During my second test, I didn’t do well. My mind kept drifting to my cat, Lightning. I hadn’t gotten a chance to say goodbye before I left, and I couldn’t find him. Instead of focusing on the questions, I was thinking about him. I did my best on the test, then went back to the apartment.
I found a message from Grandma. “Honey, we have some bad news. Call me.” I dialed immediately.
“I just took a test and I’m waiting for the results,” I said.
“Honey, I don’t mean to add stress to your test,” she said, “but we found Lightning… he’s dead. Eaten by a coyote.”
I sat stunned. I never imagined Lightning could die like this. Coyotes? In the Midwest? I thought they lived in the Southwest. But apparently, they’re everywhere. I thanked Grandma, told her I loved her, and tried to get back to class.
Janet, our IRS instructor—not to be confused with Janet Wice, the math instructor—looked at me with tears streaming down her face. “Jeremy, you failed this test,” she said gently. Then, after a pause, she added, “You can retake the test next week.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I had other things on my mind… I just found out about Lightning. I didn’t get to say goodbye because we couldn’t find him.”
Tears streamed down my own face as I spoke. Grandma reassured me, “Oh my, you’ve had a bad day. Take the time you need, honey.”
I retook the test a week later and did much better. Janet smiled and said, “You did a lot better—good job.”
Bruce scowled. “You should have kicked him out—he’s worried about his cat instead of the test!”
Janet shot back, “Shut it, Bruce. I don’t answer to you; I answer to the IRS.”
“I am the IRS here,” he growled.
“No, you’re not,” she said sharply. “You just think you are. You’re a horrible man, Bruce. Horrible.”
He scowled and left. “Fine, have it your way. If he were my student, he’d be on that bus back to Kokomo,” he muttered.
I said, “Bruce, it’s clear you hate my guts. And I think it has a little to do with the fact that I caused your favorite student from last class to be kicked out of this program. But what you don’t know is that dog was being beaten at every chance. When we received her from the night staff, she had lacerations all up and down her neck from being choked with the leash and tied to the bed.”
“So if you hate me, hate me because I care about animals—not because I stole your prized student. That kid was a piece of work. And if I have to, I will inform Remona of how you act toward me.”
Bruce looked at me coldly. “You wouldn’t dare tell Remona if you know what’s good for you.”
I squared my shoulders. “You don’t scare me. You may have heard I backed down from Beth because I didn’t want to deal with her—but you? I will gladly tell Remona how you’re acting.”
At that moment, Remona walked in. “What’s going on?”
I explained everything: how I had been thinking about my cat during the last test, and it caused me to flunk it. While waiting for the results, my grandma had called and confirmed my worst fears—Lightning was dead. Janet listened, and she understood; she loves cats too.
Bruce, however, sneered. “If I were in her shoes, I’d have sent you back to Indiana on a Greyhound.”
Janet’s eyes narrowed. “Bruce, you claim to speak for the IRS in this facility, but siding with a comment like that over a grieving student is cruel. You’re supposed to guide them, not punish them for caring about a living thing.”
Remona’s face softened, then broke into tears. She hugged me. “I am so sorry for your loss. I love animals, and if that had been your cat, you had every right to worry. What you did was human and right.”
Then she turned to Bruce, her voice firm. “Bruce, your comments were cruel, crass, and completely inappropriate. You cannot threaten a grieving student because they failed a test over something that mattered to them. If this were Jeremy going to a bar instead of studying, that’s one thing. But a student thinking about a beloved pet? That is compassion, not failure. Your behavior is unacceptable. I will contact the Service Center if necessary, and I agree with Jeremy: you still seem upset about John getting expelled, without understanding the circumstances. That doesn’t give you the right to be cruel.”
Remona slammed her palm on the desk. “Bruce—suspended. Three days without pay. You push this class too hard anyway. Maybe your people deserve some time off.”
Bruce straightened, face hard as a rock. “My classroom, my rules. If students don’t like it, they can quit. Or I’ll kick them out myself.”
