As I mentioned last week, I'm preparing to mark my five-year anniversary here at the paper. Perhaps, you've received the fliers for the large party happening at the Bella Sera. Perhaps, you'll let my boss know since we kind of need her to pay for it (Thanks, Karen).
When I think back on the last five years, so many memories seem to meld together. Of course, I started here as an education reporter (a tenuous role for someone at this paper) at the time. I learned quickly about the difference between reporter and cheerleader. Because I remember how excited I was for the school district when it looked like they had gotten their new high school in 2003. And how stupid I felt interviewing people about what a great moment it was, when it turned out to be untrue.
And I learned about the dangers of placing opinion in story when I took a slant to the planned Brighton Pavilions and questions about whether the site would work or not. City folk weren't happy (they really never are) and some cast me as being negative. Lesson learned. I tell my stories straight up – each side represented and me quietly in the middle. It's not flashy but I feel better about it.
It served me well when I was temporarily deported to Fort Lupton (just kidding) where there are always two sides to everything. Fort Lupton taught me a lot about my myself as a reporter. It's a tough job being a young kid handling a whole paper, trying to represent so many divergent points. It's devastating when a city official leaves you a message telling you that your story is wrong and people are sick of you not keeping your facts straight. It's gratifying when you were right all along. Thick skin comes quickly in this business, but slowly for self-conscious people like me.
Fort Lupton also gave me the chance to tell the story of Brian – a young autistic boy. It showed me the power we can have sometimes to tell meaningful stories.
Of course, as a notorious critic of my own work, the mistakes stand out. During the 2003 election, I mangled the names of two kind people who invited me in to their home to talk about their opposition to the new high school. Getting a last name wrong is understandable, botching a first name and changing a man into a woman is horrific. I'm sure those people still remember me and don't talk to the media any longer as a result. Just know I'm still mortified and every time I drive by your house, I still give myself an obligatory head slap. People look at me weird now when I ask them to spell their names especially when it's Bill but I don't care.
Being a courts and crime reporter, I'm still walking that fine line between duty and sleazy. I have a hard time chasing ambulances, a harder time calling grieving families and demanding their story immediately (Don't worry, 9News, that's still all you. I want to sleep at night). I remember a few years ago, I eagerly responded to a high school fireworks stand that had been toppled by a microburst in the K-Mart parking lot. I was eagerly snapping pictures as parents tried to clean up the mess when one angry mother yelled, "Can you stop taking pictures so we can clean it up?" It was a good thing I was only 15 feet away or I would have really been a nuisance.
People ask me what's next. Where do I want to go? A big paper, perhaps. I'll be political because it's that time of year. If you would have asked me five years ago if I would still be here, I would have laughed (just on the grounds of the original management.) But, in addition to enjoying the work, I have a family here, albeit a sometimes strange family but I love them all including the dog. Yes, we have a dog, the boss said if we're really good we can have a hamster next.
So as long as I'm here, this is where I want to be. I know, I could run a presidential campaign on the ambiguity of that statement. Hope you've enjoyed the past five years, or however long you've been along, and here's to five more!
