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1.As a kid, I was expelled from a weekend religious retreat for climbing out of a bathroom and hiding in a nearby woods during a church service. To this day, I contend the homily was painfully boring.
2.I was a stand-up comedian in my early twenties.I won first place, a $1000 prize, in an amateaur stand-up contetest. A few days later, I spent all the money on a TV.
3.On a busy city street, a friend and I dove through the open back door of a random, passing limousine.The door shut, the people inside laughed, and the limo receded into the night.The limo was filled with adult entertainers.
4. In college, I created my own internship.The course description outlined a hard-hitting news show. However, it soon turned into a “fake news” show. In one episode, while I was on camera investigating rumors an old campus building was haunted, my friend was in the background dancing and wearing a white bed sheet. I somehow managed to get an “A.”
5. I eventually married the first girl I ever kissed.
Diagnosed with a progressive brain disease, a young father is determined to teach his children the importance of pursuing their dreams.
A cell phone’s ring interrupts the silence as Jay Armstrong sits in his high school classroom preparing for the year ahead. Something about the ring makes his stomach drop. It’s his doctor.
The words, “diffuse cerebellar atrophy, a rare, degenerative brain disease” float through the speaker. All of Jay’s youthful dreams of being a writer rush back, flooding the twenty years he has spent teaching students how to appreciate novels, memoirs, and poetry. The care he put into teaching them how to write with clarity, insight, and humor, and how to dance at the prom. The bedtime stories he never told his children spin in his imagination. It will all die when he dies.
Jay chooses to experience his condition as an inspiration here to teach him to appreciate the time he still has. He writes letters and stories to his three children about his failing voice, his impaired motor skills, and falling down on Christmas morning. Writing helps him cope with the illness and its symptoms. And so, he accepts the mission of writing more stories for them: the difference his father’s wink made at a critical moment of a baseball game, why they should take walks even in cruddy weather, and how he avoided having to explain what semen is for.
As his condition worsens, Jay’s faith in the power of storytelling deepens. His daily life is wildly different than he foresaw, and possibly shorter, but he can leave his children a legacy more valuable than any financial inheritance. He writes "Bedtime Stories for the Living", an episodic memoir to show his children how to accept their limitations and find joy. The collection of tender, witty stories about fatherhood, persevering despite illness, and pursuing your dreams, demonstrates how love gives us the strength to face heartache with bravery and grace.
Read an Excerpt
BEFORE I TURN OUT THE LIGHTS: LETTER #2
Dear Haley, Chase, and Dylan,
I want you to read poetry. Right now. Before you get old and cranky and consumed by jobs, car insurance rates, supermarket sales, and your kid’s soccer practice. You know me as “Dad.” But for seventeen years, in three different high schools, they knew me as Mr. Armstrong. The English teacher. And from the feedback I received from the students, parents, and official administrative evaluations, I was an “A” teacher.
My classroom desk was often littered with chicken-scratched Post-it notes. I did not decorate my classroom with colorful, motivational decor. For as long as I can remember I had just three black-and-white posters: Mohammed Ali, Bob Dylan, and Bruce Springsteen. I never had a legitimate filing system for student work. Lesson plans were often disorganized and outdated. Classroom novels were haphazardly stacked in a corner, as if the spines were stricken with scoliosis. I failed to keep abreast of the newest advancements in pedagogical theories.
After one particular evaluation, an administrator demanded I stop wasting valuable class time telling personal stories. I told them to “fire me.” I was serious. I told them I would rather stock shelves or lay bricks than be denied the opportunity to tell stories to young people. Fortunately, I was not fired. In fact, later that year, I was awarded “The Teacher of the Year” at my school. Sometimes defiance gets a bad rap.
For years I skirted poetry the way you skirt chores. Poetry seemed too hard. Too tedious. Too much risk and not enough reward. Yet, in my last few years of teaching, when my disease had accelerated, I taught more poetry. I found comfort in its mystery. Each poem presented a learning workshop for the students and me.
I assume I avoided teaching poetry for so many years because I didn't want to be wrong. Being vulnerable in public used to bother me. Maybe I just grew comfortable being uncomfortable. When you’re the only adult in the room, there’s a lot of pressure to be right. When you’re older, you’ll feel this pressure.