“You think you’re a little tin god,” Remona shot back. “I’ve heard the names students whisper about you—‘Bruce Almighty.’ I don’t like it.”
Bruce’s jaw worked. He gulped and stood his ground. “You wouldn’t dare tell Remona if you know what’s good for you,” he snapped at me earlier.
“You don’t scare me,” I said. “I backed down from Beth because I didn’t want that nonsense, but you? I’ll gladly tell Remona how you’re acting.”
Remona re-entered the room like a storm. “What’s going on?” she asked. I told her about the test, about Lightning, about Grandma’s call. Janet had tears on her cheeks; she’d been crying for me. Remona listened, then looked at Bruce.
“If that were my student going out drinking instead of studying, that’s one thing,” she said, voice cold. “But a student failing because they were grieving a pet? That is human. That is compassion. Your comment about sending him home on a Greyhound? Cruel and unnecessary. You’re suspended for five days. Unpaid. Maybe you’ll have time to think about what teaching is actually supposed to be.”
Bruce sputtered. “Janet—”
“Bruce,” Janet cut in, “your comments were cruel and crass. You threatened to send a grieving student home. That’s not leadership. That’s cruelty.”
Bruce’s face turned an ugly shade. “Fine—have it your way,” he muttered. He left, furious but holding back, because he knew if he kept talking Remona could make it worse.
That night, I met my friends and we ordered Chinese. Will—who’d always been level-headed—said, “Jeremy, I’m sorry that happened. Everyone’s talking about it. Bruce likes to act like he’s in charge, but he’s only got his class.”
“Yeah,” I said, “and I told him why he hates me. It’s about John and Lucy—the guy who got kicked out. Lucy had been abused. There were lacerations on her neck. That’s why I did what I did.”
Will shook his head. “Unreal. Remona laid into him, didn’t she?”
“It was beautiful,” I said. “She told him to pack his things and be off within the hour.”
I later told Grandma about my slip-up with my test. I admitted I’d been thinking about Lightning, and that her call had only confirmed my suspicions. I explained how she had let me retake the test and I passed, but Bruce had been like, “You should send him back to Kokomo on a Greyhound.”
“Grandma, who is Bruce?” she asked.
I replied, “He’s the other IRS teacher who thinks he embodies the IRS at LionsWorld—but he doesn’t.”
Janet, my instructor, told him to shut up. Bruce laid into me, and then Remona came in. She said, “No, you had no right to threaten to send him home because he failed a test while grieving his pet. That’s human. You’re unkind. By threatening Jeremy, you have five days of suspension.”
Grandma was shocked. “Whoa, Remona stood up for you?” she said over the phone.
“Yeah,” I said. “She did. She even hugged me and gave me condolences for my loss.”
Later, I went to a Chinese meal my friends and I had planned. Grandma commented, “His students in your friend group must be glad to hear he’s been given a week’s unpaid leave.”
“He should have been,” I replied. “I only have one test left before I get my completion papers and IRS job.”
“Bud, don’t let your dream go down the tubes before it gets off the ground,” she said. “Pay a little more attention. You were lucky to find favor with Remona.”
I told her about taking care of Lucy for six weeks and sent her photos.
“Oh honey, she’s so sweet. How could anyone hurt a dog like that?” Grandma said, seeing the wounds.
“Yes,” I replied. “I think I found favor with her because I was willing to do what others were not—taking care of that poor thing and treating her like the queen she needed to be.”
Grandma said, “Ah, I see that. How did you do that?”
I explained, “Fredric, Ron, and I would gather occasionally and give her her own plate of food—kilbasa sausages, hot dogs. She was in meat heaven.”
Grandma smiled. “As she should be, poor thing.”
I continued, “The night the housing staff leader took Lucy away from John, we were told to care for her and take her to Remona’s office. Frederic did double duty—feeding her jerky and documenting her wounds with my camera before I applied triple-antibiotic ointment.”
