Being a person

I think the business of being a community journalist is the business of being a person.

I'm on my seventh Monday working at the newspaper and every day I learn something new. Sometimes it's about journalism, but most of the time, it's about humanity, who we are and how we all want so badly to matter.

Today I interviewed a woman who creates jewelry. Not so simple. Her brother died less than two months ago at age 23 from Ewing's Sarcoma, a rare form of cancer. She hopes to donate a portion of her jewelry proceeds and have a benefit for Ewing's Sarcoma research.

If I hadn't asked her about her family, she never would have told me that.

There's the mom whose son is a Marine in the Middle East; she doesn't know exactly where, and she won't for a few more months. I didn't need to imagine how devastating that must be, because she told me. She cried several times in the interview. She's so strong.

Every week, we write something called In Memory, an extended version of the short obits we run for everyone. I call the family, and they tell me their favorite memories, about the person's nature, etc. I wonder how I would even pick up the phone if a reporter called me days after someone I love died.

The owner of a local restaurant took what used to be an empty building and made it into what's now being called a Westmont landmark. It's delicious food, but it tastes better knowing how much sweat and tears went into it. He goes all over the country with his barbecue to win national awards. Sometimes we run a story about the restaurant, sometimes eight inches and sometimes less.

I wrote a story about a movie filmed in town, and there was a sidebar listing films made in Westmont in years past. A few days later, I got a glowing e-maill from an indie filmmaker telling me how much he and his mom appreciated seeing his movie printed in the paper. It was one line, but it made this man happy and his mom proud. I wished I could have done more for him.

When I was in kindergarten, my picture was in the newspaper when my kindergarten class had Hundreds Day. My mom bought a dozen copies. It mattered.

We all want to be noticed. We all want to matter. And that's what journalism is: the business of showing people how much they matter.

I love this shit.