Over seventeen years, a student never announced they planned to go to college and major in poetry. No one said they planned to buy a black beret, a black cat, a black turtleneck, or rent a studio apartment in Brooklyn and chain-smoke all night long.
But many said they planned to keep reading poetry after high school. Even the halfhearted students. They said they liked how poetry comforted them in moments of crisis. When their mom lost her job. When they were rejected by their dream college. When COVID-19 hit. When they watched American cities moan and burn amid the fires of civil unrest in the summer of 2020. Caught in the cross-hairs of history, they said they found shelter in the sturdy verse of a poem.
They even said they never realized how cool poetry was. How defiant poets were. Bukowski. Plath. Thomas. And how anything by e.e. cummings broke enough grammar rules to send an elementary school teacher to the school nurse. How Marvell made them laugh. How Frost inspired them. How Angelou, Hughes, and Dickinson feathered their nerves and thawed their frozen spirit. How poetry made them cry. Wince. Shake. Smile. And think deeply about themselves. About others. And how despite being quarantined in a lifeless town, through a well-written verse they sensed the zipping electricity of the living world just beyond.
They said reading poetry was a way to feel less socially distant. I liked one particular email from a student who said it amazed them how a poet from New Mexico could know how a “seventeen-year-old kid from New Jersey felt.” Other students liked how a specific poem, “Good Bones” or “Dover Beach” felt. Like an old friend who stood by them when they stood in the street, looking up, convinced the sky was falling.
Like high school, poetry is not a problem to solve. Poetry is proof of existence. Like your portrait in a high school yearbook. You can take a poem at face value and move on or read it like a scientist, trace its features, and wonder about the mysteries hidden just below the surface.
I suspect the world is much, much more than we will ever know. Such is our calamity. We learn so much, yet we know so little. However, we’re gifted with teachers who tease out little-by-little, line-by-line the ingredients of the world. Science. Math. History. English. I found a teacher in poetry. A teacher who didn’t always understand (with big words, often pretentious rhyme scheme, and obscure allusions to Greek mythology) but who taught me to question, to find humanity in others, and to observe the fine details of fleeting scenery.
Bottom line: Read poetry. You may not become poets but eventually you will have to enroll in the fine art of living. Poems are essential materials for passing the course.For your homework, please read the poems I’ve assigned below. Prepare an oral presentation of three to five minutes and discuss how the poem relates to your life by connecting it to a personal experience. You must set a minimum of two lines to memory. You will make your presentations after dinner. Also, no PowerPoint. Only halfhearted students use PowerPoint.
Haley, please read “The Journey” by Mary Oliver.
Chase, please read “Golden Retrievals” by Mark Doty.
Dylan, please read “The Voice” by Shel Silverstein.
Goodnight.
I love you.
See you in the morning.
About the Author:
Supported by his high school sweetheart turned wife (Cindy) and their three children (Haley, Chase, Dylan), Jay retired from teaching in 2021 to pursue his dream of becoming an author.
Jay believes in the power of storytelling. He also believes in dad jokes, laughter, and the unrelenting pursuit of dreams. Jay’s debut book, Bedtime Stories for the Living, is an episodic memoir in which Jay shows his children how to accept their limitations and find joy. The collection of tender, witty stories about fatherhood, persevering despite illness, and pursuing your dreams, demonstrates how love gives us the strength to face heartache with bravery, humor, and grace.
Born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, Jay is passionate about Philly sports, soft pretzels, and Rocky Balboa.
Bedtime Stories for the Living is available at the following: The book will be $0.99.
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Jay-Armstrong/e/B09LF9HN51
Lulu: https://www.lulu.com/shop/jay-armstrong/bedtime-stories-for-the-living/paperback/product-y67dzn.html
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/bedtime-stories-for-the-living
Vivlio: https://shop.vivlio.com/product/9798985214314_9798985214314_10020
Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/bedtime-stories-for-the-living-jay-armstrong/1140591539?ean=2940165155536
Apple: https://books.apple.com/us/book/id1598611714
Websites: http:www.writeonfighton.org
http://jayarmstrongwrites.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/writeonfighton
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/writeonfighton
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Thanks for hosting!
ReplyDeleteI liked the excerpt.
ReplyDeleteThanks so much for hosting my book! I really enjoyed answering the "5 things you didn't know about me" question.
ReplyDeleteThe excerpt sounds very interesting.
ReplyDeleteThe book sounds like a wonderful read.Great cover!
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