“Oh wow,” Grandma said. “And you think that’s why, through God, you found favor with Remona? That’s great, hun. Thank you for sharing. I think I’ll share it with Norma—she would love that story.”
“I told her, ‘Tell anyone you want—Uncle Jim, everyone.’”
Grandpa walked in with groceries.
“Enjoy what story?” he asked.
Grandma recounted everything. Grandpa said, “Man, he lucked out. But this Bruce guy sounds like a jerk.”
I told them I had only one test left.
“Good. Study well for it, bud. This is your dream,” Grandpa said.
I nodded, and though they couldn’t see me, they knew.
Over the next two weeks, Grandma told her friends and Mom about the situation.
“Oh honey, that was close,” Mom said. “Your journey could have ended right there. You need to be more careful with studying. I’m glad you found favor with your instructor, Miss Sangalli. Sounds like this Bruce jerk was ready to ship you home.”
“Yeah,” I said. “But she laid down the law—he got five days’ suspension, unpaid. He deserved that jerk.”
Mom said, “I heard the story about Lucy. I love how you handled yourself, bud. That’s great. I’m going to tell Aunt Kathy—that part of the story will make her so happy. You know how much she loves dogs.”
I smiled. Even though Mom couldn’t see it over the phone, I said, “I welcome her call and can’t wait to hear what she has to say about it.”
“Oh, she’ll have a lot to say on the matter,” Mom said. “She’s like that—you know how hard it is to hang up once she calls.”
“Yep, I know,” I replied, and we both laughed.
Aunt Kathy called a few days later.
“Hey Jeremy—do you know who this is?” she asked.
“Hi Aunt Kathy, how are you?” I replied.
“You remember me, eh? Good. I loved the story your mom told me about you taking care of that abused guide dog. That poor baby—he needed to be locked up,” her voice cracked between outrage and relief.
“Well,” I said, “it didn’t go to jail, but he did get kicked out of the IRS program. He’s been placed on a national ‘no guide dog’ registry—he won’t be able to get a guide dog from any school in the U.S.”
Aunt Kathy’s voice softened with a little smile. “Good. That’s better than jail, but still… good.”
“Can you keep a secret?” I asked.
“Of course,” she said.
I told her what happened when I confronted him while Remona was filling out the discharge paperwork. I didn’t let it get physical. I told him, calmly but cold, that he’d be held accountable—that there were consequences for what he’d done to Lucy. I said I’d make sure the truth came out, and I meant it.
Aunt Kathy laughed the little laugh she does when she’s pleased. “That’s my Jeremy—standing up for what’s right. Don’t you worry, I’ve got your back. Tell your mother I’m proud of you.”
A few months later, we had a real fire drill at Lions World — they didn’t happen often, so it caught everyone off guard.
It reminded me of something that happened earlier during my time there, back when I was in the boys’ dorm. One guy thought it’d be funny to prank me while I was ironing my clothes. Out of nowhere, he shouted “Fire drill!” at the top of his lungs. It scared me so bad I hit my head on the ironing board.
Thankfully, I didn’t get burned — but the latch that collapses the ironing board pinched the side of my neck. When I pulled away, I somehow damaged something, because after that, I completely lost my sense of smell. For about six weeks, I couldn’t taste anything either. Food didn’t appeal to me, but I knew I had to eat to stay healthy.
The guy who pulled the prank thought it was hilarious — until I told the staff what had happened. They didn’t find it funny at all. He was kicked out for causing harm to another client through his “joke.”
So when that real fire alarm went off months later, I couldn’t help but let out a small, ironic chuckle. This time, it wasn’t a cruel prank — it was just life giving me a déjà vu moment.
And funny enough, as I write this now, twenty years later, my sense of smell is slowly returning. Back then, I could only smell really strong things — bleach, vinegar, smoke — but now, I’m starting to catch hints of weaker scents again. Little things. It feels like a small miracle every time I notice one.
