Sandra's Book Club: Blog Tour: BEDTIME STORIES FOR THE LIVING by Jay Armstrong

Bedtime Stories for the Living

By Jay Armstrong

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GENRE: Non-fiction/Memoir

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BLURB:

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.

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Excerpt One:

Introduction

There is something you should know. In the history of my ordinary suburban life, I’ve never told any of my three children a bedtime story. Not telling your child a bedtime story seems like a major dad offense. Like forgetting them at Target or wearing a clown costume to “Back-to-School Night” or letting them swim twenty-six minutes after lunch.

Do I love my children?

On most days I do.

On most days, like you, they’re decent people. So why didn’t I tell them bedtime stories?

Selfishly, I don’t like the pressure. The nightlight. The slow swirl of the ceiling fan blades. Their big eyes staring up at me, expecting me to entertain them, to stir their imagination. Who do they think I am? Bruce Springsteen? No. I’m a dad who gets his sushi from a supermarket. I wear sneakers with khaki pants. I once taught high school English in New Jersey. I mean, to be creative and tell a story on demand is down-right stressful. Who needs that kind of stress after 9 pm?

My parents were better parents. When I was a kid, Mom and Dad would tuck me into bed and tell me stories about my grandfathers and grandmothers, about how Mom and Dad met, or about playing stickball in narrow Philadelphia streets. Bedtime stories were history. They brought my little universe into focus, shaped my identity, and instilled a love of storytelling.

As good suburban boys do, I fell in love, got married, and had three kids. Just when things were going as planned, in 2013, I was diagnosed with a progressive brain disease called diffuse cerebellar atrophy. The disease degenerates my motor skills, balance, coordination, eyesight, and speech. A fall can lead to a head injury and weakening esophageal muscles to choking and asphyxiation, and so on—a veritable smorgasbord of potentially fatal complications. Two years later, sarcoidosis, a complicated autoimmune disorder that attacks every major body organ, was added to my list of health issues.

It was only when the prospect of death became real that I began writing.

In 2015, I created Write On Fight On (writeonfighton.org), and for the next five years I wrote and posted bedtime stories I never told my kids. By writing these stories, I began to reexamine who I once was, who I am now, and the man and father I hoped to one day grow up to be. Writing made me realize, in the face of our inevitable death, our time to tell our story is painfully brief. And that we should make like Springsteen and do what we can to achieve our dreams.

As I wrote this book, time passed. The kids grew up. My diseases progressed. People I love died. And one spring morning, standing in the driveway with my hands in my pockets, time’s yellow chariot turned the corner. The air brakes exhaled, “Bye Dad” was said, and as the bus, my children, and a swirl of exhaust smoke disappeared down the street, I realized the irony of my effort. I was trying to preserve time while it was passing like a school bus in the morning. We can’t stop time. We can only slow time by doing what we love. Doing the things that make us feel alive. And I have never been more alive than when telling a story.

This is a book of bedtime stories for the living. Stories that, if I did my job well, slow time, and make you and me glad to be alive. These stories are real. Or as real as memory allows them to be. As I discovered, life is both a funny and a heartbreaking experience. These stories are the moments I want to share with you because I believe, deep in my dad heart, we all have stories worth sharing.

I came across an article about how, in the mid 1990’s, Dr. Marshall Duke and Dr. Robyn Fivush of Emory University developed and conducted a twenty question survey of children entitled, “Do You Know” which asked them about their families. The results showed that the more stories, both positive and negative, the children knew about their family’s history, the more resilient the children tended to be. As the study concluded, knowing family stories was “the single best predictor of children’s emotional health and happiness.” For better or worse, our family stories help us navigate our own troubles. Stories gift us courage when we’re afraid, offer direction when we’re lost, or comfort when we’re lonely.

Dear reader, please know that I’m humbled you are reading this book. Thank you. I hope my stories help you, give you permission to dream, and maybe give you the strength to tell your own stories. I hope you paid full price for this book because college for three ain’t free.

But if this book doesn’t offer my children financial prosperity, more than anything, this book is a gift for them. It’s a family history, an instruction manual, an honest reflection about a fleeting moment, a smile, a glance, and the goodnight kiss I often failed to give them.

