My first journalism story was written in marker on a sheet of construction paper for the newspaper published out of my childhood bedroom. The headline was for a buzzer-beater finish in the basketball league that played exclusively in my head. 

 

While all the events that ran in that Saturday morning's issue happened to be fabricated by a second-grader, the method of storytelling was captivating to me.

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Ever since I was a child, I envisioned myself as a journalist. Not the typical career for a dreamy elementary school student. While my friends imagined walking on the moon or giving an inauguration speech, I imagined being the one next to them, capturing and sharing their story with the world.

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As I aged, that love for communication grew. In high school, I competed on the debate team, and I participated in the choir and band where I used music to communicate with an audience. While I truly enjoyed these experiences, nowhere satisfied my passion to uncover a story and communicate it like the journalism room.

 

As a freshman, I walked into a journalism room with walls covered in local, state and national awards. I shook the hands of bustling upperclassmen and a lauded adviser. 

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I remember sitting in on my first pitch meeting, praying the editors liked my pitch and hoping they wouldn't make fun of my idea. I remember sitting next to my adviser, Barb Tholen, as she read through my first story while I stared at the ground thinking about how my lead could have been better.

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Questions flooded my head that day: "Was I good enough to make it on this staff?" "Could I possibly lead a group this big?" "Is this really what I want to do?"

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Now, as a senior, after editing hundreds of stories and leading countless pitch meetings and brainstorming sessions, I look back on my younger self and can't help but laugh a little. Part of me wishes I could go back to tell my second-grade self that in 10 years he would be winning awards for stories written about basketball buzzer beaters that actually happened. 

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To be fair to second-grade me, I also won an award writing about a buzzer beater that didn't actually happen during the KSPA regional contest, so maybe the practice was more helpful down the road than I expected.

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I wish I could go tell the terrified freshman me sitting in the corner scared to talk to anyone in the J-Room that in three years he wouldn't even have a seat in his journalism class because he was constantly bouncing around talking to people.

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Three years of trying to learn what kind of coffee Barb liked best (not vanilla), scheduling impromptu work nights and learning I'm mildly allergic to caffeine (discovering that the hard way), yielded some of the work I am most proud of coming out of a busy high school experience.

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I wrote award-winning stories about dead animals found in classrooms and students stealing sinks. But I also covered a school-wide construction project, the reaction of our school to the pandemic, the death of a beloved paraprofessional and students protesting against sexual assault in schools. Telling these stories created the greatest moments of my life. The passion I had for communicating and sharing stories as a child was fulfilled in journalism.

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The last four years have been a wild journey. I couldn't always fit a journalism staff hour into my busy schedule and completed my staff duties as extracurricular homework for multiple semesters. I spent one year on staff working out of a shed turned classroom. I will never forget the two-minute, bitter cold, January walks from the shed to the main school building to try and get interviews.

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But at the end of the day, I smile looking back at what freshman me thought on that first day of journalism.

 

As a brand new staffer, I was amazed at how the editors did all that they did. As an editor, I realize it's only possible with the tireless work of staffers.

 

As a brand new staffer, I was in awe of Mrs. Tholen and all she did. That one didn't change.​

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Freshman me had a lot of questions. 

 

"Was I good enough to make it on this staff?" "Could I possibly lead a group this big?" "Is this really what I want to do?"

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Senior me has the answers.

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Yes.

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