Then came the time for our apartment-hunting trip — the big one where we were supposed to go into the city and find a place to live. My grandparents had already made some calls ahead of time, but nobody wanted to rent to a blind tenant. Which, yes, is discrimination.
Eventually, though, they found out about the Bell Home. Now, I love it here — but back then? I hated the idea. I wanted my own apartment. Independence, you know? But looking back, I can see what I couldn’t see then — which is kind of ironic, because I think I’ve actually lost a tiny bit of my physical sight since then. Not a lot, not enough to really notice, but it’s funny how as spiritual insight grows, physical sight seems to fade just a bit.
That trip was the first time I met Miles and Lou, the directors of the facility. They were kind and professional — and after I moved in, they gave me my key fob, which we attached to a lanyard so I wouldn’t lose it.
I stayed at the Bell Home for three days during that first visit. Before we went to check the place out, I met my grandparents at the airport — my very first time flying alone. Nervous? Oh yeah. But it felt like one of those moments where life nudges you forward whether you’re ready or not.
I was nervous about that flight — really nervous. The last time I’d flown Southwest, I ended up spending Christmas Day in bed, airsick and miserable. I didn’t want to fly with them again, but they were the only airline available, and the school was paying for the trip with a little help from the IRS.
Back in Bruce’s class, things had been rough. Four of his students got kicked out — two for failing, one because he turned out to be an undocumented immigrant (poor guy, he didn’t even have his citizenship paperwork), and one who lied about having a criminal record. Bruce was salty about it — his class of sixteen had shrunk to twelve. This time, though, he had no way to pin anything on me, so he left me alone.
During my apartment-hunting trip, we took a bus across the river to see where I’d be working. That’s where I met Cathy, the security guard.186Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡq2RV8ku56a
“Oh, you’re a new hire?” she asked with a smile.186Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFaLaMCQdA7
“Yeah,” I said, “I don’t start yet — I’m just doing some mobility practice to learn how to get here.”186Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsBNKzGtR3f
She grinned. “When do you start?”186Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWQSCMYbRNW
“The nineteenth.”186Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6oZv6UeXKF
“Well then,” she said warmly, “I’ll see you on the nineteenth.”
After we came back to the Bell Home that night, I couldn’t sleep. There was this tiny blinking light on the ceiling sprinkler — I hadn’t noticed it before, but once I did, it drove me nuts. So, I went downstairs, phone in hand, and stretched out on the couch in the meditation room.
And I think maybe that was God’s way of telling me everything would be okay.
Because when I woke up, the sunrise was pouring through the stained-glass window — the one that says, “All things wise and wonderful, the Lord God made them all.”
In that light, everything really did feel okay.186Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡicJaRhgsaJ
The rest of the trip was uneventful. I spent time with Bryan and my now-deceased friends Bete Brown and Ron Hermer. We were inseparable. It was quite an adjustment to be cooked for again after spending so long in the independent kitchen at Lions World.
On the way back, my friend Amy Kennedy met me at the airport. We landed in Little Rock later that day and split the cost of a regular limo — not a stretch limo, just a standard one, since there were no cabs available. Nowadays we would have used Lyft or Uber, but those didn’t exist yet — not for another ten years.
Once I got home, the first thing I did was put my clothes away because I had already washed them in the Bell Home’s laundry room. That night, I saw Amy at supper.186Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHP4iZf97sK
“You still unpacking?” she asked.186Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDqnCHNMshi
“Nope, all done,” I said.186Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3o4vpoRTXE
“Done? Don’t you have any laundry to do?” she asked, surprised.186Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwRvqBnSajW
“I already did it at my new place before I left,” I told her. She laughed. “Damn it, I wish I had done that. That’s smart thinking.”
That night, instead of cooking, I ordered a pizza and some cinnamon breadsticks from a local pizza joint. The last few weeks of training were rough. If it wasn’t Beth trying to prevent me from working for the IRS, it was Teresa. Teresa had told someone to warn me that if I didn’t do things her way, she would prevent me from graduating. She even wanted me to cancel my rent at the Bell Home. I told her it was a gift from my grandparents.
