Joy Is a Sign

You Are Facing In the Right Direction

Dear Friend,

The only time I recall the word joy being used when we were youngsters, was with a capital J.

Joy was the name of a girl in our sixth form.

I couldn’t believe anyone would call a kid that way. I knew Deborah’s and Tracey’s and Karen’s. Sharon’s too. We all, whatever our gender, had tried and tested, ordinary names. So Joy stood out to me. She even seemed to have a super sunny personality. I don’t know if we ever spoke, I kind of marvelled at her disposition. Kept my distance.

Our estate was built for steelworkers and their families.

They had gardens, front and back and on the way to the Grammar school you’d walk past bigger more imposing versions built for the managers. Education was a kind of formality before taking up your apprenticeship at one of the two British’s, Steel or Nuclear Fuels.

I remember careers advice being a hands up kind of affair.

“Hands up if you’re going to British Steel. Hands up for British Nuclear Fuels. Okay, so you lot must be staying on for the sixth form then.”

I guessed I was.

Conversations with adults just didn’t happen, not until something serious was afoot and there was news to be broken, so as kids we just had to work it out as we went along. Escape was very much on my mind at this time.

I’d heard about university a few years earlier during a chance conversation with our history teacher, Mrs Ingles. She was telling our class about when she was at Edinburgh University.

“Miss, what’s university?” It wasn’t me. I didn’t ask questions in class. I was way more interested in being a smart alec and having the answers.

“Oh that’s where you live with your friends, get a part time job and study full time.”

As it turned out Mrs Ingles let slip, A levels were your passport to university. I remember sitting there aged 11 doing the maths. How many years till I got out of town?

That’s how I found out you could be called Joy and be smart and funny and smile a lot.

Still the idea of being joyful seemed rather ambitious. You could work hard and avoid the disaster of poverty, or maybe if you played your cards right you could get one over on the boss, get away with doing very little and still collect a pay check. My grandad was definitely in the second camp on that question. Dad the same.

I think maybe I found some joy in writing songs and poems and scraps of ideas. Bashing tunelessly on a guitar, but true joy I got that from dancing. We’d dance at the Welfare Centre on a Friday after school.

You could join in skipping games, or just chase your friends arounds the main hall, drink pop and eat crisps. Sometimes one of the Dad’s would bring in his records and you’d get little pockets of dancing breaking out.

I was in a pocket of one.

Taken.

Gloriously free.

One time the Dad on the decks was moved to get on the mic.

“Alright everyone,” he announced “this little lad has been dancing his heart out all evening. Here you are son, come and get your prize.”

You read things in adults you wouldn’t be able to put in words, but I sensed a kindred spirit. A lover of music. My prize?

He reached into his shopping bag and pulled out the most likely object he had on him, a bottle of shampoo. It was the gesture that counted. I got it. It was a nice moment.

The attention backfired.

That was the night that Barry, who I’d replaced as school goalkeeper, followed me into the loo with one of his goons. Still clutching my shampoo, he accused me of ’Saying something’ about him and kicked me in the nuts as hard as he could.

Turned out he could kick pretty hard, the next day I couldn’t walk. But I recovered.

This idea of joy though. It’s developed in me over the years.

Simple things can bring it on now. Sometimes I’ll look at Chiara, she’s always doing something and the way she looks makes my heart burst. Or the way a dog we’re looking after will let out a sound that’s have half groan half yawn, offer their tummy for a rub.

The kittens next door nestling in my lap. A song. An outrageous statement from an old friend.

Sometimes it’s just the aliveness in things.

Writing like this to you. Revisiting the past, pondering the future. Our world feels heavy with the weight of inconceivable suffering. Escapism is no longer an option for me. It’s not about being ignorant, but to find the joy in life.

To move in that direction, even if it’s a moment in the day, is the right direction.

And if you are young in mind, keep moving towards what brings joy to you, share it with others. Peace is not bland. It is joy itself.

It is strength and it is hope.

Some days, days like these we need reminding.

Wishing you peace and joy.

Till tomorrow

Love

Mikey