The utter aloneness. He managed to tough it out, though by the time the school year ended, Tony lost his smile. Maybe his reason to smile.

Quiet and reserved by nature, he went to school. He managed good grades. His teachers liked him. One in particular, Shelly Wilson, his art teacher, took time to talk to him, encourage him, and worry about him. The other teachers saw him as they did any other student. Just another kid.

All of this ran through Tony’s mind as he waited for Brian. Hoping Brian wouldn’t forget.

Tony leaned against the bank of lockers, wishing he would sink inside. If he just stood there and didn’t move, maybe no one would notice him.

Five minutes, inching towards six. At this rate, he wouldn’t have time to eat.

Hands sweaty, he rubbed his jeans, first one hand, then the other. His mouth, dry. His instinct was to find a quiet corner and eat lunch by himself.

--

            Tony could very well be an exception, because for some kids, the entire year is like that. Forgotten and unseen. Alone, and oh, so lonely. Scared to death and sometimes not realizing what he or she is afraid of. 

            In Tony’s case, I had him meet Brian, one of seven adopted brothers, each dealing with and healing from past trauma of their own. Besides his own issues, Brian understood loneliness and being alone. He had experienced not being seen by those whom he thought had loved him.

Sometimes, all it takes is one person to save a kid. It can be a kid, a teacher, a counselor, or even a principal. It just takes one person to recognize what might hurt, and where a kid can fit it. In Brian’s case, he had six brothers and a strong group of friends he could lean on.

            In some cases, the kid, not necessarily a new kid, has a falling out with a friend or a group of friends. In her song, Beautiful Things, Megan Moroney wrote about a kid staring at and crying in a bathroom mirror, not understanding why she was left out and not invited to a party. While she doesn’t give an outcome or share a reason why, she gives some wonderful and tender advice:

“Lies can break a fragile heart
But, honey, just take it from me
Just hold on, just breathe
The world is hard on beautiful things.”

Taylor Swift put it this way in her song Ours: So don’t you worry your pretty little mind. People throw rocks at things that shine.

As we begin this new school year, parents watch, listen to, and talk with your children. Please don’t be that parent who feels once their kid hits high school, there isn’t as much need for a gentle hand or a gentle word and know that it is imperative to talk to your kids. Teachers, please watch for the loner, the kid who appears to slink into your classroom for an hour and then slink back out, seemingly without any friendly contact. Sometimes, that is a sign the kid might be on his or her own with no friends.

No matter how many eye rolls you receive, or no matter how many times you ask how things are going, you always get the same response of “Fine,” please know things might not be fine at all. Your kid might be hurting. Don’t be afraid to reach out to a teacher or counselor, maybe even the principal. We are there to help, and what we don’t know is important to know. It can be tough out there. Something to think about … 

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

To My Readers

If you are in the Fredericksburg, Virginia area on Saturday, Oct. 3, I will be taking part in the Fredericksburg Independent Book Festival at Riverfront Park from 10:00 AM to 4:00 PM. Authors of all genres will be there, and I will be selling and signing each of my ten books, including the above mentioned Fan Mail along with my other books. I hope you have an opportunity to stop by.

            If you want to check out my books, go to my website at https://www.jrlewisauthor.com You’ll find them all. If you’d like to get a jump on it and purchase Fan Mail sooner, here is the link for it: Fan Mail by Joseph Lewis https://tinyurl.com/37xyxe3r If you purchase it ahead of time, bring it to the festival and I’ll be happy to sign it for you.

            I’d love to hear your thoughts, so please use the comment section below. Your feedback, like your reviews, is important to me. As always, thank you for following along on my writing journey. Until next time …

 

How Will They Remember Me?

I read a powerful book, When I Was Seven … by Mary Ellen Bramwell recently. Even though I finished it earlier this month, I cannot stop thinking about it. The thought of it isn’t constant, but it is there in quiet moments, in alone moments.

It is a story about a seven-year-old and his love for his grandmother. She is dying, and he understands this, but it is difficult for him. She asks him to help find her sister before she dies. His parents don’t believe him and think she is delusional because of the meds she is on. But Lucas won’t be dissuaded. He seeks the help of his other grandmother, who has been an outcast by his parents. Together, they not only seek to find the dying grandmother’s sister but also form a bond of love and friendship. 

Throughout the book, a brilliant work of fiction, there are flashbacks and lessons learned, and relationships built. It led me to consider, how will my two grandchildren (so far) remember me? What kind of impact or influence will I have on them? 

I am a fairly new grandparent, only three years into the becoming. Mason just turned three two weekends ago, and his little sister, Olivia, is only seven months. My wife and I raised three of our own children, and I know I have a great deal to learn, or relearn, about babies and young ones. But I embrace it! With retirement, I can spend time with them, both as a babysitter and as a visiting grandpa, or Papa, as Mason calls me.

