There was a boy—in the before times—who took his twin sisters to the park and sat on a bench with a book and watched them play. When one fell down and skinned her knee and cried, the boy picked her up, held her, and read his book to her.

This book is for him.

Back when I was a teacher's assistant, there was a kid who was as tall as he was quiet, and every morning I'd ask him how he was doing, and he could have red puffy eyes, a scowl, or a smile, and he'd reply, "Doing well, Mr. M. Doing well."

This book is for him.

There is a kid - and you know them - who is 90% bluster and 10% fragility, desperate to keep their outer shell whole because if it cracks they don't know who or where or how they'll put themselves together again.

This book is for them.

My nephew stood at the front of my father's homegoing ceremony and cracked joke after joke and smiled his crooked smile and then melted into tears because the man who fixed his hurts couldn't have his hurts fixed.

This book is for him

For every child who has passed through trauma and collected it like lint on an off-brand suit worn to their first funeral, like mud on loafers from the church parking lot, like tears on a cheek hastily cuffed away, this book is for them.

Do me a favor

Please give them this book

https://bookshop.org/books/tristan-strong-destroys-the-world-9781368042383/9781368042383