Maybe one day, when they’re lost or confused or angry or sad or daydreaming about the prom queen, they will open this book and read a story or one of the letters I’ve written to them. Maybe my words will let them hear my voice again. Feel my lips pressed against their ears. And maybe they’ll know they’re not alone. That Dad is here. With them. Helping them through life forever.

Be well,

Jay

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GUEST POST: Describe your writing journey…

Recently, as I limped across a stretch of grass toward my son’s soccer game, I was surrounded by four sweaty nine-year-old boys and a dog.

“Are you Dylan’s dad?” a voice asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you write a book?”

“Yes.”

“What’s it called?”

“The Great Gatsby.“

“Are you famous?”

“Yes.”

The dog–maybe a pug or a spaniel– sniffed my famous legs and looked up at my famous face and breathed my famous air.

“What’s your book about?”

“A rich guy lives in a big house and drives cool cars to impress a girl.”

“Are there curses in your book?”

“A few.”

“Cool. Can we read it?”

“When you get older.”

“Hey, Dylan’s dad, can we get your autograph?

“No.”

And so, twenty-eight years before denying a gang of nine-year-old boys autographs, my journey began as I sat quietly at a wooden desk in 9th grade English class waiting for the teacher to give back our first writing assignment.

We were learning about the Salem Witch Trials and had to write a letter from the point-of-view of an innocent woman on trial for being a witch.

I remember the classroom was silent as our teacher, a young woman with straight brown hair and who always wore high heels, clacked around the room handing back our letters. When she handed back the letter, she looked at me and said , “You have a strong voice. Keep writing.”

I was like a lot of teenagers. I wanted to be seen but not watched. Earn praise but apply little effort. Was too-cool-for-school but cared deeply about learning and growing. Wanted to share myself but was terrified of being vulnerable.

Yet as I wrestled my adolescent contradictions, I realized I wanted my writing read and my voice heard. But I was afraid.

For about the next ten years I was confident I was going to write a book. Probably a bestseller. Probably get a movie deal. Probably move to Hollywood. And probably be hounded by fervent fans–who actually read my book–for an autograph.

But something happened. Every time I started writing a story I stopped. I wanted to be a writer but didn’t know how to really write. I wanted to find my voice but didn’t know how.

Sure I could write a ninth grade English assignment, but writing a story from scratch, without questions to answer or teacher expectations to meet, I was totally lost.

So I did what most self-respecting, struggling writers do when they doubt their abilities–I became a high school English teacher.

I realize now, for seventeen years I was teaching the ninth grade version of myself how to write. The quiet kid who had potential but needed guidance and reassurance never graduated. He was always there. In my classroom. Listening. Taking notes. Learning how to write in a way that was honest, wise, vulnerable, and sometimes funny. Discovering his voice.

A month after Dylan was born, I was diagnosed with cerebellar degeneration. An incurable, progressive disease whose many cruelties involves the weakening of a person’s voice.

It was then, when life got serious, that I–Dylan’s dad–decided it was time. I was ready. I was schooled, properly motivated, and had a subject to write about. So I retired from teaching and began writing little scenes starring my children– learning how to ride a bike or learning the “F” word, witnessing their father’s health decline or witnessing their father pursue his dream.

These scenes became bedrock for Bedtime Stories for the Living. A father’s memoir. A literary scrapbook. A book my children could forever use as a life manual. A quiet place, when life gets loud, for them to hear their dad’s voice.

My writer’s journey, which is fundamental to my human journey, helped me make peace with my disease. It taught me that self-reflection is a requirement of life. That contradictions must be understood and accepted. That growth and perspective only come when we embrace our vulnerabilities and take risks. That as we grow and change we must re examine our priorities. That our voice matters. That our stories matter. That achieving our dreams matters.

And that nine-year-olds are not versed enough in American literature to have never heard of The Great Gatsby.

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

In 2013, Jay Armstrong was diagnosed with diffuse cerebellar atrophy. A condition that causes dysfunctional motor skills, speech and vision impairments, and balance deficiencies. At the time of diagnosis, he was establishing himself as an endeared high school English teacher, a varsity soccer coach, and an above average dancer. However, the progressive disorder forced Jay to reevaluate his life.

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:

writeonfighton.org

jayarmstrongwrites.com