At age seventy-two, I know my time with them will be on the shorter side. And I know that there are things I can’t do with them anymore, at least, not as well, or at all, as I might have been able to when I was younger. But in the time I have left, what memories will I be able to create for them? Again the question becomes, how will they remember me? 

The same questions can apply to my two daughters, Hannah and Emily. How will they remember me as Dad? 

I can say, honestly and sincerely, that I know I’ve done the best I could for them. Have I fallen short at times? Absolutely. Did I spend enough time with them? Probably not, though I tried. I believe my heart has always been in the right place for them. I tried to guide my decisions with them in mind. And I’m painfully aware that because of my being human, I know I still fell short, and will continue to fall short even unto death. Not only is being a bit of a perfectionist working against me, but so is the time I might have left. 

Hannah is thirty-two, and Emily is twenty-eight. During that time, I believe they have built up a store of memories for them to pick from. Some to hold close to their heart, while others to keep at arm’s length away from them. Hopefully, more of the former than the latter.

But for Mason, who is a tender three-year-old, and for Liv, only seven-months-old (eight months next Friday), their memories aren’t fully developed yet. At their ages, they don’t have the capacity yet to remember a great deal about me, what they’ve done with me, or how I have treated them.

 

My goal for the rest of my remaining days is to give them, and my two daughters and their husbands, as much love as I can give. To be there for each of them, both in times of need and in times of want. To be the very best Dad and Papa that I can be, knowing that in both cases, I might fall short here and there, just as I have done in the past. But I can hope, and I know I will pray to be all I can be for each of them. That is as best I can do. Something to think about … 

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

To My Readers 

If you are in the Fredericksburg, Virginia area on the 4^th of July, I am taking part in the Fredericksburg Craft Festival, taking place in Fredericksburg at or near Riverfront Park. I will be in booth 209 on Sophia Street between Hanover Street and Charlotte Street from 10:00 AM to 4:00 PM. I will have all ten of my books for sale and signing. I hope you stop down and say hello. 

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 French, 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).

A Hack

 Me, I mean.

 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).

 

The Quiet Kid …

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 receive for $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

---

How it works

1. Sign up here: https://www.blackrosewriting.com/brw-exclusive-discounts/p/p/black-rose-writing-all-access-library-99year
2. Once enrolled, we will send you an automatic notification for you to email your request
3. 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 …

Even in Darkness, Hope

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 Jeremiah 29:11 (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 … 

Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!

To My Readers:

You can always find all ten of my books, including my two latest books, Fan Mail and Black Yéʼii (The Evil One) on my website at https://www.jrlewisauthor.com

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). 

My Social Media Links are:

Website https://www.jrlewisauthor.com

BookBub https://www.bookbub.com/profile/joseph-lewis

Amazon https://www.amazon.com/stores/Joseph-Lewis/author/B01FWB9AOI?ref=ap_rdr&shoppingPortalEnabled=true&ccs_id=df12fcfb-aff7-4dc6-9271-8964090b1abf

Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18689711.Joseph_Lewis

LinkedIn https://www.linkedin.com/in/joseph-lewis-67917b28/

Instagram https://www.instagram.com/thrillercrimewriterjrl/

TikTok https://www.tiktok.com/@josephlewis1084

Substack https://tinyurl.com/2m5ckdvh 

X (formerly Twitter) https://x.com/JRLAuthor5364

BlueSky https://bsky.app/profile/jrlewisauthor.bsky.social

Photo courtesy of Joseph Lewis

Photo courtesy of Unknown

But Not The End ...

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). 

My Social Media Links are:

Website https://www.jrlewisauthor.com

BookBub https://www.bookbub.com/profile/joseph-lewis

Amazon https://www.amazon.com/stores/Joseph-Lewis/author/B01FWB9AOI?ref=ap_rdr&shoppingPortalEnabled=true&ccs_id=df12fcfb-aff7-4dc6-9271-8964090b1abf

Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18689711.Joseph_Lewis

LinkedIn https://www.linkedin.com/in/joseph-lewis-67917b28/

Instagram https://www.instagram.com/thrillercrimewriterjrl/

TikTok https://www.tiktok.com/@josephlewis1084

Substack https://tinyurl.com/2m5ckdvh 

X (formerly Twitter) https://x.com/JRLAuthor5364

BlueSky https://bsky.app/profile/jrlewisauthor.bsky.social

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!

Of course, you can always find all ten of my books, including my two latest books, Fan Mail and Black Yéʼii (The Evil One) on my website at https://www.jrlewisauthor.com

Picture of Football Players Courtesy of Mike Benson and Unsplash

Pictures of Mason and Olivia Courtesy of Joseph Lewis