I told Will what happened, and he wasn’t having it. He told Remona, and she told Teresa to leave me alone — or she’d be next on the proverbial chopping block.
I finished my last test, and the last week was just relaxing, knowing we were in the home stretch. Janet took us to the same restaurant we’d gone to for New Year’s Eve, and we had a great meal. Some friends had also taken me to a burger joint and ice cream parlor called The Purple Cow. The Purple Cow sold soft serve, like Dairy Queen, and it reminded me of an ice cream parlor in Lafayette, Indiana, that had a Blizzard-like treat called the Bug Zapper. Delicious.
The night before we said goodbye, all of us gathered together, crying as we realized we wouldn’t see each other again. I stayed in contact with two of them for a time: Jason and a kid named Bryan, who had Down syndrome. Bryan had a zeal for Christ I hadn’t seen since the blind school. A few of us even went to the movies together — we saw Anger Management, which was hilarious. If you haven’t seen it, it’s worth a watch.
Every Sunday, a local church picked us up for service. One time, I met a French missionary, and when I told him my last name, he said, “Like the former French car company?” I was shocked. I shared a name with a French luxury car company that also made firetrucks. Up until that point, all I’d heard about my dad’s family was that they were crooks, and I had no idea there was a French manufacturer that shared my name. It was a small but surprising connection — kind of cool, actually.
During this time, I also discovered a new favorite Bible verse: Jeremiah 29:11 — “For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord, “plans for good and not for evil, to give you a hope and a future.” I loved that verse. Before that, the only verse I knew from Jeremiah was 33:3: “Call unto the Lord thy God, and I shall show you great and wondrous things that you do not know.”186Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeS0n9ZXMgk
As graduation day approached, I wore the suit I had previously worn to church and to my IRS interview. At the last minute, the manager who was supposed to greet me, Kisha Thomas, was replaced by Debbie Ecklar, which made me nervous. That night, we stayed at the La Quinta Inn and Suites—the same place we had stayed nine months earlier when my grandparents first dropped me off at Lions World. Grandma and I hugged, crying because this had been such a long, hard-fought journey. Between Beth and Theresa trying to block me from completing my IRS program, and my vocational rehabilitation counselor threatening to remove me before I finished, it had been a lot. But I pushed through those last few weeks.
I said goodbye to the pastor at my church, where I’d been attending weekly since starting at Lions World. I also thought back on all the fun times we’d had—trips to Hot Springs, Arkansas, checking out different restaurants, and visiting the Hot Springs Science Museum. One night, we went to a Mexican restaurant where I accidentally ordered an alcoholic piña colada instead of a non-alcoholic one. I got sick as a dog, cleaning up my bar, and told our recreation director what happened the next morning. She promised to take care of it.
When we returned to the restaurant, the owner approached the manager and apologized profusely. He asked the bartender, Lacy, if she remembered the incident. Lacy said she didn’t, while the bartender admitted I hadn’t written “non-alcoholic,” so he made an alcoholic one. I explained that alcohol could have interfered with my medication and made me very sick. The owner realized the severity and told her, “You could have killed this man.” I added that she had been distracted by her friend at the next table. The boss offered to make it right, but I declined. I calculated the financial loss: 25 of us at $15 per meal, with about half ordering $7 drinks, totaling $5592 a year if we came monthly. Because of her negligence, they had lost that business. I told them my grandparents, who were paying for the trip, would have sued if anything had happened to me.
Will, sitting nearby, was impressed. Amy, the recreation director, tried to intervene, but I insisted, “No, I handled it. They won’t get our business again.” Everyone in the van clapped when I finished explaining. That night, I never told my grandma about the incident—I never will—but I did tell my mom, who laughed and said, “Honey, you were lucky.”186Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmA2NzFd1NQ
and then Add to home screen.