At times I wonder why I stay in the journalism business, especially when my monthly bank statement comes, but I’m always reminded of the personal riches it brings. Which truly are worth more than any amount of money.
On Friday I went to Vandalia Skateworld to do a little article on the fourth graders roller skating, now I know its not a top news story and a friend questioned how I would write about it, but for one I wanted to start re-establishing a relationship with the schools and two, sometimes it’s the little stories that I enjoy doing most.
Though tempted, I resisted the urge to lace up a pair of skates myself and create a more interesting article. Mainly because I didn’t want to risk breaking a bone as a result of my severe lack of coordination or embarrass myself as being an adult unable to stay on my feet as fourth graders skated right past me. So I stayed on the outer wall of the rink and just watched.
It was from the sidelines, where I have always spent most of my time in athletic endeavors, that I was treated to a priceless payment that moved me more than any pair of skates could. A small fourth grade student approached holding on to the wall and looked at me, her expression yearning to be spoken to.
“Are you having fun?” I asked.
“I need help getting across,” she replied.
We were at the place of the wall where there is an opening for the skaters to enter or exit the rink through. Those who must hold on in order to stay upright, are left with nothing. It’s only a few yards but can seem like a mile. So I held her by the arms and guided her across to safety where she continued on her way, holding on to the wall. Yes, it was nice to be able to lend a helping hand, but the real reward came when just minutes later she passed by again, not needing my help or anyone else’s but got across that open space all on her own.
“I’m doing it, I’m doing it,” she said, smiling wide, her legs trembling as she moved by at a snail’s pace with her hands held up in the air.
She had accomplished more that day than she ever imagined and in the fourth grade was more brave than I at 33. Seeing the excitement in her eyes was worth more than any paycheck. Then a few minutes later another fourth grader approached and said that she remembered me. When she was in the first grade I had gone to report on when some chickens hatched in her class. A story that I recall doing. At first I was stunned that it had been three years ago, time flies, I hadn’t realized I had been covering news in Tipp for so long. But even more striking was the fact that this young student was now in the fourth grade and remembered seeing me back when she was in first. Somehow I must have made an impression on her, and it felt good to know that my work serves the purpose of impacting the lives of others, even if in the smallest of ways.
With every story I write, I always wonder if it will connect with someone. It can be something as small as when eggs are hatched in a first grade classroom or when fourth graders go roller skating. Knowing that my efforts aren’t wasted and are remembered three years later by a fourth grader fills me with tremendous riches is why I do what I do.
