Once upon a time, I went to public high school. There was a young man, just a few years younger than me. He would enter the building shortly after my arrival many mornings my senior year. Our principal in passing would greet him, “Hello Mr. Fosko!”
Years and much living later, our acquaintance remade itself. This time, we became friends. He became my friend first, because that was Joey.
He encouraged me to write because it is my first love. Joey loved sports and was a sports writer. It is impossible to express the importance he placed on following your passion.
Doggedly I would throw reasons at him about why I could not be a writer, even though we both knew I wanted to be what I am.
- I am a bad writer. – Write, you will get better.
- I don’t want to sign a contract and self publishing is a long shot. – There is always next year, look at the Cubs.
- I don’t have a degree. – He would point out that he didn’t finish college either.
I love writing. It is what I do, and who I am. Joey, thank you.